The Blaze all-rounder explores learning what ‘Altitude’ means the hard way.
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October, for many professional cricketers and staff, is a popular month. Following the conclusion of the competitive summer, most are given time off in the name of ‘off-season.’ Many take advantage, opting for autumnal sun on the Aegean coastline or Limoncello Spritz on the backstreets of Italy. Others inexplicably found themselves unable to sleep before their 2:30 am alarm to ascend a random mountain in North Africa.
For context, I equally took the time to holiday with friends and family. But towards the end of the month, I found myself returning to Birmingham airport on a different endeavour – climbing Morocco’s Mount Toukbal – the highest peak in North Africa – raising funds for the Cricketers’ Trust.
The Cricketers’ Trust is an important charity to me; relevant to myself and many of those around me. The trust provides support to current and former professional cricketers and their families, helping them through illness and personal crisis. With the natural uncertainty that surrounds life in professional sport – the average cricket career ends at the age of 26 – the Cricketers’ trust provides a lifeline to help players rebuild. Supporting this charity became a strong motivation for me to complete the trek, knowing it could (and inevitably will) support teammates, friends, and maybe even family.
I fell into the trip casually after seeing it posted on Instagram in December 2024, appealing to anyone in the cricket community. Seeing Marrakech as the destination caught my interest. Absentmindedly, I sent it to my teammate and good friend Ella Claridge, who was equally interested in the prospect of a North African adventure. We did next to no research and quickly paid a deposit to secure our place. We decided that since it was nearly 9 months away, we needn’t worry too much about preparation, there was plenty of time in the future to prepare and raise the essential funds needed for the charity. The trip set out to raise £30,000, a target which was surpassed by the twenty of us that embarked on the hike.
In the midst of a busy summer of fixtures, there was no preparation done. The little research Ella and I did highlighted the Toukbal Trek as a ‘beginners’ hike, and I, 23, overconfident, and relatively decent at the 2K time trial, quickly concluded that I could compete with beginner (quietly even intermediate) hikers. However, when we began to inform teammates and staff at Trent Bridge about our unique off-season plans, apprehension on their faces foreshadowed a future Ella and I chose to ignore. Not until about 4 months after signing up did someone ask how I would cope with the impacts of altitude. What impact this was, I was unsure of – to me, altitude was nothing but a synonym for height. Blissfully unaware, I bought some trail running trainers I deemed appropriate footwear, and even did a practice walk in the Peak District. The walk was scenic, enjoyable, and, dare I say, straightforward. Ella and I quickly concluded that the Toukbal Summit (4167 metres altitude) would be easily attainable following the completion of Thorpe Cloud (287 metres altitude.)
So the time had come, and admittedly, I wasn’t in the best condition for it following a seven-day all-inclusive in Kos. Nonetheless, I leaned into my optimistic side and boarded our Jet2 flight excited to visit a new part of the world. The flight was smooth, and we arrived in the late evening at a comfortable hotel in the heart of Marrakesh. The group convened for the first time, a random mix of a few cricketers and ex-pros, staff from the Professional Cricketers Trust, and a miscellaneous few keen to support the charity. We exchanged pleasantries and enjoyed a Moroccan buffet over a glass of wine or a soft drink, slightly apprehensive and the majority inexperienced in hiking. We were told our hike wouldn’t begin until 10:30 am the next day, meaning an agreeable 8 am leave from the hotel was on the cards. So far, everything about the trip had confirmed my previous inclinations of a casual and enjoyable North African adventure.
In hindsight, I look back on the first day of the hike with fondness. My memory is, of course, flawed; my opinion of the first day softened by the true horror of the second. We did the trek across two days, although many choose to do it over three or four. Despite it being out of season, the first day was hot, averaging around 26 degrees. We were greeted by areas of volcanic rock weathered into alpine crests, cut by narrow valleys. There was a serious lack of pavement. I had not anticipated the rocky and loose terrain – often on the edge of a sheer drop – which required precise footing and heightened concentration. There were a fair few falls within the group; fortunately, none were too problematic. The first day was around 13 Kilometres, taking around 7 hours with a couple of stops, our day ending at Refuge du Toukbal at 3207 metres altitude.
The first day allowed plenty of time for chatting and bonding amongst the group, which remains a real highlight of my experience. There was a real blend of personalities, and most of us had never met before, although we all had the shared common ground of cricket and would be spending most of the next 48 hours together. Without the distraction of a mobile phone (which lost signal immediately upon reaching our start point in Imlil), I found the conversations I had were meaningful, and the lack of connection to the outside world freeing.
I barely used my phone throughout the entirety of my time in Morocco, although unfortunately, Sky Mobile saw it differently. I can’t have sent many more than a dozen messages using data, yet I was greeted by an additional £180 roaming bill upon my return to England. A roaming e-SIM was yet another thing omitted in my preparatory phase.
An acceptable first day of hiking had been completed, and we willingly reached the Refuge in the early evening. The refuge had always been a concern for me as someone who struggles with sharing rooms. The reality of it – a 25-person room with no ventilation and a barely functioning bathroom area – was therefore alarming. Uncharacteristically, I remained fairly positive, especially after being served a decent meal. A strong sense of satisfaction among the group – all of us squeezed onto a singular table – overrode the unease regarding the second day which awaited us. There was a brief time of contentment until we were informed of an early start; a 2:30 am alarm was set in order to reach the summit for sunrise (7:30 am). It was then I realised why a head torch was marked as an essential item on the packing list.
The 2:30 am alarm was, in the end, unnecessary. Nobody managed more than a couple of hours of broken sleep, many not sleeping at all. Negativity was therefore unavoidable as we gathered in the freezing cold at 3 am ready to begin the toughest part of the hike. Rumours that the final ascent was 3 kilometres in distance floated around. A couple of others and I, again leaning into optimism, suggested that probably means one and a half kilometres up, and one and a half down.
So we began in mentally and literally a dark place. The terrain even took a turn for the worse, we were now required to use our hands as we climbed through rock. I was pretty fearful of falling, and this abrupt and unexpected start did cause a fair bit of stress. Our guide quickly realised I may need a bit of assistance and half-dragged me up the first part (much appreciated.) The second day had begun badly, none of us had quite expected walking on this sort of terrain, in freezing temperatures, at this time of night.
Still, we trudged on, for we did not have much of a choice! Once I had adjusted to the terrain and the darkness, I surprisingly had an hour or so of genuine enjoyment. This was an entirely new experience for me, my confidence had grown, and I began climbing with more ease, chatting with some new friends I had made in the group. We stopped for a short break, where many of them were struggling, some were physically sick. I let everyone know that I was feeling pretty good after my near meltdown earlier; once again, my overconfidence had prevailed over my ability.
By the time we had reached our next break, altitude sickness had hit me, and once again I was crying. This was probably less than 30 minutes after our last break, in this short time I had been at both extremes of the spectrum of emotions. Another cause for my emotional volatility was my Strava, which revealed we had already done over 4 kilometres of walking, and we weren’t even close to the summit. Our supposed three or 6 kilometre morning was now revealed to be at least eight: demoralising.
The last hour towards reaching the summit was the hardest physical challenge of my life. Sleep-deprived and altitude sick, still angry at the lack of a path, I struggled to find motivation to reach the top. A small joy had found me though. Ella was walking slightly in front of me, seriously struggling. She was practically horizontal from the waist up as she battled up with her walking poles. It brought me peace to know that although I was suffering, so was she and I think she was probably worse off. It might sound harsh, but we are pretty good friends, and it was nice to have some entertainment in those dark moments.
Eventually, we make it to 13741 feet after a slight race against the clock to get there for sunrise. I wish I could say it was worth it, but I was too tired and cold to even appreciate it. My hands were so cold that I did not even take my phone out of my bag to take a picture – telling words about the state I was in. Of course, it was satisfying to reach the top (and to do so with a lovely group of people with whom I felt I had really bonded with), but I think I would have been equally satisfied reaching it after 6 hours’ sleep. It was a really nice feeling to have supported a charity which means a lot to me and those around me, this sense of satisfaction was far greater than that of the sunrise.
Once we reached the summit, all that was left was to walk the entirety of what we had done so far again. At least this time we were on the right side of inclination. Whilst this brought its own problems, such as sore knees for many and lots of falls, it was encouraging to know that the hardest part was over, and we were now walking closer to the finish line. Once again, I required my hand held (literally) to make it down the steeper parts, but this time I found the prospect of falling more amusing than life-threatening.
The hiking on day 2 amounted to 24 kilometres, nearly 9 hours of outright walking, and around 14 hours in total. Our day of walking that began at 3:30 am ended at 5:30 pm. The prospect of a big Thursday night on the town in Marrakesh – which was a true talking point and motivator for many – was unfortunately not to be. The group had certainly underestimated the physical toll and fatigue the trek would cause.
So, did I enjoy this trip? In retrospect, yes. It was an entirely new experience for me, with a great group of people. It was also a different sort of physical challenge to bowling a long spell in the powerplay and completing winter fitness testing. It showed me the capabilities of my body at its peak of fatigue with no sleep. However, unfortunately, I have not found a new hobby and will unlikely be taking on any more mountains in the near future. I am extremely grateful for the opportunity provided through the PCA and proud to have supported such an important charity. At the time of writing, the group has raised an impressive £32,721 – all of which will be used to support people in times of need.
