Take the Chance

Resolved. When you see an opportunity, you just have to go for it. That's been my MO lately, especially within the last two years of travel. If you get the chance to go, go. Torrey and I were waiting for that chance halfway through our week-long adventure in Colorado, when we found ourselves sitting in my car at the trailhead waiting out a thunderstorm. We had arrived at Great Sand Dunes National Park and Preserve in the early afternoon, just in time to grab a two day backpacking permit, snap a few photos of the storm rolling in over the mountains, drive to the trailhead, and hurry up and wait it out. Thunderstorms are not something you mess around with on the dunes, and we weren't taking any chances; we sat in the car and waited, exactly how my sister and I had done six week earlier.

The main storm eventually passed, though the rain persisted. I knew exactly how cold and miserable we would be if we started off in the rain, set up camp in the rain, made dinner in the rain, and tried to sleep while wet. We would freeze in the 40-50 degree nighttime temperatures. Then again, I kept an eye on the clock and knew that if we started too late we would be hiking into the 30 square mile dunefield with no trails in the dark, and even with headlamps that wasn't something I wanted to do. Finding a good place to pitch a tent is hard enough during the day. Several times the rain let up or completely stopped and I mentioned going for it, hoping to get into the dunes and set up before the next round of rain, but almost before the words were out of my mouth it would start up again. We debated staying in the car for the night and hiking into the backcountry the next day instead since we had a two night permit, but neither of us really wanted to do that. The whole point of our adventure was to backpack into the wilderness and pitch a tent where ever we wanted, not to sleep in a car.

Maybe if I had been by myself I would have hiked in the rain and risked freezing overnight, but I had Torrey to think about too. It was a week of firsts for her; first time camping in the mountains, first time hiking to a glacier, first time going so long without a shower, and I didn't want her first time backpacking to be a miserable experience. My desire to have a successful backpacking trip won out, but as we sat in the car and waited for an opportunity to go I realized that having a friend to adventure with keeps me from doing stupid things. When I'm with someone I am forced to consider their safety and comfort in addition to my own, and suddenly risks that I would be willing to take on myself become something I'm not willing to impose on my companion. (Mostly because I want to remain friends with everyone I adventure with, and if I make them miserable they won't want to go with me again!) Nearly every misadventure I've had while travelling has occurred while I was alone, from getting lost, getting spooked, taking a wrong turn, driving into a blizzard, and more. Now, I might have still gotten lost and taken a wrong turn, but I wouldn't have been as spooked if I'd had a friend to talk to and make noise with, and a friend would have told me I was an idiot to think I could outrun a blizzard and talked me out of even trying. So Torrey and I sat in my car and waited for our chance.

It came, right at the last possible minute. We were dangerously close to sunset, and I knew we needed to get into the dune field asap if we wanted to find a place to pitch the tent. We went as quickly as we could with loaded packs, over the grassy field, through icy Medano Creek, and finally onto the dunes just as the sun slipped below the horizon. We hiked up, and it was just as difficult as I remembered. I had tried to warn Torrey that hiking on the dunes wasn't easy, that for every step you took forward you slipped half a step back, but that warning didn't make our hike any better. We stumbled up the dunes, heading north and east away from the lights of the campground and visitors center in the distance, seeking solitude and a flat place to camp. We found both as the light left the sky and the moon tried to peek out behind the last of the clouds. We set up camp and made dinner by the light of our headlamps, shivering slightly as night settled in around us, trying to stay close to the little flame and boiling water, and huddling over our warm dinner packet. It sprinkled a little and we dove into the tent, knowing we needed to keep dry to stay warm. The sprinkles passed, the moon came out, and the dunes were transformed. 

We crawled out of the tent, staring around at the moonlit dunes in awe. The moon was so bright that we cast shadows against the silvery sand, and we could see every detail of our tent and gear clearly without the use of headlamps. Suddenly, giggling like children, we started scrambling up the nearest dune, sometimes using our hands, laughing so hard we couldn't breathe. I don't think we even really talked about it, we just went for it. We wanted to see out; out of the bowl, out into the dune field, out into the mountains. We wanted to experience this moonlit world for ourselves, not caring about the damp or the cold, just wanting to go. We sat there for a while staring at the stars, giggling and reminiscing about our middle school and high school days, talking about our adventures of the week and what we hoped was in store for the rest of it. Eventually we got cold and climbed down, back into the sheltered bowl and back into the tent, climbing into our sleeping bags and chatting a bit more as we drifted off to sleep with the moon still casting its glow all around us.

The next morning I was up before dawn and headed out of the tent to capture the first rays on the dunes, leaving Torrey still buried in her sleeping bag. I wandered around, smiling to myself when I saw our tracks from the night before, where our wild mood and desire to see had driven us up the dune. As the sun peeked its face over the lip of the bowl and bathed our tent with light I heard Torrey moving around inside and started breakfast. Torrey wandered as I had done while I heated the water for oatmeal, and once finished I followed her tracks to the very edge of the dunefield where I found her overlooking the mountain range to the east below the rising sun. We sat there on the edge of the dunes, sharing the bowl and watching the sand ramp to the mountains wake up. We saw a deer prancing on the sand far below, watched a coyote running down the four-wheel drive road into the mountains, and saw several vehicles start their way up the road as they headed toward the mountain pass. We weren't in any hurry ourselves, heading back to camp after we'd finished our breakfast and lounging around, laying in the sun and soaking it all in. We had the whole day and another night in the park, though we intended to hike into the mountains for our second night backpacking. We'd get there eventually. At the time, though, we had the opportunity to relax, and took it.