What a relief today felt after the tougher climbs of the last few days. Don’t get me wrong, it was still a solid day of trekking — eight hours, 21km, and plenty of ascent and descent — but compared to what has gone before, there was space to breathe, to look around, and even to just plod steadily in my own rhythm while the rest of the group disappeared from view ahead of me. Several times I found myself looking up to see an empty canvass with no idea where the track was just occasionally glimpsing the hats of fellow walkers over a brow of the hill.
We started the morning with a short but sharp 30-minute climb to the Tizi-n-Ourai Pass. Standing at the top, I caught my breath not just from the effort but from the view — the lush green valley of the Assif Tizgui stretched below, and for the first time, the unmistakable outline of Mount Toubkal came into sight. Morocco’s highest peak stood there, distant but commanding, reminding us all what this journey is ultimately leading toward.
From there, the trail turned kinder. A long, gradual descent carried us past quiet villages and hidden hamlets, each with their own timeless character. The mud-brick houses, baked by the sun and strengthened with straw, seemed almost to grow from the earth itself. It was humbling to think that outsiders once dismissed the Berbers as “barbarians,” when in truth the people here are among the warmest and most generous you could meet. Their smiles and hospitality gave us energy that no energy bar or water stop ever could.
Lunch came at the valley floor, just when our stomachs started to ask for it. The afternoon carried us into a lush valley dotted with Berber villages such as Amsouzart and Agaz Ran. Life here felt rooted, unhurried, connected to the land in a way that modern life rarely allows.
The final stretch tested tired legs again, zig-zagging steadily along the north side of Lake Ifni. As the sun lowered, we arrived at its western shore, our campsite for the night. The lake — the largest in the central High Atlas — reflected the fading light like a mirror, a serene end to a day that had felt, at last, more manageable.
Yes, I was slow. Yes, the group often disappeared ahead. But sometimes plodding is enough. And today, plodding let me see more, feel more, and really take in the landscapes that make this journey so unforgettable.
Tonight, as we camp by the water, I feel both relief and quiet anticipation — knowing that harder days are coming, but grateful for this pause of sorts, this chance to simply be in the mountains.
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