Day 225
Day totals: 16 hrs, 16 kms

Last night, scrutinizing a detailed map of the region, I had an exciting and uneasy realization: on the far side of of Toubkal, there's a trail, and not to far down is a lake and right after that there start a series of villages and a whole new civilization . Suddenly I realized that a whole new adventure is tantalizingly within my reach: to not just hike from Marrakech to Toubkal... but to actually do a Superhike across the Atlas Mountains.

The problem? Well, first of all, I'd have to carry my guitar all the way up to the peak--or else I'd have to backtrack all the way back to Le Refuge. Secondly, I kind of doubt that the yonder trail is very well marked or well traveled. If something goes wrong, I could be in big trouble.

But on the other hand, if I don't do this trans-Atlas hike now, I know deep down that someday I'm going to have to come back and finish it. And that would mean having to do that grueling climb from Imlil to Le Refuge all over again, and I really don't want to do that over again.

I decide to sleep on in at make my decision in the morning.

Climbing Toubkal with a Guitar

Next morning, I wake up with a fresh burst of courage and I make my decision: I'm going to hike to the top to Toubkal with a guitar ... and down the other side.

To go to the peak of Toubkal I've been told that you should start early in the morning, as later on in the day the weather can get bad. In fact, it can snow up there even in the summertime. And I'm definitely not equipped for surviving in extreme conditions. The good thing is that it looks like there will be quite a few other people climbing this morning as well.

So I head own shortly after dawn, towards this wide wall of skree (broken rock) that seems to stretch on forever. Not exactly my favorite type of climbing. And I find I only go 50 meter or so and I need to stop and catch my breath. Every step is painful and my mind is just focused on going a few more steps before taking a break.

This is the first time I'm climbing to the peak of a well known mountain (unless you count Vesuvius as a "mountain") and, quite frankly, I don't think I'm going to make this a habit . No, I'm not a wuss, I just like to be focused on enjoying the scenery and the experience rather than be forcing myself to take a few steps farther. I suppose if I did this regularly, and got acclimatized to the altitude it would become easy after a while, but I don't think that's going to happen.

Then I get some extra motivation. Down below are a couple of... what?!... old European ladies?! and one of them is FAT???? And their gaining on me!

No way. No way in hell. All of a sudden, this in not a grand quest to conquer a 4,200 meter peak. It's just a quest to NOT get passed up by a couple of old lady climbers. I tell you, there's nothing like a little bit of motivation!

A bit further up ahead (and a safe distance out of reach of the old ladies) I take a break next to a group of younger climbers who look about as worn out as me.

"We're from the Netherlands" they tell me .

"I guess you don't get many experiences like this in your country!" I respond

"Nope--just seeing mountains is something really special for us."

I continue on. Finally the peak of Toubkal comes into view. Toubkal is not a "stand alone" mountain like Mt. Ararat or Kilimijaro. It's actually one of a whole bunch of peaks that are almost as high as it is. So it doesn't have quite the same visual effect. I reach one last ridge--to the left is the trail going up to the peak. To the right is a barely visible trail following a series of peaks and ridge which theoretically should take me down the other side, across the Alps to the other river valley civilizations beyond. That trail is not looking very trustworthy though...

But first, let's focus on reaching the peak.

As I continue on up, I see two fellows sprinting straight down the steep skree like mountain goats . Definitely not tourists. They are local guides for whom going up and down this mountain is about as leisurely as me walking work each day. Intrigued by my guitar, they pause for a chat.

They are actually in the middle of a 4 day trek leading tourists on a long Atlas trek. I figure I'd better ask for some for some advice. Does that trail take me down the other side of the mountain? Yes, they reassure me and it's not too difficult...

I continue on up to the peak. Walking. Resting. Walking. Resting. Finally the terrain flattens out and you feel like you're strolling through the desert, not climbing the highest peak in North Africa...

Then there it is-- a little metal pyramid covered with graffiti (or "climber signatures" if you like, marking the peak. I've made it. I've climbed to the top of Toubkal with my guitar.

The View from the Top

Of course I have to take some time to soak in the view--and of course play a concert on this impressive location . I would like to claim that I'm the first to reach Toubkal, but I checked on youtube and there's a guy there with a guitar who made it before me... but his was a small guitar...

I must say that, despite my reluctance, I don't regret bringing my guitar with me. It is a very special moment, and I'm glad we can share it together. I pick the best of the very best songs for my concert on top of the world "Reciprocal", "It Means Nothing" "Beautiful Phase" echo accross the rugged landscape.

As I gaze across the landscape in every direction, I'm struck at how completely lifeless it looks. I can't see a speck of green anywhere. I know that there is life tucked away in the many folds of the mountains. But from here, it looks like a desolate, rugged moonscape in every direction. To the north, through a brown haze you can see the Marrakech plains. To the south you can barely see the plains of the Souss Valley. And these mountains, despite their arid appearance are actually the water source for both these regions . These mountains are what make these desert civilizations possible.

Taking the Wrong Path

Finally it's time to start heading down. I quickly make my way down to the ridge where I must make my decision: go back the way I came, or chance it and try to go down the south side. I take a deep breath and venture on along the ridge on a trail that sometimes you see and sometimes you don't. All the other hikers are taking the other trail, farther and farther away.

I go up another short peak then down again. To the north is steep, loose skree. To the south, is a series of sheer cliffs. Sometimes I get the impression that there's a trail over and down the ridge but it just takes me to a sheer drop.

Finally it looks likes the south side has a long stretch of loose rock--and a quasi-trail going down it. Is this the real trail? I'm not sure. But I decide to chance it . It does look like there are no more cliffs below. I figure that even if this isn't the "official" trail, it's got to take me somewhere, and meet up with the real trail somewhere along the way.

I begin my descent. Walking... sliding... shoes filling up with stones... There are cliffs that I have to work around--sometimes having to throw my backback down to be able to make it down. I sure hope I don't reach a dead end and have to turn around. This is definitely no regular mule trail. Not even a goat trail. Maybe some foolhardy thrill seekers slid down this way sometime. But they were probably in a group, not completely along as I am. I'm starting to think that this was a really bad idea.

And I keep going down, down, down. This side of the Atlas is much steeper than the other side. I wouldn't be surprised if it's a good 1,500 meter drop. 1,500 meters of skree and cliffs with no real trail. This is really f--ing crazy.

And the best is yet to come . Just as it seems like I'm reaching the bottom, and the real trail is clearly visible a the other side of a gorge, it happens. I reach a dead end. A sheer drop.

I go a bit further to see if there's another way down. Nope. It's either cliff or cliff. I look down, then back up to the mountain rising to dizzying height above me. I can hardly believe that I came down that way. And I don't know that I could go back up that way--especially since I'm out of water.

So... what are my choices? A. Climb down the cliff B. Try to go back up the way I came. C. Climb up a ways and look for another way down. D. Scream as loud as I can. or...

I look at my guitar and my backback. I definitely won't be able to make it down the cliff carrying both of them...

I make my choice: I'm going to throw my backpack over the cliff. Then I'll try to climb down with the guitar on my back . If that doesn't work. I'll just have to sacrifice my faithful companion who has been at my side on every step of this journey.

I really shouldn't have put myself in this situation.

The backpack goes airborne. Then I gingerly make my way down, reminding myself that there'll be no one to find me if something goes wrong...

Obviously I make it (as does the guitar), or I wouldn't be writing this today, swearing I will never, ever try to blaze a trail down a 1,500 meter drop of skree and cliffs.

The Highest Pass in Africa

Soon after I reconnect with the "real" trail, and realize how dumb I was. If I had just been patient and followed the trail on the ridge a bit farther, I would have connected with this trail at the top and enjoyed a very safe, walkable descent down the slope. Now instead of feeling like a super-adventurer who blazed his own trail down Toubkal, I feel like an idiot who missed the correct trail .

This trail is certainly the highest mountain pass in Africa--probably higher than any outside of the Himalayas or the Andes. Here mules have been carrying loads over the Atlas mountains up to nearly 4,000 meters--and it's still in use! I pass a couple of mules, laden with goods coming down the trail. Obviously, there are other more convenient routes that connect the north and south sides of the Atlas, so it's pretty impressive that people are still traveling along this one.

This trail is zigzags on down a jagged gorge with no civilization in sight. It doesn't matter. As long as I'm following a real trail, I feel safe. And there's water too... and the temperature has shot up from maybe 10 degrees celsius at the peak, to maybe 40, so there's no worry about freezing to death any more.

Little by little I start to see life again. First, hardy little bushes, then bigger plants and every a couple little trees . It feels good to reconnect with living organisms again.

I need to pause and just chill for a bit. And I find just the right spot: A pool of water with a crawl in space tucked inside a giant boulder. I jump in--and right out again! I've experienced cold water before--even swum in the Atlantic in wintertime in the USA... but to go from 40 degrees to freezing water straight out of the mountain is more than my body can take! Still a refreshing moment, though.

A bit further down I reconnect with my fellow humans once again. This time its a group of young tourists, accompanied by a couple of guides and a herd of mules to haul all their stuff.

"Salaam aaleikum!" I greet one of the guides, "How far is it down to Lake Ifni?"

"About 6 hours" he tells me. That's a lot of walking still.

Then he looks at me again . "Did you walk all the way from the top of Toubkal already? Oh, then you'll make it in 3 hours!"

That sounds much better.

And three hours it is. Three more hours with no more signs of human presence--other than my trail. And then the stream disappears underneath a vast sea of rock that have been rolling down Toubkal for millions of years... and up ahead, glimmering in emerald blue is Lake Ifni.

Lake Ifni.

Lake Ifni is a very small lake by global standards. If it were in, say Minnesota, it probably wouldn't even have a name. But it's significant here, because it's Morocco's largest natural lake. Morocco has some large artificial reservoirs, but not a whole lot of lakes.

And after all I've been through today, this lake looks like paradise. Not a single soul lives upstream, so the waters are pure, untouched by man . It's surrounded by steep cliffs on three sides, and the rock sea on the north side, making it unappealing for human exploitation, making it a rarity in Morocco: a body of fresh water untouched by man.

Paradoxically, this lake is actually the lifesource of a civilization. The water filters right through the cliffs on yonder side, becoming the source of stream that flows through scores of villages all down the Aoulouz Valley. But that's a discovery for later... Right now I just want to enjoy the spendid solitude of this place--and of course another swim. This time the water is a much more pleasant temperature, washing away the weariness and uncertainties of the last two days.

There are a couple little hovels on the hillside, with guys eagerly calling me over. It's clear that they don't get a lot of tourists passing through this route. Almost all the tourism is on the north side of Toubkal. It's actually a welcome sight. I've very hungry and all eat anything--even a couple of overpriced fried eggs with a piece of old bread, which is pretty much all the guy has . He's got a couple of packaged biscuits that expired long ago... I wonder how long he's been waiting here for a customer.

The the trail follows along the east side of the lake to the other side. I'm eager to see human civilization again, so I hurry on my way--but pausing to take another videoclip with a splendid view of the lake.

On yonder side, I follow a trail that goes up over a rocky ridge, to where it looks like is another inhospitable, lifeless valley with steep slopes of loose skree (which I don't ever want to see again!) I'm getting impatient to reach civilization, which I thought I would encounter right after Lake Ifni.

And then.... suddenly... there it is. Lush green patches of wheat... earth colored houses.... Almond trees planted on terraces on the steep hillside... a road...

It feels good to be back. I hurry on down the hillside, making shortcuts along the way . In the distance I hear women singing as they work in the fields. It's beautiful. Simply beautiful.

A World Without Humans

Sometimes I've fantasized what it would be like if I had lived thousands of years ago and I could've seen the world in its pure, natural state, untouched by humans. I imagine endless forest... crystal clean rivers.. pristine coastlines that stretch on forever. Now I've sort of experienced that for the last day and a half. Other than a mule trail, I've seen the Atlas Mountains in their pure, untouched state. It really has felt like I've been in some sort of time warp.

And you know what my conclusion is? My conclusion is, I really like humans. I love human civilization. It's not perfect. It has messed up a lot of things on this planet. But I tell you, this world feels pretty darn lonely without other humans around. I really don't think I would enjoy endless traveling in a world with no humans .

And here in front of me is a civilization that I would dare say has made this world a greener, more beautiful place.

See, I've been traveling through an area where there was water, but very little life, because the water was all at the bottom of a rocky gorge, so not many plants could access the water. But here below, the water has been channeled and the terrain has been manipulated so that there the valley can be a lush green--and even the slopes are terraced and irrigated by an ingenious system of canals.

You may disagree if you wish, but I think humans made this valley better than it was before they arrived.

I reach the road. Down below the green valley stretches on forever, with little villages all along the way. It's an amazing feeling. Usually I "discover" a new civilization riding on a bus, and getting off, and voila--new civilization . Cool--but no real feeling of accomplishment. This civilization I "discovered" by crossing a fearsome mountain range, facing danger, thirst, hunger, solitude, freezing cold and blistering heat.. Aaah... let's just enjoy the moment...

And with that I continue on to the first village where I find lodging and a hearty meal of beldi (free roaming) chicken tagine...