[HIGH ATLAS MOUNTAINS, MOROCCO] — I didn’t know there’d be a donkey involved.

Actually, I didn’t really know what all would be involved. But there he was, on a foot bridge spanning a roaring river, staring at me like “Really?”. It would be hard to be a donkey, actually. Getting all the shit jobs that man doesn’t want to do, in this case, carrying my pack and our lunch for the day. And the flies. Man, the flies. A constant swarm of pesky varmints, always, poking your eyes, biting your knees, and just all-around being annoying. 24/7. I hate flies and if I was a donkey, I’d really hate flies. A constant shake of the head to shake them away. My tail in continuous motion to swat them away. My leg muscles in a constant twitch to shoo their annoying bites. Constantly. Man, I’d hate to be a donkey.

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I’d asked my hotel — the glamorous Kasbah Tamadot ( you can read my post about it here) a few clicks down the road — for something a little more strenuous than the previously-arranged two hour jaunt up a neighboring peak. Ahmed, the amazingly helpful Guest Services Manager of the hotel suggested this hike that we were about to take.

“We call it ‘hard-trekking’. More like five hours, more if you want, but you should see how you feel after five.” he said. I will arrange for my best guide, Mohamed, he’s the best guide in the Atlas Mountains. “Sign me up.”

HIKE #1 — Trekking to Distant Berber Villages

The plan was, hike up one pass, hit two to three villages, then hike up another pass that takes us down to Imlil and the gorgeous valley in the Toubkal National Park. The snow-capped Mount Toubkal looms over every direction, at 4,167 m (13,671 ft) it’s the tallest mountain in North Africa. From the top of the pass, we could decide if we wanted to keep going. There will be a lunch involved. That’s about all I knew about what was in store. I was all in, itchin’ to get some hiking in in such a remarkable place.

But I wasn’t expecting a donkey. Nor Lassoo. Nor what lied ahead. But when they took my pack, with my ten pound DLSR — which I had dubbed “my little brother” —  water and layers of clothes and packed it on Gently’s side packs, I thought “Wow, I like donkeys.” And up we went.

As soon as he took my pack, water and huge camera and strapped it to Gently, I was like “Really? That’s awesome. I like donkeys.”

Mohamed bolts out of the gate like Ussain Bolt. Straight up. These are not gentle National Park Service trails that gently move you on switchbacks up the mountain, these trails pretty much go Straight Up. I couldn’t see our destination, just the massive green wall we were climbing at incredible speed.

I tried to act cool “I’m from Colorado, I love to hike!” 🤣, but I was dying. We reached the summit and all you could see were steep mountains and deep valleys. And crazy enough, two Aussie kids in their early 20s. Here in the middle of nowhere. No guide. No map. No food, no water. Just t-shirts and shorts. They were trying catch a signal. “How’d you guys get here?” “Just walked up.” How long are you hiking for?” “All day.” 🙃

We quickly caught our breath then descended down the next valley. Picturesque towns cling to the hillsides, the roar of the river audible from the top of the pass. It is 9am. The sun and sweet air are nourishing…at least since we are going down now.

You can see the lush valleys that thread along the valley floor, following the river and aided by ancient irrigation ditches and water diversion that’s kept this valley green amidst the soaring dry peaks surrounding them.

And then, time for a picnic lunch along the river and a chance to just chill. “My donkey” Gently resting in the shade, battling the flies, women doing their laundry in the river, slamming clothes dry on the rocks and hanging in the breeze to dry. We cross mud-packed foot bridges, no more than two boots wide, that stride all along the roaring river

We walk along to the next cliff village down-river, there are no cars anywhere, but everyone seems to have a donkey. Mohamed knowingly leading us up the dusty rain-gutted streets and then abruptly stops and bangs on a clangy metal door on one small house, the aluminum echoing with the vibration.

A sweet women in a colorful scarf creaks open the door, invites us in and disappears. Mohamed invites me to sit in the most technicolor room I’ve been in, a riot of colors and patterns. It all works. I look up and surprisingly there’s an ornate chandelier hanging in the middle of this ancient mud-walled home. “How?” was the first thing to come to mind.

The sweet woman brings us mint tea and some nuts to munch on. And soon we’re off again.

By this time, I’m lost in my thoughts between villages, contemplating about The Up. The narrow valley opens up wide to the vast arid mountains. I knew the answer to my wondering had now arrived. And it was a giant hill, with a noticeable zigzag going straight up until you can see it no more. As we ascended, the walls grew steeper. It was nothing but us and a pack of nimble goats clinging to the valley walls. They sounded like little kids crying out… or were they laughing at me?

You gotta watch this short video clip to hear how surreal this all was:

Up up up we went. Back and forth across the hateful switchbacks. The lush green villages dropping away quickly behind us. We ran across a pack of wild donkeys, Mohamed says “Sometimes they want to be free.” I felt they were laughing at my panting, along with the goats. Mohamed was hundreds of yards ahead of me the whole time, his Schwarzenegger-calves two stories above me, not even breaking a sweat in his heavy overshirt. Me, dying.

The last part of the hike was the real bitch. Nothing but straight-up switchbacks, all the way up; about three thousand feet of vertical, mind-numbing switchbacks that tortured the brain and the legs. I came from Colorado, where you start the big uphill at the beginning of the hike, not at the end of five hours! You can see the sneaky snakey trail zigzagging a million times.

The soul-crushing thing for me was at the top of the pass. After all that effort: A cafe! And a road! All this time I was expecting we’d end up somewhere remote and exotic, views worth the toil. To add insult, a van load of French tourists (in flipflops!) drove up, got out at the same mountain top that I had “worked” to achieve the views, took selfies, got back in their van and drove away like Americans. Arrrrrrgh! I didn’t hike all this way to end up on a road.

This is where, ladies and gentlemen, I learned the difference between “trekking” and what we typically call “hiking”.  Where I come from, a you hike UP to see something cool that nobody else can get to, then hike back down. With trekking, you’re just walking somewhere, from town to town, that maybe you could have just driven a car.  

So when someone asks you if you want to go trekking, clarify where, then say “Why don’t we just drive there?”  🤣

After grabbing some water, we crossed the road and hiked down to Imlil, with giant Mount Toubkal looming over our descent. Five hours was good for me.

HIKE #2 — From Imlil to Waterfalls, Then Amazing Aroumd

Okay, the next day Mohamed picked me up at the Kasbah Tamadot. I told him, “I don’t want to distance today, I want the waterfalls.” So he took me to some waterfalls, good ones. And then on up to the highest village in the valley, Aroumd, (pronounced “arr-umm-n-d”, also spelt Armed, Around, Arempt) which is also his family’s home village.

From there, we’d get the Toubkal views I was looking for. We stopped by his family’s home — ummmm… his five hundred year old family home

From there, we’d get the Mount Toubkal views I was looking for. We stopped by his family’s home — ummmm his five hundred year old family home — for tea, then had a nice tagine lunch in a small guest house up the road, overlooking Toubkal and the beautiful green valley and mosque below.

All set. Much easier on the calves. No Lassoo or Gently. Just the two of us. And Toubkal.

Starting out in the hiking center of Imlil, which feels like Katmandu does (at least pictures I’ve seen) with hikers and campers from all over the world. Kasbah Toubkal is the keystone place to stay in the valley. This is place to come if you want short day hikes or multi-day adventures to the top of Toubkal and beyond. The views from the Kasbah are stunning, although I hear it is a bit more rustic. I want to stay here next time.

Mohamed is from this valley, in the town above Imlil, Aroumd, so he knows the whole place like the back of his hands. You need a guide here. There are no signs or trail markers. Only Knowledge. And Mohamed is The Man. Everywhere we went over two days, everyone was so amazingly respectful of him — unlike most guides — almost bowing to him with respect.

We walked up the waterfall and over a steep ridge, passing goats along the way.

Lunch in Aroumd, Overlooking Mount Toubkal

We enter the small cluster of houses that is Aroumd. Mohamed knocks on the metal door of a small house on the edge of the village. A sweet woman in a headscarf answers the door, with cute kids underfoot. “This is my house.”

We walk into a low room, the ceiling was maybe 5’6″, timbers shored up with tree trunks. I had to bend over at the waist to wade through, like one of those bonking bird toys that bob into your drink. There are no glass windows, just openings and guardrails like my old treehouse, with views of Toubkal righthere. Modeled worn stone walls and colored rugs. Mohamed disappears and his wife brings out a tray of nuts and cookies.

Sweating, I crawled to a spot by the windowless window. I was blown away about the efficiency of this ancient construction. It was cool, the sweat evaporating quickly. Thick mud wall construction has been used by centuries. Cool in the summer. Warm in the winter. No need for windows.

I ask Mohamed how long his family has lived in this house. “About five hundred years.” I gulped.

“You want something to eat? Come, I show you something.” We walked up the road a bit and he banged on another clanging door. A priestly-looking man in a tunic, smiled and nodded and took us up to the roof. There, straight in front of me was Mount Toubkal in all it’s glory. A mosque bellowed midday prayers, its speakers cranked to 11, the echoes bouncing off the mountains and multiplying.

There was an umbrella and a mat and small table right at the edge. “Please, sit.” Soon they brought me a tagine and some mint tea. Mohamed introduced his smiling cousin Rachid and they left me to eat.

Imlil Cascade

We walked back down to Imlil, scooted around the bustling traffic and walked down to the main waterfall in town. Funny, Rachid had given my his white headscarf as a gift. It was hot and I wrapped it around my head to keep cool, it worked like a charm even though I looked like a dork.

I had already checked out of my hotel and they told me that a famous celebrity was going to be taking over my suite, but they couldn’t tell me who. So here I am walking down in my headscarf looking like a white dork and along comes Cara Delevingne who was the top model in the world at the time and even prettier in person as heR shoulders brush passed me on the trail coming down, in shortshorts. It took me about five steps to realize it was her. There’s a nice little restaurant at the falls, firing tagines over coals, right on the spot.

— Last Visited May 2015; Post Updated July 2024 —

More Information About Hiking in the High Atlas Mountains

I’ve sent several friends to Mohamed and Rachid and their small two-man company Atlas Trek Adventures. They took care of my friends like family, including a single female friend. They protected her like brothers, invited her into their houses, she cooked with their wives and they even invited her to a family wedding. Here is Mohamed’s website for Atlas Trek Adventure.

Here are the glowing reviews from TripAdvisor. Rachid and I have traded greetings on New Year’s every year, more than a decade on, he being the one reaching out and remembering me.

I fear for them both now after the horrible 2023 earthquake in that severely damaged many of the fragile mudbrick homes and villages in the High Atlas, especially in Imlil and Aroumd. TA shows their company is permanently closed, their website has been dark and Rachid has never responded to my emails after the earthquake. Breaks my heart. They are wonderful people. Guys, if you are out there, please let me know you’re okay.