Choosing NOT to Summit: a story about walking, just walking
Guest Writer Lea Cicchiello
I decided on day three that I wasn’t going to summit on day five. It was an easy decision. It just made sense, for me, and for the group hiking with me.
Let’s rewind a bit, and let me explain.
I signed up for a six-day hiking trip in the High Atlas Mountains of Morocco, which included summiting Mount Toubkal, the second highest peak in Africa, and the highest peak in North Africa, at an elevation of 13,671 ft. This was with a French-speaking group, as I’m originally from France and my husband speaks French. Many people in Morocco speak French as a result of colonization, so it’s common for French people to travel there for vacations.
After landing in Marrakesh early in the morning of Day zero and being greeted by our guide for the week, Hamid, who transferred us to our hotel, my husband and I decided to explore the town on our own for a few hours before getting some rest at the hotel in preparation for the coming week of walking. We walked the city and explored a whole new world of fortified walls around the medina, of steep staircases leading to rooftop restaurants, of labyrinthine markets full of smells, colors… and scooters zooming between tourists and souvenir shops.
On day one of the hike, we met the rest of our group at the hotel: a woman from Switzerland, a woman from Paris, three guy friends and a father-son duo from the Lyon area. We got into a van with our guide and drove a couple of hours to the ski resort town of Oukaïmeden, picking up our cook for the week, Ibrahim, on the way. There, we met the five muleteers who would accompany us, guiding and taking care of the five mules who were to carry most of our gear. Men and mules would walk ahead of us each day to meet us up for lunch and later set up camp for the night. After having lunch by the river, and resting a bit, we set up to hike to camp. Every afternoon would be like this: a late lunch, rest, and short hike to camp.
As I would soon learn, the mornings would be quite different…
On day 2, we left camp and set up for a five-hour hike uphill. And I think that’s where it started going downhill for me. The long uphills and the fact that the trail was all rocks: tiny rocks, medium rocks, big rocks… you could never just set your foot down steadily, it always had to negotiate with the rocks, sliding this way or that way just a little bit. This tired me physically and mentally in a way I hadn’t anticipated and hadn’t really experienced before.
Don’t get me wrong: it was all beautiful out there, the group was great and the guide funny. I loved it. But I got a little tired.
The mornings were long so that we could avoid the worst of the sun in the early afternoons. On day two, we had lunch in a “bergerie”, where sheep herders rest and sometimes sleep as they move their herds according to the weather and where the food is. It was in the shade, it was by a river, and it was awesome.
Day 3: Here we go again! Up a short rocky trail to the pass, from where we got a glimpse of Mount Toubkal, and then downhill for four hours, going through small mountain villages where children came out to say “Bonjour!” and laugh (at us?).
It was another day of beautiful landscapes, fresh water filtered from streams or fountains in the villages, and even a wonderfully refreshing and bubbly soda bought in Amsouzert.
I could feel a blister develop, and at lunch I was able to switch my boots to my running shoes, which immediately felt better… but still. The hike uphill in the afternoon was painful. I was starting to be tired, and my blister made me walk differently.
We entered Toubkal National Park that afternoon, and as I could see the group getting farther and farther from me as I was slowing down, I realized I wouldn’t, and maybe shouldn’t, summit. I thought about it as I kept walking.
At lunch, our super guide Hamid had mentioned that we would be staying in the same campsite the night before and after the summit, and that did it for me. If I had had to push, I would have done it, but since I had the option of taking the day off and taking care of myself, why push it?
At the end of the uphill, I shared my decision with him.
At first, Hamid wanted me to summit: “You’ve got a good rhythm, even if it’s slow, and you’ve done harder things than what we’ll do that day, it’s only a couple of hours up to the summit from camp!”
When I told the group at dinner that night, they also tried to make me reconsider: “You’ll regret it… you have to do the summit… isn’t it why you’re here?”
The truth is: no, it wasn’t.
If it were, I would have chosen the two-day summit trip, with the drive from Marrakesh to Imlil, a night at the refuge Azib Tamsoult, and a long hike to the summit and back down to Imlil the next day. Many people do that. And if they don't have much time, or if their interest is primarily the summit, that’s fine! But I was here for the long haul.
I was here for the mountains, the valleys, the sheep, the rivers, the villages, to learn more about the place and its people. The summit was just the cherry on top. A sundae can still be delicious without the cherry. I love to play, but I don’t need to win. This trip was about living slow, watching the sky change colors gradually as the sun sets. It was about walking. Just walking.
At the end of the afternoon uphill, we arrived at a stunning view of Lake Ifni, one of the most beautiful lakes I’d ever seen. Such a blue vibrant color surrounded by the dark red and browns of the desert mountains and rocks! We hiked around it to get to camp and were able to swim in the lake for a bit before it got dark: it was amazing. And I had made my decision.
Day four would have another five-hour climb, but it was slightly easier to push, knowing I would be able to rest the day after that. At the pass, we saw goats that had climbed even higher than us. We marveled at their resilience and footwork. We wondered what they thought of us, as they looked down at us from up high.
The fatigue, slight dehydration, and blister didn’t take away from my enjoyment of these days in the mountains, of the discussions with the group at night around dinner in the big tent, where we got to learn more about each other, about the places we’d been and recommended, about our guide and his life in Morocco, about tourism in the country, and more.
I took day five off, slept an extra two hours after the group left for their hike, dipped my blistered foot in the refreshingly cold river and let it start to heal, read in my hot tent, and rehydrated. I felt good about my decision. It felt right. It was great to hear stories of the summit from the group once they returned. My husband and another man in the group even took extra videos that day to show me how it went. I was grateful.
I was rested and more than ready for Day six, going downhill to Imlil, for one last lunch in the wilderness before returning to Marrakesh.
I loved this week. I loved being in a new country, I loved the landscapes, I loved the hot green teas before lunch and dinner, I loved the camaraderie in our group, I loved the mules who carried the heavier gear and allowed us to only take what we needed for one day.
And during our last dinner together, the guide asked us all to summarize our week with one word. Some of them were “camaraderie”, “rocks” (which we all secretly wanted to say but only one dared), “variety” (of landscape, this was mine, because it’s what surprised me the most during the week), “bab” (which means door in Arabic).
You know what no one said? Summit.
Born in France of Italian parents, Lea Cicchiello now lives in Wisconsin with her husband, where she shares her love of languages and cultures, professionally and personally. Her favorite activities include reading, hiking the Ice Age Trail, trail running, and kayaking, in her neighborhood and around the world. Follow her adventures on her Youtube channel or on Instagram @trailsandtravelswithlea.
Other guest posts on Hello Stranger…
Lea is our first repeat Guest Writer on Hello Stranger! Check out her previous piece, Distance Hiking in the Italian Dolomites.
Explore Namibia with Steph Gregerson
Find love (or just mountain magic!) in Tajikistan with Laura Ng.
 | A guest post by
|