Bombing Down the Dunes Experiencing out-of-control speed in the Moroccan desert

By HANNAH KARP

Erg Chigaga Luxury Camp

To an obsessive skier accustomed to braving icy cliffs, reckless crowds and subzero temperatures, sandboarding in the sunny, silent Sahara had sounded like a cakewalk.

But barreling down the side of a dune for the first time, I realized that Moroccan sand, as soft and warm as it may be, doesn’t lend itself to slalom turns, hockey stops or, well, any form of slowing down.

Hannah Karp/The Wall Street JournalSome visitors to Erg Chigaga spend their entire stays sandboarding in the dunes.

Sandboarding involves hiking up steep mountains of sand and zooming down strapped to a board at speeds of up to 50 miles per hour. It’s become trendy in recent years, with daredevils flocking to parks around the world, from Florence, Ore., to Monte Kaolino, Germany. When my husband and I heard that Erg Chigaga Luxury Camp, which opened last year near the highest dunes in Morocco, was offering sandboarding in addition to the usual desert activities like stargazing, camel-riding and board games, we immediately decided to take a side trip from our week-long vacation touring Fez and Marrakech.

“Sandboarding is not really a full-day activity,” camp owner Nick Garsten politely warned us by email. I disregarded his advice, confident we were in better shape than average tourists, who probably preferred to loll about the tents smoking hookahs. It wasn’t as though we were planning to cycle through the desert, which the camp’s website notes can be “a hopelessly tiring experience.”

Truth be told, we were on the verge of collapse before we even started. The camp was a nine-hour drive from Marrakech. For the first four hours our driver careened down dark, twisty roads through the Atlas Mountains. The last two, we off-roaded over parched, bumpy earth along the Algerian border, the sun heating our 4×4 like a greenhouse as we kept the windows rolled tight to shut out the cumin-colored sand. In a deserted village that locals refer to as “the end of the world” because after it all paved roads disappear into the sand, my husband and I shared a tagine in an empty hotel, fantasizing about paying $7,000 for a helicopter to avoid the car ride back.

But when we reached Erg Chigaga, an elegant cluster of white tents and red rugs laid over sand, we remembered why we had come. Leaning against our tent and looking decidedly out of place was an item that promised hours of adrenaline thrills—an old snowboard with simple leather straps where the bindings should be. We were in Africa’s largest, starkest, most forbidding desert to shred.

Most visitors come to chill out—an easy feat. Our abode was nestled in an endless-seeming field of dunes up to 900 feet tall, and we felt like the only humans for miles. The sand mutes all noise and the only signs of wildlife are tiny bird-claw prints, which look like Arabic lettering and disappear as the dunes shift.

Our tent, carpeted from wall to wall and strewn with rose petals, contained a king-sized bed topped with a sequined blanket. The bathroom was stocked with fluffy towels, argan oil and a stool for seated sponge baths. Across the camp’s central fire pit were several more tents. One sheltered chaise longues, another a couch and armchairs. A third was filled with pillows, books, games, soft drinks and a bar, along with bowls of peanuts, dried apricots and addictive oil-cured olives.

The first day on the slopes began auspiciously. Early in the morning, we walked out of the camp barefoot and boardless to scout out the terrain, inspecting dunes for steepness and height while noting hidden rocky patches and camel droppings. The cool, fine grains felt so good on our feet that we hardly noticed the effort it took to mount each peak.

When we returned after a leisurely lunch of lamb kabobs and Moroccan rosé wine, the dunes felt more treacherous. The sand was scorching hot. The wind swept our hair into our sweaty faces and sand into our eyes, and the heat—or the wine—seemed to add 20 pounds to each leg.

Some say sandboarding feels akin to skiing or boarding through deep, powdery snow, but this felt more like sliding down a sheet of ice…in an oven. Turning proved futile. Luckily, falling doesn’t hurt much—and no one is gawking from the chairlift.

Bobo, a Berber camp manager who had grown up nearby, tugged at his indigo turban and suggested we try the method he had used on scraps of plastic as a child: sitting down as if on a sled and clutching the foot straps with both hands.

Though decidedly less impressive looking, this allowed for a modicum of control via a dragging of the feet. I happily went native while my husband continued upright. He panted that the sport was similar to snowboarding, but more work and less fun. At least there were no lift lines.

We kept at it until the sun set, returning to camp for a Moroccan feast under a full moon, exhausted and disabused of the notion that one needs to do more than sip tea in a tent to appreciate the Sahara’s charms.

Erg Chigaga Luxury CampErg Chigaga Luxury Camp

The Lowdown: Erg ChiGaga, Morocco

Getting There: Erg Chigaga is a nine-hour drive from Marrakech or five hours from Ouarzazate, which has sporadic commercial flights from Casablanca. A helicopter costs €5,200, or about $6,800.

Staying There: Erg Chigaga Luxury Camp has five sleeping tents in the desert and is all-inclusive (€225 per person per night, two-night minimum,desertcampmorocco.com). Dar Azawad hotel also offers luxury camping in the Chigaga dunes (from 550 to 3,500 dirham, or about $64 to $400, per night, camel transfer not included,darazawad.com).

What to Do: Motorbiking, cycling, hiking and camel riding are popular activities if you tire of sandboarding; some camps offer desert cooking lessons and oasis visits.

Write to Hannah Karp at hannah.karp@dowjones.com