Toubkal (part 2)

I began my walk with no map, but I did have a knowledge of Arabic and of the fact that the trail was well traveled. To get to the official trailhead I first had to make my way a kilometer or two past the outskirts of Imlil. I started out on a trail that wound its way up through a village suburb clothed in a short green canopy that protected it from the afternoon sun. Past the village the dirt path run up to a small cafe and seemed to end there. I went inside and asked which way to Toubkal. The man inside informed me that if I went up a small path to the left of the the building it would take me to the road that led to the trailhead. I worked my way up through the trees until I came out in the middle of a hillside of terraces. I could see a cluster of buildings at the top that must have been the town where the road was and began my climb up the old, stone walls. Sure enough, I reached a road that ran through a small, less modern town and was soon on my way to the brink of the wilderness. I started my five hour, 1,467 meter climb up through the high Atlas to the Toubkal refuge. Even at my elevation, the Moroccan heat was still enough to make me sweat as I began my constant upward hike.
The mountains around me were very rocky and at this altitude they held a resemblance to parts of southern Colorado. The trail ran through a hillside on one side of a valley through which a small river of snow-melt flowed. On either side of me, ridges rose up and created the walls that funneled me towards my eventual destination. So far in my walk I had only passed hikers coming down from the opposite direction. Most of the climbers staying the night at the base camp had most likely left earlier in the day. Even though I would be cutting it somewhat close on time, I would have the best sunlight as the day grew to an end. Meaning cooler temperatures and more spectacular views. A little ways into the trek I passed a one room, stone building built into the side of the mountain. It had a sign that proclaimed "limonad", to thirsty hikers. Outside bottles of water and soda were tied under a small cascade of icy, cool melt-water. Two and a half hours into the climb the elongated sun's rays lit up the rock faces around me into a soft, orange glow. The effect only increased in brilliance until it could no longer reach into the walls of the valley and left me walking in the pleasant shade of the high mountain ridges. As I continued up the only foliage was now patches of grass and a variety of scrub and the occasional group of small flowers. The evening wind had set in and cooled me off as I set into my last couple hours of hiking. By now the weather was pleasant, imposing mountain peaks filled my view, and was left alone to enjoy it all. Or at least I was the only person on the trail. I was now passing through a herd of wild mountain goats. I don't know much about mountain goats but I was now wishing I knew a little. As I passed through most would scurry away, but a few stood there with a defiant look staring right through. Yes, mountain goats are small, but that do happen to have horns, and in this case whether he was or not, he looked angry. I started to wonder if goats were territorial, were they known to charge humans? The last things I needed was to be thrown off a mountainside by a herd of angry mountain goats, in Morocco. If was going to die in the mountains, it would be fighting a grizzly bear in the rockies, not a goat in Africa. Uneventfully I gained passage through the small colony of mountain dwellers and continued on. By this point my less than ideal amount of sleep and the heat was getting to me. With a little less than two hours to go till I reached my resting place for the night, I was getting tired. The dramatic views and cooling wind helped take my mind off of how fatigued my legs were getting. Walking steadily up, the terrain grew rockier and steeper around me. A Toubkal National Park sign teased me hinting that the refuge could be around the corner, but around the next bend on the valley I still had no sight of the stone building. Soon enough I cam upon another sign that told me the refuge was just up the trail. Cresting the top of a small rise I could finally see it in the distance. It would take me another half-hour to walk up to the refuge which stood in the shadow of 12,000 and 13,000 ft. peaks on three sides. The refuge was a large stone, two-story building with a small grass pasture in front so that mules making the trip up and down with supplies could have a place to recharge in between. Some people had tents and small camps out front, but I would be grabbing a room inside as I had no proper camping equipment.
I walked into the refuge as the last bits of light were fading from the sky. This day from beginning to end, more than halfway across Morocco, had somehow been timed almost to perfection, even without things working smoothly along the way. I walked in and as always, I didn't have to look for service, there was a man asking me if I needed a room. Of course I need a room, I'm at the bottom of a 13,000 ft. mountain with no shelter. I followed the Berber man up the stone stairway to my room for the night. The room was dim since the electricity hadn't turned on for the night. It was simple and clean with a couple stacks of bunk beds and a shelf along one wall. In the corner, a small window opened to a view down the valley I had just finished coming up earlier. I dropped my backpack and took off my dirt and dust filled shoes and socks. Walking downstairs on the cool stone floor felt good on my tired feet. Reaching the main room on the first floor, I asked the man who had given me my room if I could buy some water. While getting me my bottle of Ain Soltane, my new favorite brand, he asked me if I wanted dinner. I had brought food with me, but I asked him what it was and how much it would be. He told me dinner was fifty dirhams and was of course, tajine. My legs were having slight cramps from the hike up and a real meal sounded worth the price. I think this was now the most I had paid for a meal in Morocco. At around seven US dollars that's not bad, but I haven't made a habit of going to nice restaurants here. I received my water and walked from the kitchen back out into the lodges dining/sitting area. While finding myself a table I heard a vioce ask, "What have you done to yourself?". I looked over to see an Englishman who somewhat resembled and friendly Sean Connery sitting at a table with a small pot of mint tea. At first I wasn't sure whether his question referred to my tired state, or my cast. He was asking about my arm. I sat down and explained I had broken my wrist doing parkour the week before I came, thank God. I have seen Moroccan casts and I don't think I would be doing this if I had dealt with the country's healthcare. He said he had heard of it in England, where the sport is growing since it jumped the channel from France a few years ago. As I ate dinner and he finished his tea we exchanged notes about our time in Morocco and what we did back home. I learned he worked for Rolls Rice, the jet engine manufacturer and had two sons. One was in his twenties and a successful professional skier and avid winter mountaineer. The other was in his first year of university back in England. While I was drinking my post meal mint tea, he left to go sleep for the night. He said he would be leaving for the top at five the next morning. I told him good luck and maybe I would see him on the mountain tomorrow. My meal I received at the refuge was quite good and was definitely worth the money. I first was given a bowl of soup, which I loaded with salt, and a basket of bread. A meal in Morocco is not a meal without a more than ample amount of bread. Then I had a rather large tajine of chicken, potatoes and carrots, sizzling hot in its iron bowl of Arabic spices. Then the meal was topped of with a small pot of hot mint tea. Once I finished I was full, extremely content, and ready to get some rest for my six o'clock ascent the next morning. I slowly walked up to my room to find my roomate was my newfound friend from dinner, already sound asleep. I took off my worn and dusty clothes and fell asleep 10,000 feet up in the Atlas sky.

~Andrew