Ski Africa

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This hasn’t been the best year for snow, but last week we got the rain the farmers have been praying for and I decided I couldn’t wait any longer to go find the ski area called Oukaimden.

I hadn’t heard much about it, though one woman from my gym said she had been there. It’s on the map and with that knowledge I figured it had to exist. Skiing isn’t a very popular sport in Morocco. Most of the people I asked about Oukaimden enthusiastically told me it is beautiful and there is snow, though when pressed about chairlifts and ski rental the conversation got markedly vague.

Two other volunteers had expressed interest in a ski trip: Brian from Montana and Bart form Illinios. We spent the night at Brian’s and I was so excited that when it started raining (right after the guys fell asleep) I was up almost all night trying to calculate how much snow could be falling on the peaks. In the morning we met a friend of Brian’s who owned a car and had agreed to drive us up the mountain. It was a slow start in the morning compounded by the river that was flowing down the road that led out of town. The car made it through without getting swept away and we were off.

In the village of Oukaimden we were met by several men trying to rent us skis or donkeys or both. There was a group of Europeans (I think they were German) already suited up in fancy ski gear with new Atomic skis, quality ski clothes and helmets. We were wearing jeans.

I have never been skiing in jeans. I actually haven’t skied all that much besides a bit of cross country and years of attempting telemark. I am, however, a very good snowboarder. I never expected to find a snowboard in Morocco, so I didn’t even ask until after the guys who had skis for rent hunted down the smallest pair of boots they could find (which were still too big). We had walked the short distance from the village to the hill that had four or five ski-tows and I was starting to think I could ski on that hill.

Then I saw a snowboard. There were two snowboards at Oukaimden, both have never seen wax and both were scored with base hits, gouged by rocks. I picked up the Scott155 and had to laugh at the wood core sticking out where metal edges had once been. Luckily it was set up goofy and a decent size for me, even if my feet were swimming in the boots the guys dredged up.

We had to hike another half kilometer or so from the village up to the ski lift. There is only one and it goes straight up for a very long time at a very slow pace. Our first ride up was free thanks to a Gendarme on duty who knew Brian. The lift charges per ride since most people ride up without any intention of skiing. They hop off at the top and go to the café for mint tea, take pictures, enjoy the spectacular view and ride the lift back down.

We didn’t get to enjoy any view since we had been completely enveloped in fog since leaving Brian’s town hours earlier. The white-out made the lift seem even slower, longer and steeper than it really was. Luckily I had plenty of polypro on under my jeans and rain jacket. I didn’t get cold until I stepped off the lift onto the dirt at the top and was hit by the wind. I immediately was on my face in the dirt, as the chair swung around an inch above my head.

There were a few guys working up at the top and they happily offered us strong tea as we discussed what to do. On the way up we had passed the Europeans riding the lift back down, complaining of the lack of snow and commenting on my choice of jeans. I wonder what they would have said had I been wearing a jellaba.

It didn’t take any effort at all to convince Bart and Brian that we should ski down. I doubt anything could have gotten them to take the lift back down. We came to ski and couldn’t care less if the rocks ripped up our skis. I was starting to understand why the board was in such bad shape.

With a young Belgian, older French man and two Moroccan “guides” we hiked across the ridge down to where the snow had been blown to. It was a fairly narrow gully, though it had ample room for a turn in the middle, where they snow had accumulated. We had the mountain to ourselves: there were no tracks anywhere. It looked like the only snow the mountain had was what had fallen overnight.

It was heavy snow but I would have been happy boarding with a plank on cement. I was so happy to be back on a snowboard surrounded by pure white that nothing else mattered. I giggled and swooped out long curvaceous turns through the untracked snow. The lack of wax let me go pretty much straight down without worrying about going too fast. I didn’t even notice the lack of edges in the soft new snow.

The one thing we did have to worry about though was rocks. Pretty early on Brian fell on a rock that bit through his pants and took a good chunk out of his knee. The blood showed up impressively on his light colored pants. That was his last run.

Bart’s and my last run turned out to be even more adventurous. We went to see the other side of the ridge that the lift goes up and quickly discovered that the snow we had been skiing in earlier had probably been blown from where we were attempting to find a line. About halfway down we found a way to traverse over to the other gully.

The snowpack was very unstable and we constantly set down snowballs and cut loose small sheets that slid down the slope. I just told myself that there wasn’t enough snow for it to avalanche. The heavy wet snow was firmly cemented down into the rocks and the whole mountainside would have had to come down for it to avalanche. The little slides we set off would have been dangerous for a mouse, but couldn't have burried a human.

By early afternoon the sun had moved around and the shade cooled the snow enough that it set up hard and even I had trouble turning in it. The bindings on the guys’ skis were crap and I made them go ahead of me on each section, waiting until they were all down and stopped again before I went down to collect the skis that had been stuck in the cement or caught on a rock. I was soaked from sitting under their feet trying to knock the snow off their boots and make the bindings hold for another turn. It was a long run.

But I wouldn’t have wanted it any other way. They kept apologizing for their wayward skis and I just laughed and enjoyed every extra second I had up in the sun, high above Morocco, surrounded by glittering snow.

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Photos

Our Chaffeur Aziz
with Bart and Brian, before we set off. I wish I had an "after" photo of Brian showing the blood on his knee.

Donkeys can be ski lifts
if you can afford to rent them. As Peace Corps Volunteers we opted to walk out of town to the ski lift and saved out money for a big tajine at lunch time.

At the top
Toubkal, the highest peak in North Africa is behind me somewhere in the fog.

Snowboarding in Africa
I was giddy and giggling all day, singing to myself and repeatedly telling the guys "we're skiing in Africa!"

All Our Tracks
I was surprised that nobody else was skiing, even if it was a week day. This had to be the best snow they'd had all year, and we had it all to ourselves.

Toubkal
The peak right in the middle that sticks up just a bit is Toubkal. It's on the list of things to do before I leave Morocco. I think I'll wait till summer though: I'm not summiting a snowy mountain wearing jeans.

Fixing a binding
It was hard to wait for the guys while all that untracked snow lay waiting below. Note: don't expect new ski gear when renting in Morocco.

Traverse
When we ran our of snow in one gully we had to try to cross over to where we had already tracked up the snow - but where we knew there was snow to ski on.

Arabic
is usually associated with sand dunes, and though I usually fight those sorts of stereotypes, I was still awed by the juxtaposition of Arabic and craggy, snowcovered peaks.

Walking back to Oukaimden
we passed a few homes. I wonder if I could get Peace Corps to transfer me here.

Souvenirs
are usually much more expensive in Marrakech, but I'll treasure this more than a rug.

The Board
was already missing edges and leaking core before I spent all day bashing it on the rocks. I don't have an after picture to show off, but it wasn't pretty.