Rescuing a Baby Camel from a Desert Well During Our 4×4 Journey in Morocco

We left Merzouga early, heading toward Rissani. At some point along the way, we left the pavement and took a dirt track on the left. We were so excited—this was one of the 4×4 tracks we had been most looking forward to. The track was incredible and beautifully remote, cutting through a stunning mix of desert plains, rolling dunes, and rugged rocky mountains.

It’s a long track that runs from near Rissani all the way to the small village of Ramlia, and for most of it we didn’t see another soul. We were completely alone until reaching the Lost City of Bah Haoudou, where a small group of French motorcyclists stopped briefly before continuing on their way. Once they disappeared into the distance, the silence returned and we were on our own again, not encountering anyone else—apart from a lone camel herder you’ll meet later in this story—until we got closer to Ramlia.

Our goal for the day was to reach the Lost City of Bah Haoudou and wild camp somewhere nearby. The lost city sits on a hill and is surprisingly well preserved for its age. We walked through it, explored quietly and took a few photos.

Then we drove down toward the sand to find a place to wild camp. We took our time choosing a spot—somewhere with firm enough sand to get out easily the next morning, and some small trees nearby for a bit of protection. We finally settled in a spot overlooking the Lost City, and it was just perfect—quiet, remote, and beautiful. Once settled, we thought the rest of the day would be simple: cook dinner and take in the quiet desert around us.

While I was getting dinner ready, I started hearing loud noises in the distance. They were far off at first, then closer, I went to check it out—and that’s when I saw them. A large herd of camels was moving through the area, maybe forty of them, many with babies. We had never seen baby camels before. Watching them move together, mothers constantly checking on their calves, was something special.

I looked to my right and noticed the herder. He waved and I walked over, he spoke only Arabic and Berber—no French—so we communicated with gestures and smiles. Google Translate didn’t help; Berber only works in written form, and many Berbers don’t read. We introduced ourselves and shook hands, Brett offered him a Coca-Cola, which he accepted happily. Drinking a cold soda out there, in the middle of the desert, felt like a rare pleasure.

The herder was incredibly kind, he let us walk along with him, watching the interactions between the mothers and their babies. Before we parted ways, he asked if we were staying the night. When I told him we were, he asked if we were having dinner, I said yes and invited him to join us. He smiled and explained that after taking the camels to drink, he would return.

Dinner was ready, but as the evening wore on, he still hadn’t returned. Brett suggested we take the food to him and eat wherever he was. We carefully balanced the hot pot between my legs and set off across the sand. Soon, we spotted him standing alone near a well.

As soon as Brett parked and walked around the Jeep, the herder urgently waved him over. Brett leaned into the well and immediately shouted to me, “The baby fell in the well!

Everything became urgent. We were suddenly focused on one thing: getting the baby camel out as fast and as safely as possible.

The well was about thirty feet deep. Our first fear was that the camel was badly injured or dead. When I looked down, I saw the well was dry and the bottom was covered in sand. That was a relief—it had likely softened the fall. The baby camel was lying down and making sounds, he was alive!

Brett drove the Jeep around, taking a minute or so to get unstuck from where we had parked. He positioned it directly in front of the well and immediately got to work. I could see it on his face—he was scrambling to figure out the safest way to get the baby out. There was no time to overthink it, we had to act fast.

Brett pulled out the straps and quickly decided on a plan. We would winch the herder down so he could secure the camel. Brett tied the herder’s rope—the one he uses with his camels—to the front bumper. The herder wrapped the winch line around his waist, leaned back a few times to test it, then took off his shoes and set them carefully aside. He asked Brett to give him more line, then slowly began lowering himself into the well, first using his hands and feet against the walls to control his descent, then graving onto both lines.

At one point Brett shouted, “Karla, I need something to cut!” I ran to the back of the Jeep to grab a knife, thinking he might need it in case of an emergency. Instead, he needed me to cut the small zip ties bundling the winch remote cable together. The cable needed to be loose so Brett could reach the edge of the well, look straight down, and properly control how much line he was letting out and how fast.

The herder reached the bottom, Brett tossed him the large winch strap. The herder unhooked the line from around his waist, helped the baby camel stand, and carefully strapped him. When I saw the camel standing without crying in pain, I felt a wave of relief—no obvious broken legs. The herder gave us the signal to pull.

This was the most stressful part, Brett put me in charge of the remote after a very quick explanation. As I started winching, Brett told me to go faster, then the line hit the concrete edge of the well. The angle of the line, combined with the weight of the camel, made it impossible to keep retracting. The line was nearly at a ninety-degree angle against the concrete lip.

We had to lower the camel slightly to create space and try again. Brett climbed onto the well and started pulling the line by hand! The camel was heavy and tall, and we had to lift him well past the top of the well. I joined Brett, pulling alongside him. When we finally cleared the edge, we felt an overwhelming sense of relief and happiness—the camel was finally out of the well and appeared to be unharmed! Brett carefully lowered the camel onto the sand before removing the strap.

I immediately called down to the herder to let him know the baby was out and alive—he was still inside the well and couldn’t see what was happening. The baby camel stood up, I tried to keep him calm, talking softly and staying close, but Brett told me to let him go. The camel needed to move, he ran off into the sand, which felt like a good sign.

Only then did my worry shift fully to Brett. He had undergone hernia surgery before, and watching him pull that kind of weight at such an awkward angle scared me. Brett, meanwhile, was focused entirely on getting the herder out safely.

We sent the winch line back down. The herder secured himself again and we began winching slowly. The concrete edge of the well was crumbling under the pressure, which actually helped prevent the line from being damaged too badly. Near the top, the herder was able to climb the last section using his hands and feet. I instinctively reached out to help, but Brett and the herder both shouted no—I would have been pulled in headfirst.

Before climbing out, the herder paused, scanning the distance, searching for the baby camel. Then he emerged. He hugged Brett tightly and thanked him repeatedly. He shook my hand with a huge smile. The relief was overwhelming.

The Berber began putting the gear away, but we told him to go get his camel. He moved carefully, approaching from the side so the baby wouldn’t panic or wander further. When he reached the calf, he gently brought it back. The baby began calling out—high, urgent sounds—and the herder explained that it was calling for its mother. Moments later, we saw her in the distance, running toward him, answering the calls. They met in the middle, and after a brief greeting, the baby immediately began nursing. It was an incredibly beautiful moment, we couldn’t stop smiling, sharing in the relief and joy of seeing the little camel safe with its mother.

It was finally time to eat. By then, the food had cooled, but none of us cared. We sat on the sand next to the well, sharing our dinner and quietly reflecting on everything that had just happened. In the background, the baby camel nursed from its mother, a calm, joyful moment that made the whole day feel complete. The herder asked if I had cooked the food, and I smiled, replying, “Yes—me.” He returned the smile and told us his name, and for the second time that day, we introduced ourselves.

Afterward, Brett and the herder put back the broken cover of the well—the piece that once supported the pole used to pull water up. It had been lying nearby, and that broken section was the reason the baby had fallen in.

When we were done, the herder gathered his things and thanked us once more. We shook hands, shared a few smiles, and even took a quick selfie together. Then he turned and walked back into the desert with his herd, leaving us with a deep sense of relief and gratitude for everything that had
just happened.

We drove back to our camp, still buzzing from the adrenaline. We never imagined we’d use our winch for something like this. The day had been beautiful, already perfect in ways we could never have planned. It’s the kind of day that stays with you—unforgettable, and a reminder of exactly why we love to travel!