From Powder to Sand: Chasing Snow and adventure in Morocco

Skiing in Africa isn’t something you expect to do in the spring. Nor is trading your ski boots for camel saddles and riding into the Sahara, only to click back into your skis and carve lines down golden dunes. But Morocco has a way of challenging expectations. This isn’t your average ski trip—it’s a journey that stitches together history, culture, and adventure in a way only an expedition can.

Our trip began in Marrakech, a city that instantly overwhelms the senses. The smell of spices in the souks, the haunting call to prayer echoing through the alleyways, and the organized chaos of Jemaa el-Fnaa square all hint at a long, layered past. Marrakech has been a cultural crossroads for centuries, and it still feels like a place where anything can happen. But we weren’t there to linger—we had skis to haul into the Atlas Mountains.

The first stop on our route was Oukaimeden, once a functioning ski resort and one of only three on the entire African continent. In the 1960s and '70s, it was a popular winter getaway for Casablanca’s elite, but climate change and lack of investment have left it mostly abandoned. Now, the rusting ski lifts sit motionless above slopes dotted with sheep, and stone homes are tucked into the hills like time capsules. We managed to find some snow to ski, but it felt like we were chasing ghosts.

From there, we hiked over the mountains to the village of Imlil. This quiet outpost in the High Atlas is the starting point for treks to Mount Toubkal, the tallest peak in North Africa at 13,671 feet.

The town itself is a patchwork of guesthouses and cafes, with Berber families welcoming climbers and skiers alike. The only way to move gear in these steep, narrow valleys is by mule—graceful animals that have been the backbone of mountain travel here for centuries. While we carried our daypacks, the mules hauled our skis, boots, food, and layers up to the refuge.

It took hours of hiking and nearly 5,000 feet of elevation gain to reach Refuge des Mouflons. Perched at the base of towering peaks, the refuge became our home for the next few days. The dining room was always warm with the smell of mint tea, and every night brought a new version of tagine—slow-cooked vegetables and meat simmered in a clay pot. After a few days, we joked that it was the national fuel of Moroccan expeditions.

From the refuge, we ski toured into the surrounding terrain, tracing ridgelines and couloirs through the high alpine. We attempted to summit Toubkal, but a sudden blizzard forced us to turn back. What we lost in views, we gained in snow—nearly a foot of fresh powder blanketed the terrain, and we spent the next two days skiing untouched lines under clearing skies.

But this wasn’t the end of our trip. We traded snow for sand and descended out of the mountains toward the Dades Valley, a place of dramatic canyons and crumbling kasbahs. After a stop in the Dades Gorge, we continued southeast until we hit the edge of the Sahara.

In Merzouga, we loaded our gear onto camels and rode into the dunes at sunset, arriving at a luxury desert camp under a sky we hoped would reveal a million stars. Instead, it rained. The kind of ironic, poetic moment you only get on trips like this. Expeditions don’t follow scripts—they teach you to embrace whatever comes.

The next morning, skis in hand, we hiked to the top of a dune and pointed our tips downhill. It wasn’t powder, but it was every bit as memorable. The sand moved differently beneath our skis—gritty, unpredictable, wild. Like the trip itself.

On our way back to Marrakech, we stopped in Aït Benhaddou, a fortified ksar built of red mudbrick and earth. It’s been standing for centuries and has served as the backdrop for films like Gladiator and Game of Thrones. But standing there in the golden light, still sandy from skiing the Sahara, it was clear that no screen could capture what it’s like to experience Morocco firsthand.

This wasn’t just a ski trip. It was a journey through a country where mountains and deserts collide, where history lives alongside adventure, and where nothing—especially the weather—goes according to plan. And that’s exactly why it was perfect.