Ras N’Ouanoukrim and Timesguida: Morocco, Part 3

I recently returned from a trip to Morocco, primarily to visit the Atlas Mountains and climb the highest peak, Toubkal, among others. The planning and expectations for this trip were slightly loose, as we were not sure we could even enter the country until the end of January. Morocco had been closed, even to its own citizens abroad, at least since the latest surge of Omicron around the end of the year. In addition, the requirement to have a PCR within 48 hours of the flight made the preparations a bit loose. However, negative for COVID-19, we buckled ourselves in for a short 1:45 minute flight across the Strait of Gibraltar.

This is the third in a series of posts about this trip. Read Part 1: To Marrakech and Beyond and Part 2: Where All the Mules Are Named “Mule.”

The Ras, which means just the “peak,” has the regular route and the route we took up the north couloir, a striking approach that takes you up a narrow corridor to a saddle just below the summit. Our plan was to tackle this couloir and return via the regular route, taking a quick detour to summit Timesguida.

In typical mountain fashion, we awoke early, but not as early as those heading up Toubkal to catch the sunrise on what was promised to be a gorgeous day. Although the goal was to head out before the sun started coming up, my partner, who started not feeling well the day before, was feeling much worse and subsequently moving a bit slower than expected. We all made it out the door just as the sky was starting to turn pink and strapped on our snowshoes. The guide had told us to expect deep snow, which we would soon confirm and then repeatedly confront for the rest of the day.

As we gradually went up past the other refuges and buildings and the start of the trail to Toubkal turning off to the left, my partner continued feeling worse. About 30 minutes or so after leaving, we all decided that the best option was for him to return to the refuge, rest for an hour, then decide if he was able to attempt the climb. Me and our friend would continue on with the guide, as he told us that from the couloir, we would be able to see my partner approaching. Then, we would wait for him near the summit. After my partner turned back, the three of us continued our gradual journey through the snow, looking back for a bit to make sure he was progressing to the refuge well.

The first part of our ascent followed the regular route up the Ras before veering right soon after a sort of rocky passageway where we could then visualize the full route up the north couloir. From here, we headed up a steep slope between two rocky outcrops, which appeared like the only approach toward this side of the mountain.

The snow on this steep but short slope was a real challenge, at least for me, consisting of a thin crust over powder. I have a sturdy pair of MSR snowshoes intended for climbing mountains, they normally work really well on steep slopes, but they need to be able to grip something and powder is not grippy. However, our friend, incredibly strong and enamored by his new snowshoes, chugged up the central portion with the deepest snow. I followed the path of our snowshoe-less guide along the side where the crust was a little more solid.

After passing this corridor, the route bears slightly left, and the climb becomes a bit more gradual before entering the main couloir. We stopped for a quick break on a patch where the rocky terrain was partially exposed and swapped snowshoes for crampons. We also took a moment to check for my partner following behind. Although we did not see him yet, we soon would.

Seeing the couloir from a distance, it looked much steeper than it actually felt once we were in it, which is usually how it goes. I went last, which is ordinarily a boon in the snow because you don’t have to do the exhausting job of breaking trail. However, on this occasion, with much shorter legs than the guide and much weaker legs than our friend, I had two equally tiring choices: taking higher and longer steps or breaking my own trail. I ended up alternating between the two options for the rest of the day. Joy.

Early on in the couloir, I stepped on a large patch of snow that gave a sort of unpleasant but quiet “whump” sound. This can be a bad sign when you are on a snowy mountainside. I thought it was probably okay here, but it did make me worry about what we would find higher up on steeper terrain with deeper snow. Neither the guide nor our friend was particularly concerned. However, the guide noted that there are some other areas further up the route prone to avalanches where we would need to be careful. More than getting trapped in an avalanche myself, I kept imagining triggering one that would catch my partner unaware as he followed along further below.

I appreciated our guide’s expertise on the route, but I still felt uneasy, like I was missing some sort of reassurance. However, I realized that I was just missing my partner’s input and presence. This would be my first winter mountaineering objective without him, and I felt the lack of that unique kind of communication and flow that exists in the mountains between people who know each other so well.

About midway through the couloir, I started to get just really annoyed. I was tired of alternating between breaking my own trail and taking giant steps in the soft deep snow. Of course the surroundings were beautiful, but instead of being fun or exhilarating, I only felt that it was a chore. I was starting to feel that this was one winter adventure too many. All winter we had been trudging through thick snow that weighs you down and traps you or soft deep snow that doesn’t hold your weight or steps. I was over winter and, dare I say it, over winter mountaineering. I was honestly so annoyed that I didn’t even have time to feel particularly scared, which is probably why this is the first mountain I have summited without crying in a long time. Perhaps a new strategy?

Finally, we reached a narrower section, cliffs on each side, where we had to hug the walls to avoid the potentially unstable snow in the center. After this section, the couloir fanned out before us, leveling off into the saddle just below the summit. However, instead of making the short trip to the summit, we turned in the opposite direction toward a larger, flattish area where we had a snack and some tea while we waited for my partner to appear. However, after waiting for a bit, our friend and I started to get a bit cold and went up to the summit and back down to warm up some.

After waiting about 45 minutes to an hour, my partner appeared on that final section, and I went to meet him on the saddle. After he took a short break and put on a warmer puffy, the three of us went up to the summit together. From there, we could see the next objective: Timesguida, looking further away and higher than it would be in reality.

From the summit of the Ras, we crossed the saddle and the flat area where we had taken a break, going down towards the other saddle between the Ras and Timesgiuda. Once there, we started the climb up our second objective, which was gradual and thankfully without a lot of deep snow. It was mostly just easy walking.

The summit of Timesguida is very broad, reminding me a bit of Moncayo near Zaragoza, and feels longer than you want it to be while crossing to the summit marker. However, it offers views of the Sahara in the distance, which was mostly noticeable for the amount of dust on the horizon. Later, we noted that on the mountains, the older snow is discolored with a fine layer of dust from the desert.

We came down from Timesguida on more or less the opposite side we came up, continuing down the broad side of the mountain until we reached a narrow ridge. Here, we had to navigate the snow between the rocky outcrops, eventually crossing the ridge and going steeply down a wide gully. Now at the end of the large valley we had started walking up that morning, we started the slow, gradual descent back to the refuge. After not feeling well and barely eating anything all day, my partner was lagging, so I stuck with him while our friend and the guide continued ahead at their own pace.

At some point near the refuge but far enough that we still couldn’t see it around the undulating terrain, he sat down for a break and calmly said, “I understand now why some people end up dying in the snow so close to shelter.” So, when he was ready to get started again, I took his pack too. I decided not to tell him that I wanted to quit winter mountaineering after this trip. Instead, I tried to entertain him to keep his spirits up as we finished out the last effort of our day and slowly made our way back to a steaming pot of mint tea.