Somewhere in the
desert I am melting like a candle.
Struggling to breathe in such a high altitude in southern Morocco as I
slot my stinky 5.10’s on and battle my way up some ancient unrepeated line in
the middle of nowhere. A few metres off the ground I am already observing the
magical view; but with my other eye I am straining to see the next hand hold on
the route. Here you can discover the purist On-Sight options; absolutely no
chalk evidence on some fragile rock. Making several trips left and right from
the shake out, the crux must be right above onto steep blankness. I am
extremely pumped, but the On-Sight only lays once and it would be an awful
waste to not get it. One more spaced bolt to the chains from the monster
45meter climb, I couldn’t afford to let go. Somehow I did it on invisible crimps.
The challenging 7c+ was now ticked in style. Luck didn’t stay with me as I fell
ill the next day. I still managed to keep going although I had some kind of
Trilobite eating my stomach away. That’s what happens in Africa.
My restless gene keeps
me on the search for rural climbing destinations especially places with a taste
for exotic spices. Sadly, it turned out that half a dozen rock explores I know
have already been to the Todra Gorge leaving their prints behind. But I was
still nearly the only climber in the Gorge with my old man. Using the old sketched
topo to identify the routes was a riddle partly the adventure of Todra. To my
fantasy, it was like Indiana Jones searching for the Holy Grail using a
treasure map.
The climbing here was
supreme but it was mainly all about West Africa and the culture that can be
alien to us. The locals were the friendliest African’s I have ever met and
didn’t seem to want anything but a smile from us. There is so much rock here in
the gorge, many new lines to be discovered. Perhaps one day I will return.
