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| The first leg of the trail skirts several rice paddies. |
From the valley floor, Angavo Mountain appears crowned with some colossal structure. Its formidable walls and pointed roof hint at some mysterious, swashbuckling episode of Madagascar’s history. Is it a fortress, built by some conqueror? A tomb, housing the bones of a much-loved monarch? A temple, to a deity lost to time?
It is none of these. Angavo Mountain bears nothing more than rock spurs and boulder formations. And from almost any point below, these stones line up with each other to give the illusion of a man-made citadel. In fact, the upper slopes bear almost no trace of humans’ presence.
Instead, the mountain possesses an untouched beauty usually only found in Madagascar’s national parks. During the climb up the north face, one passes in short order through a series of environments that reflect the diversity of climes throughout the island.
The trail begins in Ebobaky, a farming village of about 400 residents. As in many small villages in Madagascar, Ebobaky’s people are very poor. There are only four or five brick houses; all the other dwellings are one-room huts of flimsy wood, or even banana leaves sewn to a wooden frame. The average wage for a farmer is about 1000 Ariary (50¢ US) a day.
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| Zebu graze on the lower slopes. |
The surrounding foothills are given heavily to agriculture. Cassava fields stretch nearly to the horizon, while rice paddies lie in the depressions. In unplanted areas, bare-chested herdsmen watch over small herds of zebu, hardy crescent-horned cows.
A little further up, patches of ground lie bare and red, baking under the sun. The hard earth is knobbly. These dry spots provide glimpses of the rocky desert region to the west, where vegetation is sparse and water is precious.
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| A few gnarled trees have found purchase in the tough ground here. |
Yet on the north slope there is water aplenty. Spring-fed trickles lace the mountain’s face, crossing and joining to form larger streams. These rills have carved chutes for themselves in the hardpan, each about six inches deep. With grass growing thickly around each and hiding them from view, it sometimes sounds as if one is standing atop a huge gurgling pipe system.
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| These monoliths stand several times the height of a person. |
A scattering of boulders comes into view, along with the mountain’s more impressive monoliths. The east face of Angavo’s upper tower soars forbiddingly upward like a Southern-Hemisphere Half Dome. At the same time, a sharp metallic drone arises from the cicadas in the forest nestled just below it.
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| Ascending the tower from this angle would be risky without rock-climbing equipment. |
At the top of the ridge, there are no trees, only a tranquil expanse of grass. Dark boulders sit here and there like whales’ backs breaking the surface of the ocean. This area is much like the high-altitude grasslands just above the town of Ihosy, two days’ travel to the north.
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| The ocean here is plentiful in fish, shrimp, and many kinds of shellfish. |
Looking south, a patchwork of rice fields dissolves into sand dunes, which then meet the azure expanse of the Indian Ocean. The fishing villages along this section of coast are also very poor. Fortunately, because of their seafood-rich diet, the villagers are healthier than many other Malagasy citizens.
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| Roots and vines twist over the forest floor. |
The forest on Angavo’s southern slope is dense with undergrowth, yet almost park-like with its soaring canopy. Alien-looking spiders build webs between the trees, while insects scurry through the leaf litter below. Brown sifaka lemurs search for fruit in the treetops. The trails are faint here; humans rarely venture into these woods simply because they’re so remote.
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| A red spider perches in the center of its web. |
Indeed, the mountain’s isolation and ruggedness are the only protection it has from the encroaches of humanity. Amid a scattering of destitute villages hungry for resources, Angavo exists as an unmarred wild place. Certainly ecotourism could bring revenue to the villages while heightening their respect for the natural world. But until the infrastructure for such tourism is in place, it may be up to intrepid travelers and their guides to experience the mountain for themselves.
