At some point during what turned out to be a 4-hour drive, I suddenly thought, "I'm driving hours to see sand?" I was, and I did, and it was awesome! Great Sand Dunes is, I believe, our newest National Park, a bizarre anomaly where all the sand that the wind picks up on its trip across the San Juan valley gets stuck against the Sangre de Cristo mountains, creating a landscape more appropriate to Egypt, or at least the American coast.
My advice to those who climb the dunes: wear socks. The sand is excruciatingly hot, and when I wasn't emptying my shoes, I was trying to remember what I knew about hot coal walking. In fact, the entire trip to High Dune was excruciating. For everyone who did it. I have never seen such collective misery outside of an airport. It's like walking home in St. John's, combined with the nightmare where you're trying to run and your feet are stuck. It takes 3 steps to go the distance of one, your shoes are forever filling up so there's no room for your feet, and taking a break is like trying to rest while climbing...if the rocks were hot lava. Upon reaching the summit, you've earned the treat of being sandblasted in the speeding winds. And a damn fine view. There are snowy peaks to the north and east that aren't visible from the ground, and the same is true of the rest of the dune field. A lot of people were surprised that there was more than one row of dunes. And again, walking about among the landscape is the only way to really feel you've been there.
I had a much more subtle visit the previous night. One of my guidebooks recommended a walk on the dunes under a full moon, and I was extremely lucky that full moon happened to fall right on the break between Waldorf groups. So I got a campsite with a view, hiked to the overlook for sunset, then sat and read maps (in my car--I'm hard pressed to remember a more intense mosquito experience) until moonrise. A buck foraged within 3 feet of my car, oblivious to my presence. Finally, it was time, and I set out right behind the family from "across the street" for a moonlight walk. I wore my headlamp, but only used it to cross the creek. The moon made the dunes glow slightly, and following my shadow across their dark forms was surreal. I strode purposefully across the wet sand by the creek, naively thinking I'd climb the entire eminence in front of me, but my first step upward revised my plans. This dune was really soft, and cascaded around every footfall. At the first ridge, I decided to park and enjoy. I could hear other people reveling in the distance, but I sat with Lumphy, admiring the patterns and textures all around me. Yet another top travel moment, and another where if I'd had someone to sit and chat with, I might still be there. Coming down was even cooler--the sand made neat "zzzoooooop" noises under my boots as I slid down.
This would be such a great place to bring kids! The creek is like Colorado's beach, with families of all descriptions settled on the sides while the kids waded and dug and experimented with sand structures. There were groups of kids sliding down the dunes en masse, and several adolescent boys at the top with boxes and boards to "surf" on. And the sand itself is fascinating and endlessly explorable. There are toys and museum exhibits where you can play with the effects of wind and water, but this is real! An awe-inspiring natural laboratory, and all the kids I saw were enjoying it to the hilt. I heard one mom ask her boys how much longer they would be with their "engineering project", and the son answered, "How about forever?" A must on any itinerary.
And millions of tiny, free souvenirs to boot!
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