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I have stood on Jebel Toubkal four times. Same mountain, different seasons, different versions of myself. North Africa's highest peak is not exotic if you grew up within reach of the High Atlas — it is a recurring appointment.
September 2012
First time up. I was young enough that the difficulty felt like a story I would tell later, not something that might stop me. Waterfalls on the approach, rock underfoot, the slow realisation that the summit is mostly patience.
October 2014
Two years later the ridges still held snow in the shaded couloirs while the trail stayed dry. Clear sky, thin air, other hikers ahead and behind. I knew the rhythm better by then: early start, steady pace, less drama than the first climb and more attention to the ground.
April 2015
A longer stretch in the mountains — early April into the following days. Snow still clung to the high slopes. Sitting on the rocks at the top with a pack, poles, and a bottle of Aïn Saïss half-frozen felt less like a conquest and more like returning somewhere I already understood.
November 2016
Winter conditions. Deep snow on the ascent, cold shadow in the valley, sun only on the upper ridges. Harder gear, slower steps, the same summit waiting at the end. Four climbs in, Toubkal had stopped being a checkbox. It was a place I kept choosing.
I will go back. Mountains like this do not stay finished.