Lights and Magic Among the Dunes

Spellbound. I've really only just recently acquired the gear and the guts to start backpacking. Yes, I've been hiking tons, especially in the last two years, but until a few months ago I limited myself to day hikes and car camping. When I received my new 55 liter backpack for Christmas, however, I became determined to change that. I have a couple of backpacking trips under my belt now, and at the beginning of July my sister and I set out to accomplish another goal: backpack into the vast dune field of Great Sand Dunes National Park and Preserve, set up camp, and spend a night among the dunes.

My sister hiking into the dunes

We queued up outside the wilderness office at 8am the morning we wanted a permit, and with little effort scored a backcountry permit for one night among the dunes. We spent the rest of the day exploring the area, heading into Alamosa for coffee, and otherwise preparing ourselves for the journey ahead. At last, it cooled off a little bit towards evening, and we set out. Following a little sand trail less than half a mile long we crossed Medano Creek in no time, and picked what we figured would be the easiest way up the front line of the dunes. It was still difficult, slow labor, where for every step forward you took a half-step back. Sand is not forgiving, and we struggled up, knowing we couldn't stop to make camp until we passed overr the first ridgeline of the dunes, and could no longer see the roads or buildings of the park.

Shadows and light playing on the sand

The first couple of bowls (dips between each sand dune) were occupied, and we moved past in search of solitude. We finally found it at the base of several tall dunes, though a steep climb to the ridge above showed us we had neighbors the next bowl over. We set up the tent, driving stakes into the sand with our heels, and boiled water for our dinner, watching as evening settled in around us. Before long the sand started burning a golden orange, and we quickly climbed the nearest dune to catch the sunset.

I mean really

We were not disappointed. As the sun sank the clouds blushed and peached against the still-blue sky until they darkened to deep purple as the sky turned navy. The sand burned brighter and the mountains to the east turned red with apenglow as the sun sank below the western horizon, down below the mountain range on the far side of the valley. The sky was shot through with color, then everything faded into shadow with the arrival of twilight. We didn't linger long after that, but made our steep way back down to the tent, ready to call it a night. We were up long enough to glimpse the first bright stars glimmering high above us, before zipping the fly closed and turning in. I was asleep within seconds of my head hitting the crumpled up clothes I was using as a pillow. 

The first rays of sun peeking over the Sangre de Christo Mountains

As is my usual, I was up before dawn and out of the tent to witness the sun rising on a new day. It was more of a gentle brightening, so that the mountains were silhouetted against the sky, before their outlines sharpened into relief and the sun began lighting up the eastern curves of their peaks. Then the sun rose above the mountain pass, and set a narrow corridor of dunes alight. After the obligatory sunrise photoshoot, my sister and I packed up camp and left the bowl without a trace of our occupation, save the impression of our tent and our many footprints. We walked the glowing ridgelines, enjoying the warmth of the sun after a chilly night, and trying to soak in the mountain views before leaving the park. Only with reluctance and many backward glances towards the dunes did we cross Medano Creek and trek back to our car, already thinking about the next time we coud make our way back into the magic of the dunes.

My sister pauses to soak in this