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Local girls of the Atlas

We woke to wind and scudding cloud, even at the town’s 1940m, but still set off to bag Jbel Masker, Ayyachi’s imitative little brother, with tops, running west to east, of 3257m, 3265m and 3242m. We took bivvy gear in case, but hoped to be up and down in the day. We were off at 06.00. After a false start through the town’s rubbish dump we hit the trail through to a village, Ardouz, which we skirted, then worked up through fields and found a good break through the cedar band beyond. We zigzagged up scrub (juniper and the like), which was not at all scrabbly. A gully and onto snow led us to the crest just west of the highest point, 3265m – a more enjoyable ascent than Ayyachi’s. We only caught glimpses of white Ayyachi through the tearing clouds so were not lingering. Using snow rims and screes we descended quickly. Ali, ahead, had stopped in the forest and lit a fire so we had welcome brews. We made Tounfite before the storm. At supper we had the loudest crack of thunder I’ve ever heard. It rattled the café and set children howling.