Tafilet

by Walter Harris

AT THE BASE OF THE ATLAS MOUNTAINS.

The only traveller who had preceded me at Tiurassín was De Foucauld, the French explorer, but from this point our ways separated—he having continued his journey south along the river’s course, while I turned off to the east, en route for Askura and Dads. He followed the river as far as its junction with the Idermi, which, joining the larger stream of the Dads at Kheneg el Tauria, form together the Wad Draa.

A few of the inhabitants of Tiurassín belong to the tribe of Unila, which geographically occupies the slopes of the mountain of the same name; but the larger proportion is formed of members of the powerful tribe of Imerghan, which is found split up into many divisions scattered all over this portion of trans-Atlas Morocco. The constant state of warfare existing amongst the Berber people has no doubt caused this disintegration of the larger tribes, by the changing, acquisition, and losing of territory. The people of Dads were the sole exception, and their position, offensive and defensive, has prevented their being so divided, a fact that adds not a little to their strength and importance.

We spent the night of November 5 at the large ksar of Aït Yahia u Ali, pitching our one little tent in a walled-in yard, which answers the purpose of a caravanserai for passers-by. A great number of natives crowded about, offering to sell us barley for our animals, and chickens and eggs for ourselves; and though the last we found to be unprocurable, in spite of all their protestations to the contrary, our mules and donkeys fared better than usual. It was not long before one of the reasons of these visits was discovered, for the opportunity was not lost to the pilfering Berbers of stealing a fine powder-horn belonging to one of my men, and formed of the horn of a Barbary wild sheep (muflon), set in brass and silver,—a tempting bait to these mountaineers, who set great store upon such highly decorative articles of warfare. The cold was extreme, and it was as much as we could do by crowding together in the tent to keep warm. Although many natives visited us and paid their respects to the old Shereef, not one for a moment eyed me with suspicion, and Arabic seemed scarcely spoken at all amongst them. I found the elevation of our camp to be 5480 feet above the sea-level. The small caravan with which we had fallen in on the plain of Teluet camped with us, and we were not sorry to have increased our numbers, for the inhabitants of Tiurassín seem to be a hungry lot of devils on the look out for loot.

Our companions were loudly regretting the fact that they had been obliged to abandon the route viâ Warzazat, as that road is considered much the safer, the Arab tribe of Askura, whose district we were to pass, being much dreaded on account of their lawless depredations. Nor do they deserve much else but discredit, for this very little caravan was pillaged under our own eyes by the robbing Arab tribe, whose reputation is the worst of all the peoples of this portion of the country. No love is lost at any time between the Berbers and Arabs, and this curious settlement of the latter, in the very midst of the strongholds of the former, does much to keep the hatred alive.

The next morning by sunrise, and in bitter cold, we were threading our way up the dry torrent-bed that I mentioned as bisecting the little plain formed by the junction of the rivers at Tiurassín. As we proceeded the steepness of the climb increased, and it was not for some five or six miles that we found ourselves at the summit of the spur of the Atlas that our road crossed. Reaching quite suddenly a level piece of country some half a mile in extent, a magnificent view met our eyes as we turned and looked back. Stretching away before us, a panorama of a hundred miles of snow-capped peaks met our view, and glorious they were in the early sunshine, one and all glowing pink and gold. Beneath we could see far down into the shadows of the gorge that we ascended, steep clay and shale slopes crowned with pines and evergreen oaks. Certainly the Atlas range presents as fine a view from the south as from the other side, but the great plain of the Tensift was missing to add to the effect of their great altitude. In return, however, for this, there is a foreground of far wilder appearance, broken crags of limestone rock rising range above range until the snow capped the whole. The peaks, too, do not bear from this vantage-ground the same look of equal altitude that forms so prominent a feature from the north, but each rises singly and is easily recognisable could any definite system of naming be discovered. Such, however, is not the case, and often a mountain known here by one title is a few miles farther on spoken of by an entirely different one, the nomenclature being purely local. So it is with the rivers all over Morocco, with but one or two exceptions, and these only the largest, for the smaller streams often take their names from the villages they pass through or near, and I know one river in Northern Morocco, the length of which cannot be more than some twelve to fifteen miles from its source to its mouth, which boasts no less than six separate names. I could identify, however, every peak to which some more or less recognised title seems to pertain. On the extreme west, and to the south somewhat of the others, was Jibel Sirua, a snow-clad peak, which lies slightly away from the main chain, forming the base of the valley of Wad Sus, between the districts of Tifinut and Ras el Wad. It is the principal elevation of the chain that divides the basins of the rivers Sus and Draa. Then, taking them from the west, Jibal Miltsin, Tidili, Glawi, Taurirt or Adrar n’Iri, Adrar n’Deren, and lastly Unila, of all the most beautiful in form, adding almost a proof to what the account of the deep circular lake had forced one to believe, that it forms the cone of an extinct volcano. Even from here, and far more so from the north, one could not but be struck by the equality of altitude presented by the view of the range, a fact proved by the altitude of the Glawi Pass, the lowest at this part of the chain, and yet 8150 feet above the sea. Supposing, then, that the average height of the peaks reaches 12,000 feet, it will be seen that only at one spot is the altitude below 8500, and probably in few others reaches much below 9000, and where the exception is found, probably only in cases of tortuous gorges entirely hidden in a panorama such as presented itself from where we stood ourselves at an altitude of 6800 feet above the sea-level. Jibel Sirua, it is true, is connected with the main chain by a low ridge of peaks, and Unila stands more alone than any of the rest; but neither of these can reach the altitude of Miltsin and Tidili, which can be roughly estimated at some 13,000 feet.

Although but very little snow was reported to have fallen as yet this winter, all the peaks were well covered, and judging from the altitude at which we were, and the fact that the arar—calitris—and evergreen oak abounded, I should estimate the snow-line at this particular period at 10,000 feet. However, as a general rule, no true estimate can be formed as regards the snow on the Atlas, for so much depends upon the severity of the winter or the heat of the summer; and to the best of my belief, based upon statements made to me on the spot, snow altogether disappears from the Atlas in very dry seasons, with the exception of sheltered spots and crevices. Probably the least snow is found about the end of October, after a previous dry winter and a hot summer. In May and June, before it has had time to melt, I have seen a far greater expanse of snow-capped peaks than I did on my return from Tafilet in December. Generally speaking, the deepest snow is found in March and the least in October.

Descending from this elevation of 6800 feet by the bed of a now dry torrent, we continued our journey in an east by south direction, passing through one or two narrow gorges between rocks that were remarkably fine. It is no difficult matter to see that in winter and wet weather this road must be impassable, for the sole track is in the bed of the stream, and there were signs on the rocks of the water having risen to some six feet above the level of its stony course.

Here one began to notice the first clear signs of the fact that while the valleys of the northern slopes of the Atlas run almost due north and south, those of the side on which we were take an east and west direction, parallel, in fact, to the backbone of the chain; the intermediate hills forming a small range along the foot of the southern side, such as is found, only at a greater distance away, on the north. I refer to the hills of Jibeelet and Rahamna.

The system of the Atlas at this part of its chain may be said to consist of five distinct ranges, all running east and west and nearly parallel. To the extreme north are those I have just mentioned, Jibeelet and the hills of Rahamna; then the main chain of the Atlas itself; then the hills at its feet on the south, to which no distinct name seems to pertain, and which are so close to the range as to form part of itself; then again the Anti-Atlas, or, as it is more properly called, Jibel Saghru; and farther south still, the unexplored line of Jibel Bani, which leaves the Wad Draa near where it turns to the north, and not far from the zauia of the Shereefs of Tamgrut—Ulad Sid ben Nasr—and extends as far as the southern limits of the oasis of Tafilet, near the hills known as Jibel Belgrul.