White-water Rafting/ Kayaking Melloul-Ahanesal Rivers Morocco 2-8 April 2006
Saturday 1st April
Quite by accident, most of the GOC rafting party were booked into a hotel in the red-light area of Marrakech. It was a stroke of inadvertent genius. In Morocco - a Moslem country where the drinking of alcohol, not to mention homosexuality is ostensibly illegal - we found ourselves in an area surrounded by late night bars with a gay friendly cafébar at the end of the street and a gay-friendly night club just down the road. Before going out to sample the Saturday night-life we were lucky to meet up with Victor and Beñat who were to take us off on the rafting trip the next day. Both had driven all the way from Northern Spain bringing our rafting gear from the UR2000 base near Bilbao - a journey of two days. Txus, our previous leader, had not been able to come, due to a last-minute engagement filming in Uganda.. Victor, his brother and the chief organiser for the company had luckily been able to come as expedition co-ordinator in his stead. Those who had been on the Spanish trip down the Upper Ebro were delighted to meet up with Beñat again. He is a fluent English speaker. Victor’s English is not as good, but I was surprised how many of our group spoke at least a little Spanish and soon we were all, chatting using a mangled combination of Spanish and English with a bit of French inadvertenly thrown in -this being the language we had been using using to get by in Marrakech. With a few learned Berber greetings added to the language melting pot later, this proved very much so to be a polyglotal holiday.
Sunday 2 April
Following a rather alcoholic night, we had, as has now come to be expected, a chaotic start the next morning. Tony, had inexplicably not turned up at the pick-up point. Two hours went by and Victor said that we must soon leave without him. It was puzzling and ominous. He had been seen at breakfast and had checked out of the Hotel where he was staying. We were about to start ringing around the hospitals and even mortuaries, when Tony was discovered waiting patiently for a "reception" at the Hotel Ali, listed in our original itinerary. He hadn’t heard that this arrangement had been changed the previous night. Relieved, to find him, we set off in two minibuses, late and driving in the heat of the day for the foothills of the Atlas mountains.
We reached the converted Berber house which was to be our base for the rafting. Here we were greeted with mint tea traditionally served, i.e. expertly poured into glasses, from great height, by our Moroccan host and met up with Asier and Gorka, two very fit young Spanish guys who were to be our rafting guides.
The house was in a striking setting; the red sandstone face of the monolithic mountain Catedral, loomed impressively next to it. On arrival, it was already bathed in the last light of sunset and,. by the time we were settled in and sitting down on the terrace waiting for our evening meal, it was silhouetted picturesquely against the stars. When the food came, it seemed a pity to spoil the atmosphere by turning on lamps. In the dark, picking out the food from the communal earthenware tajines in which the Berber stews are traditionally served was quite literally pot luck. There were obviously various parts of goat or sheep in it. Whatever it was it tasted good. For the vegetarians of the party, our host also remarkably managed to produce an equally palatable vegetable tajine to suit the strict dietary requirements of even Craig, our token vegan.
After the meal Victor, made an announcement. Due to unusually heavy snow-fall in the Atlas mountains, there was more melt-water in the river than in previous years. The upper reaches of the Melloul was raging whitewater Grade IV and V and un-raftable. Its lower reaches and the Ahanesal on the other hand would be Grade III+ white-water - raftable, but not by an inexperienced mob such as ourselves. So he proposed a plan: starting with a training day on easy stretches of river, upstream from Catedral, then, next day going for a practice session on a more challenging tributary of the Melloul, then gathering our strength during a days “break” walking up to the top of the Catedral mountain, going for it down the lower Melloul- and Ahanesal in two days - covering the last 40 km in one day - all the way down to the Reservoir lake of Pantino Bin el Oindane at its outfall.
At first I was disappointed not to be able to carry out the original plan of rafting continuously from the headwaters of the Melloul, down the Ahanesal, all the way to the Pantino Bin el Oindane lake. Continuous journeys of four or five days are the theme of my organised trips – and I literally search the world or at least the virtual world of the internet to find them. However, as it turned out, this revised plan, as well as being the only sensible and safe option, turned out to be extremely enjoyable, varied and interesting.
Monday 3 April
On the first days rafting, we carried our rafts up river on the backs of donkeys. Only two years earlier, this would have been the only way to have rafted the river - trekking with the donkeys for about a week to get to the upper reaches. However, a new road had just been driven up the valley, allowing us to get as far as we had in minibuses. We carried our wetsuits on our backs, following a track along the side of the valley below the Catedral mountain. We had not counted on the heat and after a short time we were already dehydrating; so much that we had to wait for the donkeys to catch up with us with fresh supplies of water.
After walking for a few miles up the valley, we descended to the river. Its water was literally white-water since it was full of rock flour from the melting glaciers of the Atlas mountains. It apparently ebbed and flowed daily according to the different melting conditions day and night in the snow-covered peaks which we could see in the distance: it taking several hours for this effect to be felt down in the valleys. We put on our wetsuits.as we waited for the rafts to be inflated and launched.
Now we were seriously overheating, far from dreading the cold of the snowmelt, we were actually looking forwards to immersing ourselves in it.
This was just as well, as after rafting for a short distance, everyone had to get out to learn procedures to be followed when thrown out of the raft. To practice being rescued, we launched ourselves from the bank into the water, floating on our backs, feet down to be retrieved after grasping a rope thrown out to us. It was initially an alarming process - releasing ourselves into the raging white water - but eventually reassuring, not to mention cooling.
We continued on, practicing the manoeuvres that would be required to paddle the raft, and soon travelled the several miles we had laboriously covered on foot back to our base. This left us the afternoon free to lounge about or explore the valley around our base.
Tuesday 4 April
Next morning there were two beaten-up old Land Rovers waiting outside the house. Rafts and kayaks were strapped to their roof-racks and all of us - two drivers and four guides with all of our wetsuits - were somehow packed into the cabins. We set off up a tributary of the Ahanesal following a narrow track precariously cut into the near vertical slopes of its valley. The vehicles rocked from side to side and perched with wheels perilously close to sheer drops into the river below. Eventually, the track descended down to a bridge where we could unload and launch the rafts.
There was much more water in this river. Our practice manoeuvres of the previous day came into operation in earnest, shifting the raft from one side to the other to avoid rocks and undertows. Our rafting guides yelled instructions continuously and urgently. In the roar of the white-water often all that could be heard was a series of Spanish “o” noises which could either be interpreted as meaning "stop" or "go". It took us some time to work out the best different-sounding commands to use. Our guide, Asier, by contrast, was having no problems communicating with Peter, who is deaf, using sign language punctuated with the occasional friendly slap on the safety helmet with a paddle. The river was an unrelentingly series of white-water rapids. It was here, nevertheless, whilst ostensibly having us practice a manoevre changing our weight from one side of the raft to the other, that our guides took the opportunity to overturn the raft, throwing us all into the water.
Righting the raft and getting back into it was quite a trick as it hurtled down-river. Once a person succeeded in getting aboard, it was their job to drag in all the others. Whilst all this happening, our guides would be yelling at us to get into place and to get paddling to regain control. Alarming at the time; but reassuring to know that, if the raft turned over, we could cope. In any case, all the time Victor and Beñat held station in the white-water picking up stragglers who could hang onto handles fixed to the back of their kayaks to be towed to the nearest raft. It was impressive to see how they could kayak in such turbulent white water. From time to time, even they overturned, only to bob up, righting themselves with an experienced Eskimo roll.
We reached the confluence with the Melloul and carried on until we reached a narrow stretch of the river where the combined flows of the rivers forced themselves though a gap in the rocks only a few metres wide. Somehow, we managed to navigate through without incident and drew the rafts to the bank.
Changing out of our wet suits, and leaving them drying in the sun, we picnicked by the river. As always, we soon gathered an on-looking crowd of curious Berber boys. No matter how remote we thought the spot, this seemed to happen within a few minutes.. After eating, we went off for a walk up to the village, particularly to look at the Kasbahs, mud –brick structures looking like forts but actually communal markets or corn-exchanges, now largely disused and derelict.
By the time we got back, the Land Rovers were waiting to take us back to Catedral. However, not now to the comfy bunkhouse beds we had got used to: now, for a change, we were to free-camp in tents and sleep on airbeds.
It was a picturesque if dusty site by a ford across the river. There were no facilities, but there was the opportunity for the less Spartan of us to sneak back up the valley to the house to use the showers etc. As usual, we soon attracted the attention of the local Berber boys. Craig, from somewhere, produced a Frisbee and soon they were all drawn into the game. They stayed until it got dark, helping us draw in brushwood for the campfire: so much, that after the meal was cooked on it, Rudi still had enough left to build a bonfire for an improvised evening entertainment of fire jumping.
Wednesday 5 April
Next day we were to to have a break from rafting and were lead by Ali up a track to the top of Catedral.
This was a bit of a scramble in places but was surprisingly easily achieved. We passed a team of workers being funded to make a proper path up the mountain; obviously there are plans to develop this area for tourists in a big way. At the time we were there though, we had the whole valley to ourselves – ignoring a few hundred Berbers – and a rather annoyed scorpion which we disturbed from under a rock.
From the top of the mountain we could look down and trace the valleys we had already rafted down and look into distance to the Ahanesal valley which we were due to descend over the next few days.
Thursday 6th April
Next day we packed away the tents, to be taken on by Land Rover and set off from the campsite, carrying the rafts to the river. We had a few men-overboard and a capsize which, this time, I was not so sure was deliberate. But it gave me an opportunity to try out the technique of hanging onto the back of Victor’s kayak to be towed to a raft: Not my original one, but this didn’t seem to matter – any port in a storm. In any case, I was able to hop back to my own further downstream. We passed the confluence with the tributary of the Ahanesal and, pausing only briefly at the narrows where we had stopped two days before, carried on down river, looking for somewhere to camp. Eventually we reached a point where the Land Rover had been able to get down to the river and hauled out the rafts. Once the tents had been set up, we went for a walk. Following a path rising up to the rim, we could look down to the Ahanesal Valley yet to come. It was narrowing noticeably between red sandstone cliffs. In the distance, we could see a long line of interlocking spurs – it looked good for the morrow.
Friday 7 April
Next day, we set off and the scenery was spectacular and the white-water increasing all the time, standing waves continually breaking over the bows of the raft.
At one stage, the white-water reached grade (V) and it was thought best to drag the rafts round it. Victor kayaked through it anyway for fun, but even he turned over in the worst of the boils. It was difficult in these conditions to take any photographs, even with the disposable water proof cameras, since all hands were all ways need to keep the raft paddled into the safest position. In any case, by this stage we were fast running out of film, or batteries were flat, or cameras wet and useless. So there was hardly anyone with a camera functioning by the time we came to what was the best part of the river. Here it entered canyons with vertical sides, which almost closed overhead until they were almost caves. But it was too good an oportunity to miss for Dave, who bravely got out his video camera out from its water proof case, risking ruining it if the raft turned over. I don’t know how well this video came out, but if it is OK, it should be spectacular.
Breaking out of the last canyon, we were suddenly in still water and realised we had reached the flooded valleys of the reservoir lake of Pantino Bin el Oindane. We had covered the 40 km in a single day, such was the speed of the water. There was a curious log jam here. So it took us some time to force our way through. to reach the lake proper. Once in clear water, we lazed floating in our wetsuits waiting for a boat which had been chartered to come and collect us. This proved to be a pontoon ferry barge made of old oil drums. It had a large flat deck onto which we were able to pull both the rafts, before setting out for the mile or so journey crossing of the lake. It was a fine end to the journey, the lake being in a beautiful setting surrounded by red sandstone hills.
We collapsed the rafts and parted with our wetsuits. But, the day was not over yet. Beñat had said that he had a further treat for us but wasn't saying what it was. We travelled on by minibus to the village of Ozoud where we stayed overnight in a backpacker hostel.
Saturday 8 April
In the morning we descended into the gorge below the waterfalls of Carcades de Ozoud, watching barbary apes and swimming in the fall pools.
The UR2000 team
Then having expressed out heart-felt thanks to Victor, Beñat, Asier and Gorka for a wonderful rafting trip, it was time to go – back to the fleshpots of Marrakech and the end of the holiday.
