Back to Marrakech Through Snow and Rain: Morocco, Part 5

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 fifth in a series of posts about this trip. Read Part 1: To Marrakech and Beyond, Part 2: Where All the Mules Are Named “Mule,” Part 3: Ras N’Ouanoukrim and Timesguida, and Part 4: Climbing Toubkal Is More Fun in a Blizzard.

Although things started to clear slightly on our descent from Toubkal, it was merely a short break in the blizzard. Overnight, it had intensified as forecasted. In the morning, snow was blowing into the vestibule despite the heavy porch chair propped against it intended to keep the large metal door as closed as possible.

The night before, we had already confirmed our plans for the day—we were going down. Our decision was really based on multiple factors, and while not solely due to the weather, it certainly was a major consideration. Going into the trip, we had booked just three nights at the refuge but did not make a reservation for a place in Marrakech until the following night. The plan would be to stay a fourth night at the refuge in case we had such bad weather that we couldn’t complete one of our objectives.

However, going into our fourth day, we weren’t certain we would have enough dihrams to cover another night for the three of us, the fee for our guide, and the cost of hiring the mule. We would also need cash for the taxi back to Marrakech, though we could reasonably stop at an ATM in the city to get that money.

Before the trip, my partner had also planned for us to climb another mountain, Akioud, if possible. So, the evening before, we had to choose: climb Akioud in snow, now deeper and heavier than that of the Ras, with winds higher than what we experienced on Toubkal and immediately return to Marrakech afterwards; count our money to see if we could afford another day and climb Akioud literally just for the sake of doing it because there would be no views; or return to Marrakech. Although you already know the answer, I could still point out that we never even bothered to count our money.

Though, perhaps our super strong friend regretted our decision somewhat. The night before, after the guide had already called down to book the mule and our ride to Marrakech, he brought up the topic of the mountain, questioning our guide about the route, the potential conditions, etc. during dinner. In the morning, shortly after we started eating, he continued, “So, Akioud…” We all laughed at his persistence for the “mountain that got away.” I’m pretty sure he could have easily climbed it with the guide and returned to Marrakech that same evening. Afterall, he had been using a training plan designed to climb Everest, so he was trained for an objective well beyond what we had been doing.

In the end, however, we headed out the door shortly after breakfast. That morning, we had added another member to our party for part of the descent: a young man from Latvia who had ridden a bicycle to Imlil from Marrakech and then climbed Toubkal, staying just one night after he summited—an achievement that really put our own into perspective. He had been on his way up the mountain as we were coming down. He was heading back to Imlil and wanted to tag along until we reached the first outpost, as the visibility was pretty poor.

Starting out, I think I had underestimated how much snow had fallen in the last day. Our friend started with his snowshoes, whereas I chose just my crampons. It certainly seemed like a mistake, as I was back to the exhausting task of muddling through making my own tracks and taking overly long steps. I kept hoping we would reach the snow line before the first outpost, where we would meet the mule, but we didn’t. It did at least become thinner and slushier and therefore easier to walk in.

I felt bad for the poor mule, sheltered on the porch of the little outpost, a tarp over his back. Maybe we should have just carried our own damn backpacks. I had mixed feelings, though. We later learned that because of the weather, no one was allowed to go up to the refuge, essentially halting mule traffic. There were a lot of people who were not going to make any money that day in an industry essential to their livelihood. In that respect, maybe the discomfort of the mule, because it was truly just that and not dangerous, was worth it.

Around where we picked up the mule, the sideways snow switched to sideways slush. Then later, it became rain. Unlike the trip up in the cool temps and warm sunshine, when we took our time, we rushed down the trail. We scurried and hopped and slipped and slid down the steep sections, passing the little café/shop where we stopped on the way up, just above that large, white sacred boulder. We continued down until we crossed the first bridge across the river, next to the now churning falls. We perched inside the patio of little outpost located there, drinking some warm tea and snacks they had prepared.

After this short break, we went back out into the rain. As we started our final, gradual descent into the broad river valley, the sky started to lighten, and the rain let up. We strolled along the flat rocky terrain to our final stop, the guide office next to the river. We crossed the river again on a series of haphazard stones. It was now flowing strongly down there as well, and I didn’t remember having to cross it without a bridge on the trip up—such is the effect of heavy rain and snow.

The day before, we had arranged a ride from Aremd through our guide, meaning we wouldn’t have to walk back to Imlil and negotiate with the taxi drivers usually waiting there. When we arrived, our ride, with our packs already loaded, was waiting. We talked for a few moments to a family waiting at the office. They had planned to go up into the mountains, but the police had barred anyone from heading up until the weather cleared, which would possibly not be until the afternoon. It seemed they didn’t have time to wait out the weather so likely weren’t going to be able to hike up and were quite disappointed.

Finally, we bid farewell to the guide, the mule driver, and the waiting family and loaded ourselves into the car for the trip back. During the ride, the driver kindly let us use his phone as a hotspot to try to arrange our lodging for the night. Unfortunately, the fantastic place we stayed at before going to the mountains was fully booked, but the owner offered us to stay with his family that night and said we could come to the riad when we returned.

It was very kind of him, but after waiting a bit in the riad, we were anxious to put on dry clothes and shower. So we messaged him our thanks and said we would see them the next day, the day we had actually booked. Then, we went back out into the labyrinthine streets to search for a nearby place we had found on Booking.com. It did take some time to find it, as the sign was quite small, but we finally made it and were welcomed with hot, mint tea, which was as delicious as usual but not as sweet as that of the mountains.