Morocco (4)

	After travelling off piste for 240km we were now hooked on off-road travel. Our next destination was the Todra Gorge, but there was no way now we were going to take the easy option of tarmac, so opted for more off-piste. Initially, we needed a little GPS navigation to pinpoint where we were but after that it was easy going and we picked up another of Chris Scott’s recommendations from Zagora.

			We parked up in the Gorge and inspected some of the climbing, bumping into Hassan Mouhajir, one of the premier climbers of the area. After tea and bartering at his house we left with a hand-drawn guide for the area at a not-too-reasonable price. We set our sights the next morning on an area of sun-blessed rock with amenable grades and just as we were heading out who should pull in alongside us but Campbell and Linnéa in the 110. There is something very special at seeing a friendly face you know in a foreign land. It’s the relaxing feeling where you know that the person isn’t trying to ply money or belongings from you. A strange comradeship exists amongst overlanders, empathy of struggle and an adventurous spirit. Campbell was like an excited kid with a naughty plan. Yesterday they had met up with two Belgian overlanders, father and son, who we had met previously in Fez. The Belgians just returned from attempting to cross a pass that linked the Todra Gorge with the Gorge du Dra. After filling in numerous ditches (since they didn’t possess any bridging ladders) they finally met an impasse one kilometer from the summit col and turned back. The fact that the Belgians had failed to cross the pass was a little incentive for us to try, but the overwhelming factor for Campbell was that they had failed in a Toyota Landcruiser and the age-old rivalry of Landrover vs Landcruiser was stirring in Campbell’s blood. Jools and I headed off to climb for the day and met up again with the others again that evening. We swapped a gas cooker for a carpet with a trader over tea, and planned the next days adventure.


	In the ride up the gorge you could see the devastating effects of the floods of last October, most of the tarmac road had been laid to ruin and the new route wound its way pleasantly up the riverbed. In the gorge we passed three Czech backpackers who were planning to walk the same route, albeit over a few days. At the turn of for the pass in Tamtattouchte, a group of young boys pointed there index finger of one hand in the direction of the pass and crossed it with the index finger of the other hand. We mistakenly took this to be the international hand signal for ‘there be dragons!’ but later found out it meant ‘that pass is bolloxed’.

	A little GPS work lead us swiftly to the main valley, up where the pass wound. The road was damaged, but in a lot of areas it was just easier and smoother to drive up the dry riverbed. All the while we could follow the tire tracks of other vehicles and we knew that the two Belgians had been before. Every now and then there was a small ditch filled with rocks and we tipped a hat to them in thanks for making the going that little bit easier, but always wondering what was round the next corner that could have been so insurmountable.

The Pinzgauer was a little quicker over the rough ground, so having made a little distance on the others we stopped so Jools could pee. Just our luck really, as squatting was the perfect position to see the inner tube bulging from the gash in the wall of our front tyre. As the others caught up we relayed the news and elected for a lunch break. No messing, quick as a F1 pit crew we swung the spare from the side housing and lowered it to the ground, it was then that the black sludgy water pissed out the empty valve hole. Rather than use the second spare we elected to change the tube on piste, breaking the bead with Campbell’s high-lift jack. Only having one tyre lever, I then fashioned another from a metal bar we had as a handle for the Tirfor. After a bit of shinnangans we managed to change the tube, but it failed to inflate when attached to the Truck Air compressor (I later confirmed that I had pinched the tube with the home-made lever when remounting the tyre) so we just used the second spare.

Onward and upward we sped with mounting trepidation for the big Impasse. Finally after a little tricky step in the piste we rounded the

corner and could clearly see the Landcruisers tracks turn and retreat. The floods had washed a wide and deep cleft in the track, and all that remained was the faintest bridge, only just wide enough for donkeys or motorbikes. You could clearly see from the old snow on the other side of the impasse that no one had yet passed further than this, since before winter. As Jools and Linnéa walked further to see if there were any other problems, Campbell and I brewed up a strategy.

By backtracking the last difficulty and rerouting a little, albeit a little steeply, we drew a new line across the landscape that we felt would be possible. When the girls returned with good news that just a little snow lay in the way, spirits were raised, but since the bodies were tired we pitched camp in the middle of the track and set to building a fire. After six firelighters, some charcoal, petrol, half a can of gas torching, and five bushes the communal stew cooked in an African Poiky (cast iron pot) was ready (Ray Mears we certainly are not).

In the clear light of morning, what had previously seemed to have been a major undertaking, started to look more feasible. We shifted and few rocks and a little soil and after half an hour or so, felt ready to tackle the new route. The main danger was traversing a fairly steep side slope and an area where the Pinzgauer has a definite weakness. Jools took the reigns, and with the right amount of boot and a little fighting, she placed the truck at the base of the last big slope. It was very soft due to the melting snow and the truck slewed sideways in the mire, but with 6-wheel drive and all three diffs locked it managed to claw its way to the top (even with road tyres). Linnéa made light work of the technical driving as far as the hill but neither she nor Campbell could coax the Landy up the steep muddy slope. We made fair progress with the waffle boards but eventually I was to get the one piece of video footage I wanted from the trip, the Pinzgauer toeing a Landrover up a hill! Still, as a team we were not to be defeated and the four of us relished in the sweet victory over the Landcruiser.

It was early in the day so we pressed on now, breaking new ground along the ‘impassable’ pass. After circumnavigating the big Impasse we were on a real high and felt that the rest was plain sailing, until things went pretty tits up.

As the track traversed on a south facing slope, snow had built up on the high side, but it was still possible to keep two wheels (or three if you have them) on the outside of the track and with diff lock engaged, continue onward. As we reached a small runoff across the road the rear of the truck slipped sideways and in moments our whole perspective on the world changed dramatically.

I tried to hold the road and drive up the slope but as the pitch of the truck increased, all I could do was heave on the brakes. I glanced over my shoulder, below was a 45 degree snow slope into a canyon and the truck was teetering nervously at an obscene angle. I shouted to Jools to get out, I could see the panic and fear in her face, logically she was the counterbalance but I knew I wouldn’t be able to think clearly with her in danger. She dropped into the snow and I gripped tight to the wheel feeling the truck quiver. Campbell had seen it all from the Landy behind and rushed to assist, but at this point I was in the driving seat and there was little anyone could do. My leg started to quiver on the brake pedal, a sensation I knew well from climbing, tension and stress combining to turn your muscles to jelly. I strained the handbrake to breaking point for it had been a little unreliable sometimes and all I could do now was pray it would hold. I just felt that the smallest of movements could tip the balance, and with everything to loose I slowly eased my foot from the brake.

Nothing moved. I breathed again. Gently, I eased out of the door and down to the slope. People were talking and spouting ideas and such, but I just wanted first to feel safe again before turning my attention back to the truck. The front right wheel was two foot from the ground. As I surveyed further I could see that the whole truck was pivoting on the front left and rear-most right wheel which were on the track, but the back two left were dangling in snow and the front right suspended in space. I started to think that there was no way of rescue and that we were going to loose it all until Campbell brought me back round, “There is noo way were gonna lose this truck today!” We needed a strategy. Winching from the Landy was out of the question, not only was the direction wrong but we couldn’t risk the Pinz going over the edge and dragging the Landy along with it. We needed to dig a trench under the back right wheels to lower that side and reduce the pitch of the truck, and find some way to set an anchor to winch from.

	Thankfully, Linnéa and Campbell were fully prepared, as all our equipment was on the roof of the truck and no way was anyone climbing up to get it. Had there had been a reliable anchor in the rocks it would have been easy to recover just with the Tirfor, but as it was, it was just enough to take some strain as we set to digging under the wheels. After and hour and a half of chipping away under the wheels the truck made a satisfying slouch toward stability, bringing the front wheel within a foot of the ground. It was only then did I really start believing Campbell.

			We managed to get a sand ladder under the right middle wheel and then to clear a little round the left wheels hanging down the slope. Our plan was still to try and winch slowly forward whilst blocking behind the wheels, but at each try the rock anchor kept just giving way. I just felt at this moment that the only thing to do now was to try and drive it out; It seemed clear to me, but for the others just pure lunacy. I thought about removing the driver’s door for easy egress should the worst happen, but for some reason it felt like only full conviction and belief would be enough to pull it off. Thank god you can’t cross axle a Pinzgauer. In low-range first and full diff lock the front left and back rear wheel slowly pulled the truck back onto the track and onto level ground. All the gang were screaming at me to stop as I drove over the winch rope, but I just needed to be absolutely sure I was away from the edge, luckily no harm done. It was so good to be the other side of the last 3 hours, safe, alive and with a truck to boot. Campbell was right; “there was noo way we were gonna loose this truck today”.

	We rebuilt the section of road and brought the Landy across with very little drama but it was 4pm now and we realised that having let our guard down once we were not going to do it twice. We would clear the snow from the track and be sure of the ground ahead before going any further, but not today. Today was full enough already and it was agreed that we should pitch camp for the evening after travelling less than 1km in the day. This wasn’t a night for campfires and frivolity, all four had had nerves stretched to breaking and all we could handle was just food and sleep. As we cleaned up for the night we were passed by the by the three Czech back packers who had caught us up, we explained the hold up and bid them goodnight, exclaiming that we would see them on the road tomorrow.


	The night was cold and in the morning the snow had frozen hard, however this did weigh in our favour for when clearing, it broke up in large chunks, which we rolled over the edge. Occasionally one would pick up momentum and the sight of it exploding on the rocks below brought forth images of what may have laid in store for the truck. It was a good mornings work to clear the whole stretch and we probably could have got away with less but today we felt, was not a day for any chances. It was such a simple undertaking after clearing the route; a big lesson was learnt the very hard way.

	At the head of the pass we celebrated with a cup of tea and choc-chip cookies. We certainly felt at this point that we may have passed the major obstacles and that descending the other side of the pass should be much simpler, however we had fallen fowl to lowering our guard before and agreed to proceed with caution and with more inspection. Within five hundred meters we had the bridging ladders out and were navigating a deep ditch. It was clear that this side of the pass had been more affected by the big floods, as the piste had almost all washed away.

	In the afternoon the track moved away some from the river and improved, we then passed some small cairns built across the road, I got a little excited and exclaimed to the rest “ these are a sign to people coming up this way that the pass is closed, that means the rest of the descent must be ok!” It was such a short time before I was eating my words. As the valley descended further it was joined by another river before passing into a narrow gorge, the difficulties increased and the next few hours were engrossed with dropping in and out of the river bed and moving huge boulders, some of which needed pulling with the truck. As late afternoon passed and we could see that we were going to be in for another day we stopped for the night, parked up in the riverbed. We managed 6km this day and never did catch up with the Czech backpackers. We were further overtaken by about 20 nomad women with laden donkeys who wanted our clothes, especially socks, and at 4am they passed us on their return journey back over the pass the same night. I began wondering if we shouldn’t have taken a donkey to cross Africa rather than a Pinzgauer.

	In the morning fresh after a good nights curry, beer, poker and some sleep, we made swift work of moving more boulders. I started to appreciate the fact that we had hooked up with two landscape gardeners who enjoyed a little bit of graft, it was just when they started arranging the boulders into a rockery I felt was a little over the top. A few kilometers further and there was signs of a bulldozer and recent attempts to rebuild the road, we had false hope before though and so muted the excitement, but as the valley widened and pace increased we could sense that the end was nigh, one last muddy section and we finally reached the village of Msemrir


			As we drove in we could almost sense the peoples reactions, ‘Wow they must have come over the pass, what complete idiots’, but we were ecstatic. Much to our delight several of the locals were impressed and explained that no vehicles had successfully crossed the pass since the big floods the previous year, we were the first ones. Subsequently we found out of at least four attempts that had turned back. All four of us were novices to real off-road driving before this, but really learnt a lot about our selves, our trucks, and each other over those four days.