Capable and Competent

Assured. I've got a new one for ya: somehow, I had to convince the man standing in front of me to let me backpack. I had arrived earlier than expected at Monahans Sandhills State Park, tucked back in the Chihuahuan Desert in western Texas, and decided to make the most of my time by backpacking out onto the dune field to spend a night among the sands. For past trips, if I had to talk to anybody at all it was just to talk to the wilderness ranger and receive my permit. This time, I had to convice the park ranger in front of me that I was a capable and competent backpacker - something I had no idea how to do. I understood his position: the dune field stretches on for hundreds of miles north, east, and west, with very few distiguishing features to navigate by and even less water to support survival in the desert heat, with no shelter to hide from the sun, storms, or wind. Simply put, he didn't want to have to look for me if I failed to check out in the morning. I was lectured about the importance of navigational experience, being able to keep my head, and was warned on more than one occasion that backpacking into the dunes was not something they let just anybody do. Apparently I convinced him I was capable, because twenty minutes later I was filling up my water bottles and loading my pack for an overnight in the dune field.

Talk about a huge confidence (and ego) boost for me! Some time in the last few years I've developed from a novice hiker with no experience and only book smarts to a seasoned backpacker confident enough to take friends with me on crazy adventures and to hold my own on trips that would leave others hoplessly lost. How did that happen without me noticing?!? My spirits soared as I began my trek into the dunes. I had meant to get out to Monahans for ages but never made the time; now I'm wondering what took me so long. I mean, the desert is less than six hours from my house! Comforting and familiar, the dunes reminded me of one of my favorite national parks in Colorado, though they're smaller here, with more vegetation and I didn't get the mountain vistas, but they are definitely sand dunes and I couldn't have been happier. I want to hike every mile of that park, to find every water seep that makes life possible, to feel the hot surface give way to cool sand under my toes.

Callie, Ghost, and I had a lazy afternoon, hiking about a mile and a half through loose sand and thorny vegetation before I let the dogs pick a spot to camp. The first dune bowl they both went in to after I was ready to find a site became our home for the night. The dogs ran loose, kicking up sand as they flew up and down the dunes around me while I set up the tent. I'm pretty certain they were just as excited to be camping and hiking as I was. We explored all around our camp, rolling and played in the sand with abandon. I let the sun warm my bones, the last of my stresses drifting away with the breeze as the afternoon wound down and the sun slowly sank toward the horizon.

Night on the dune field wasn't too dark, even with no moon. In the reflected glow of the stars we listened to coyotes calling around us, though none of the packs came close enough to alert the dogs. A restful night was followed by a cool dawn, and it didn't take me too long to pack up and begin our hike out. Through the whole trip I'd been sure to mark any significant landmarks within eyesight, including an oil pumpjack, a windmill, and a strip of power lines. I followed the landmarks back to the lot where I'd left my car, trailing behind the dogs as they ran circles around me in the soft sand. Upon my return I made sure to check out with the rangers so they knew I was safe and sound, and grateful for the night in the dunes they'd let me have.

What I'm listening to: Show Us The Way by Patrick Doyle