|
 |
Higher Spirits in Morocco
The thick snowflakes fall from the African sky. A Berber emerges from the fog. He seems to come from eternity, and approaches us slowly. Very slowly the rhythm of life flows through the deep valleys of the high Atlas. Everything seems to be deeply rooted. This signifies the language of silence. Time to breathe.
We are in Bou Goumez Valley, the upper Atlas Mountains in Morocco, Africa. We are in the land of the Berber; in a meager, wild land, which bears a striking contrast to the paradise-like oasis of the valleys. We have come to the end of a miserable trail. Just yesterday we were in Marrakesh, the heart of Morocco, which pulsates strongly, the Djemma el Fna. Marrakesh had drawn us in with its sweet air, lost in the Souk of Medina. In a journey of time, we are brought back to the archaic world of the Berber. Like foreign astronauts, we stand among the clay huts, chickens and donkeys. Exotic items in an old world. Our appearance is that of many wide-eyed children — standing and starring in awe.
Around us stand tall, snow-white, mountains in the clouds, like large dunes with long wide, tall, steep faces. The Atlas mountain climbs upwards over 4,000 meters. It is the brother of the great Sahara. A stony, mountainous desert in the summer, in the winter it is a freeride fairy tale out of "1001 Nights."
|
|
|
|
| "The panoramic view steals our breath: the Atlas bares itself as the powerful barrier between the Atlantic in the west and the horizon in the east - 800 meters high, but only 100 meters wide..." |
|
|
|
|
The light shines, not limited to the narrow frame of the mountains. Only two days are needed to travel to this far away world, despite the overwhelming mountains and culture shock.
A nomadic alternative, a flight, a privilege. Moha, a Berber, a family man, and a farmer, makes us tea in his house. A small fire flickers on an old water glass and casts shadows onto his face. He is a mirror of the mountainous valleys of his home. His skin is the red-brown color of the earth. His language is ancient and melodious. Tafiud - the sun, Ajur - the moon and Etran - the stars. Accustomed to strength and endurance, the Berbers radiate a deep tranquility and contentment. Moha owns fewer tangible things than we bring on our snowboard trips. No telephone. No power. Water from the spring. He does not want to advance to Western technology. And why should he? So there we sit, civilization-tired freaks, snowboarders, power pilots, on the hunt for the "kick" with illuminated eyes from his fire. Moha had looked right through us. He has spent his childhood upon the meadows of Lac Izouar. Now his son herds sheep on the plateau of the Atlas during the summer among the meter high snow that still remains at that time.
In the morning he accompanies us with two mules to Lac Izouar. This will become our base camp for a week. He helps us set up, pours the next round of tea, and smiles a wise, toothless grin.
God created the desert so that there would be a place on the earth in which He could enjoy a pleasurable hike. God's garden is a freeride country. The next day, in the midst of the fantasy mountain scenery, the sun burns down on us fiercely. Wowgoulzat, Azurki, Mgoun - all gigantic mountains with endless slopes. Nothing interrupts their harmonious line. No glaciers, no forests, no streets, no houses, nothing other than space and light. Moha, Ibrahim, and two mules walk far ahead. Despite our quick steps, we can't keep up with them. As the snow becomes deeper, we unload the mules. Until we get to the base camp at Lac Izouar, we have to carry the gear ourselves. A long, deep valley opens up, framed by the tall faces of the Mgoun chain of mountains. The sea is frozen. We set up camp in the snow. Moha unpacks a pouch of food - fresh peppermint, a large clump of sugar, a loaf of bread freshly baked at the break of dawn by his wife, and salty, bitter butter to go with it. Then he disappears with Ibrahim and the mules into the far reaches of the Atlas. A long journey lay in front of them. Our respect follows him back home.
At night the stars twinkle icily in the sky. It becomes a bitter cold. Before sunrise we were already trudging through the frozen snow in a straight line, hour after hour upwards toward God. The sunrise first lights up the peak of the Atlas, creeps over the cliff and begins to warm us, then flows to the foothills of the Atlas into the Sahara. In a short time, the heat transforms the new snow into the legendary "African Snow." By late afternoon, the snow is the perfect surf quality. Panting for breath, we reached the razor sharp peak.
We stand on the roof of Morocco. The panoramic view steals our breath: the Atlas bares itself as the powerful barrier between the Atlantic in the west and the horizon in the east - 800 meters high, but only 100 meters wide. In the north, the slopes flow into the distance, a greenish-brown, wave after wave. Somewhere out there is Marrakesh. In the south, the highest chain drops off abruptly and below us lies the scarred plateau from the great river.
It flows out toward the south in a glimmering wilderness to the old oasis valleys along the Dads, Ziz, and Dra. We focus sharply in front of us at the 800 meters downhill into the deep. The slope descends gradually down to the valley - untouched.
In the thrill of the moment, rushing adrenaline, all our senses are sharp. The first turn, still somewhat rough, the second one is looser, and off we go. Freeride. In the wave of excitement, on the energy of time, in the "Big Flow." Effortlessly, we line up and go down in full force. Uncompromising, always straight down. The preparation, the trip, the orientation of the area, Moha, the long journey. All take shape in that moment, and the invaluable essence of the freeride adventure remains. Higher spirits.
Information on the Morocco Atlas Mountains:
General:
The kingdom Morocco is the land of the mountains. The powerful Atlas divide the land into the green north and the hot desert south. The 300 peaks stand 3,000 meters high. Six of them are over 4,000 meters. The entrance to the mountains is most successful from the north. The ideal exit area is Marrakesh. The mountain people are mostly Muslim Berber. They are polite and hospitable. The language of the land is Arabic, and sometimes even a Berber dialect. You can always find someone who speaks French, German or English. If need be, you can rely on gestures and a sense of humor. There are two classic tourist destinations in the high Atlas. The Toubkal Massiv, with the most rudimentary huts as their areas of security. Or the mountain group with the Mgoun chain 180 meters east of Marrakesh. Here there are no huts, only ruins, and the complicated entrance to the Massiv must be planned out well. Mules and porters can be easily organized in the small towns. It is important to always get an exact definition of the service and payment to avoid misunderstandings.
Best Time to Travel:
The best time to go is spring, after the large snowfall from the middle of March until the middle of April.
Equipment:
It's necessary to bring complete expedition gear, including tents, camp stoves, tools, snowshoes, water, and food. During strong snowfall the mules can't walk. That's when you have to carry this all yourself.
Weather and Snow:
In January and February the temperamental Atlantic dumps large amounts of snow in the mountains. In March it can be extremely hot. The temperature varies and can reach 45 degrees Celsius, day and night. During bad weather it can snow in the high altitude region of the Atlas until the end of April. As they say here, "In sha Allah." The snow conditions vary from powder to firm, to slush. On the ridge of the mountain there is often heavy snow, and with it a great avalanche danger. The hot sun changes the snow much faster in the legendary African "Firn" than in the Alps. Experience in mountainous regions and avalanche equipment are absolutely necessary, due to the fact that rescue teams can't be organized.
— Jogi Januschowsky, MountainZone.com Correspondent
* Story Translated by Christina Kettman
|
|
