This morning, a prayer song woke me up. I probably could have slept through, but I wanted to hear it, so I went outside to listen. The song faded out, and the birds made their presence known, filling the air with their song. The sun began to rise, and I began my breakfast on the rooftop.

8,500 miles of flying to get here, and I haven’t done anything but arrive at the hotel, yet it’s exceeded all expectations already. Driving through town here was like a whole different world! Everything is diesel except the motorbikes. I’m not sure if there are any traffic laws besides: drive on the right. The smells of the food and spices wafting through the car window heightened my senses. And the architecture is unlike everything I’ve ever seen.

I’m not sure you can go to Africa and not ride camels. For an hour, we took a tour through a park, littered with palm trees and also litter. We could see the snow-capped Atlas Mountains off in the distance. Watching the camels' feet react with each step was fascinating—they compress and spread their toes out, taking up more surface area, perfectly suited for walking on sand. Fairly clumsy feeling, and they’re very vocal compared to horses.

Dimly lit with beautiful chandeliers and loud Arabic music, the restaurant was lively. Bread baskets were brought out to the table three at a time, even after our main course was served. It’s a sacred part of each meal. Being vegetarian, there were really two options for me: tagine or couscous. Tagine being one of the most popular dishes in the country, I tried it the very first night. Imagine a clay or ceramic bowl filled with potatoes, carrots, onions, garlic, and apricots to add some sweetness, now cover it with a conical lid to lock in the moisture and enhance the flavor in the softened veggies. The couscous dish filled me quickly, packed with vegetables but sweet as well, topped with the best cumin I’ve ever tasted!

First early morning of the trip: a four-hour drive from Marrakech, a stop for lunch in the region's capital, and then to the mountains. Just an hour later, we were at the base of Jbel Azourki and in the hot, hot sun. Even in the shade, it felt like 70 degrees. This was serious spring conditions. This was: vents-open, no-base-layers, t-shirt weather. Skinning up in the afternoon sun above “tree line,” surrounded by all the snow reflecting back was BRUTAL. I applied sunscreen many times but came to the quick realization that I accidentally purchased sun tan lotion. SPF 6…

1,000 feet into the skin, Billy started to look pretty beat up. Hit with the altitude and the previous night's adventures, coupled with lack of nutrition all at once, Billy could barely respond to me. Gerald, Justin, and I got Billy laid down, cooling off, and drinking water by the liter. The man was dehydrated beyond belief! Unbelievable he pushed as far as he did. After about an hour, he was walking and ready to ski! The first ski on African snow was worth the wait! Deep, smooth, and buttery, it even had this sound to it. I couldn’t stop playing it over in my head.

Today's objective is to summit Azorki! First full day of skiing starting with cold refrozen snow. A cold, windy start, we split into three groups with three objectives. My group was going for a summit push on wild corn that hadn’t been skied yet. I pretty much ran to the summit after checking my watch, but I got it! My first African summit!

It was such a different scene than I’d ever imagined. Still fairly hot on the summit, views of snow-covered, northern-facing slopes contrasting with dry, sandy ridgelines and south faces. I could almost see the Sahara on the horizon. There were big patches of snow all around where sand had been blown from the desert to the mountains in winter storms.

Mornings held onto the refrozen snow, but the sun and heat made it soft and corny before the  afternoon began. Following Eric to the top of the ridge, we chatted the whole way about guiding and AMGA stuff—so cool to have him as our guide. We were the first to the top, so I was able to get shots of everyone making their summit push, and we all got to share the summit together! That meant a lot to me. The camaraderie at the top is something I’ve felt before, but not at that level. All of us, the three guides, we were all smiles as if it was setting in for the first time in each of us that we were in the Motherland and doing what we all love so deeply. 

The ski down was another euphoric ride. Like if the terrain from Star Wars was covered in snow, orange rocks, and sparse cactus on either side. I’ve ridden so much snow and slush but never this deep! I can only assume it’s from the intensity of the sun and lack of skier compaction and snowpack.

At the bottom of the line, we skied were some more Nomadic huts an dwellings. In the winter, they migrate south into the northern rim of the Sahara to live and graze their livestock of sheep or goats. Then, as spring brings summer, they’ll begin migrating north back into the mountains, and the children will do schooling in the nearby villages and settlements. They use the rocks and stones around their plots to construct the walls of the shelters they inhabit through the summers. Some small groups were arriving early when we were approaching, and they could be smelled trying to keep warm by burning small dry cactuses or seen by the random herd of goats or sheep on the road at 8,000 feet.

First thing I did when we got back though was pull my boot liners to make sure they dried completely along with my skins. Next was tea on the roof, which is one of the most fun parts of the mountain. We shared stories from life and past ski missions and deep questions. All things that united us further.

Before our descent of Tagafyt, I found a sea fossil on the ground! These mountains, which were once, 60 million years ago, on the bottom of the ocean floor, when the African and Eurasian tectonic plates collided, giving rise to these beautiful landscapes. The former sea floor is now, in some places, 12,000’ above sea level. Crazy to find all the way up there, but a very cool reminder of how these mountains were formed.

We rallied at the base in a dry riverbed where the snow turned into sand and rock and cactus, and we refueled and repacked our gear to load onto the mules to begin the hike back. The path wound through rocks and sea urchin like cactus over rolling hills. Eager to get back towards the lake, I was picking up flat rocks to skip over the water.

I got spooked by an empty spider’s nest under one rock and thought to be more cautious about which rock I reached for. The very next rock I turned over had a scorpion the size of my palm under it! Small but feisty, it took a defensive stance right before Kris came over and grabbed him up just for a moment by the stinger, and it scuttled into cover in a cactus. Definitely the most dangerous thing I’ve encountered!

Loading up at the vehicles I saw someone had written on the dusty hood of someone's car and drew a heart around it. The writing was in Arabic, so I couldn't read it, but the message was there. Something we’ve all done to someone we know, poking fun, thousands of miles away from “home,” in a different culture in a different language—the jokes and humor are still the same.

After unloading overnight gear at the refuge, we got onto a much smaller path that would wrap around the bracing ridgelines to our start zone for skiing. As with all the terrain we’ve skied, it would be North-facing, but this looked far more raw and rocky with an Alaska feel. Snowfields on one side, couloirs in the center, and a bowl of snow to the right. There were seemingly endless options all around us.

As we were waiting, a couple rocks tumbled down from Danny's direction, and we just figured it was just him… But it was some rocks coming loose from the cliffs as snow melted in the hot sun. This was enough of a concern to turn us away, and we skied down under that couloir to the entrance of the bowl and began the skin up to the ridge above the bowl. Still got in over 1,000’ vertical feet in our traverse to plan B!

The last moves of the skin up was climbing over a small cornice. It wasn’t much but definitely got my blood pumping! There was a no-fall zone below because of the rocks. I almost didn’t want to drop in from up there. Looking in every direction I could see, endless ski missions and valleys and ranges stretched to the horizon. I couldn’t help but think of all the millennia of people who have climbed these mountains on completely different missions.

Even if the last couple steps up had a pucker factor, dropping over that same edge strapped in felt at home. Slashing the slush on the steep slope from the ridge is what I was made for. Every turn counted, riding down, trying to take it all in, be in the moment and savor as much as I could process.

The lower I got I could start to hear drums beating in song, playing us into the transition to the bottom of the skiable snow, courtesy of the mule drivers. Hearing their rhythms and watching their cues to each other while adding other drums and pots even, I was invited to dance along with them, and it felt like I got a new breath of life. I jumped into line and joined in song and dance, feeling that this is where I’m supposed to be right now with all the genuine love around me.

Because of the hike out and drive out of the mountains coming after the ski day we had to start hiking up to the snow early, 6am start, to be back at the refuge to pack and clean then the trek back down to vehicles. The approach went so fast in the brisk morning air. Although cloudier than any other day, it was the warmest morning of the trip because of the insulation the clouds provided. This also meant that the snow didn't freeze overnight, so that played into our hands going for the early mission.

Skinning up the bowl was steep but the snow was very supportive. Boot packing to our drop in point at 10,600’ reminded me we were at altitude. This run I took for myself, made it something I needed from myself. A steep chute to get my heart rate up some bumps and rollers that rode like waves. I dropped in and stopped only once to affirm to Danny that I was going to descend at my pace. Even thousands of miles from home, only one thing can ground me no matter what.