A New Route in the Anti-Atlas Range

Every time we drove through

the Anti-Atlas, our jaws dropped to views of a seemingly unlimited supply of rock. The climbing is similar to Arapiles in Australia, but without the crowds: immeasurably larger and with a more adventurous feel. Development was f irst recorded in 1991, but began in earnest around the turn of the millennium.

For weeks we indulged in quartzite single- and multi-pitch lines: mainly f lakes, cor ners and faces that (sometimes) swal lowed wire placements. The climbing was magnif icent, in a bar ren landscape of steep, orange rock, dotted with r ural vil lages and ter races of almond trees.

The few climbers we had come across were older Brits on a tr ip with their climbing clubs. They had booked out the Kasbah – an old castle-st yle guesthouse perched picturesquely on top of a hil l at the northern edge of the Anti-Atlas. We shunned the luxur ies and opted instead to camp, scrounging for f irewood ever y night and sleeping under the stars. For years, Frazer, a Brit with limbs of unmatched gangliness, had wanted to chal lenge his abilities by approaching an imposing wall, point at an untouched line, and climb it.

As the days ticked by, we talked about a wall he had seen that wasn’t in any guidebooks, on a road towards the coast. One after noon, we drove 45 minutes from the main road to check it out. The wall came into view. It wasn’t the ta l lest, but it was big enough, maybe 300 metres high in places and more than twice as wide.

The two best lines were on the watchtower face, a sick le crack that may or may not link to an air y arête and a line of weakness leading to wide roof cracks. What’s the worst that could happen? If we got stuck, we could just rappel, leaving behind some tat, maybe some gear.