Appetent. White Sands was not what I expected. Well, some of it was, like the crystalline white dunes stretching into the horizon, and the coolness of the sand kissing my bare feet as I wiggled my toes under the surface, and the excitement I felt in my bones at being back out in my element. But I was definitely not expecting the trouble I went through to get a campsite, nor the double line of people trying to get into the park. I had arrived right as the visitor center opened the Saturday of Memorial Weekend, which, apparently, was not early enough. Just as I walked in to the building to get a backpacking permit one of the employees announced they'd filled the allotted permit sites for the day, and both my face and my stomach dropped. Then the employee suggested grouping up, no more than six people in a group, if any of the permit holders were willing to share their sites so others might be able to camp. My hopes soared, and I took a chance, calling to the room at large that I was alone, just a single camper, if anyone was willing to share. I figured I had a better shot at getting someone to share with me than a group of campers, or even a pair. I was thrilled when an older couple waved me over to them. We introduced ourselves, and I let them know I had Hoodoo with me, which began a round of exclamations and questions from those in the vicinity. The next thing I knew, the three of us were headed into the park to begin our stay.
I headed out along the campsite loop before my site mates. I was practically ready to go as soon as we hit the parking lot, but took my time gathering the little things, eating a pb&j, and generally not being in a rush. I'd accomplished the goal of securing a site, now I just needed to set up before it became unbearably hot. I'm not sure what the pair were doing, it looked like packing and gathering, but I let them know I was headed out and I'd see them when they got there. The camping at White Sands is in no way developed, but it's also not exactly backpacking either. There are ten sites available, all walk-in only, anywhere from a quarter mile to a full mile away from the designated parking lot. The sites are entirely primitive, with only a couple orange marker posts in the ground letting you know you're standing where you're supposed to be. Hoodoo and I followed the orange markers along the loop, trailing behind another group of campers hauling sleds stacked with camping supplies for their night on the dunes. I had my backpack cinched over my shoulder and around my waist, with Hoodoo attached to a leash looped around my wrist. He rode on top of my pack at first, then trotted alongside me, stopping every now and then to roll in the sand. It didn't take long to reach our allotted site, but both Hoodoo and I were panting by the time we did. I had vastly underestimated how early it got hot out on the dunes, with no shade to speak of, and hurried to set up my tent in an effort to provide a hiding place from the sun.
That afternoon was spent napping and sunbathing. When I set out for the weekend I had no intention of doing anything more strenuous than walking to my campsite, and I was making good on my promise to myself. My site mates arrived after some time had passed and set up their tent far enough away from mine that we might as well have not been sharing a site, which was absolutely fine with me. It was hot, but a slight breeze blew through the dunes, ruffling the tied-back doors of my tent as Hoodoo and I stretched out under the shade of my rain fly. I like to write when I'm camping (part of last Sunday's post was written while surrounded by white sand) and I had my notebook propped on my knees as I let my thoughts flow. I was rudely cut off, though, by my pen running out of ink. And, go figure, I'd forgotten to pack a spare. I always pack a spare pen! I resorted to reading instead, stroking a napping Hoodoo, and staring off into the limited distance I could, surrounded on all sides by high white walls of sand. When the sun finally dropped behind the closest dune, casting our site in glorious shade, I began dinner preparations and got out my camera. I've written about it before (here) but sunset on the dunes is as close to a magical experience as you're likely to get in this world, and I was anticipating it with something like butterflies in my stomach. Before long dinner was finished and I had slung Hoodoo over my shoulders to head out and find the perfect spot for watching the sun leave the sky.
Of course, everyone else camping on the dunes had the same intentions, and I watched as dark shapes emerged from the bowls of dunes all over the place as we all climbed to a vantage point. There were plenty to go around, and I wasn't bothered as I walked toward the dropping sun, keen to make sure nobody could get in front of me as I staked out a place. Eventually I settled on the western slope of a dune as it dropped into a scrubby bowl, shrugging off Hoodoo and fiddling with my camera. Hoodoo played with his leash as I turned my lens to the sun, every now and then moving to photograph my ridiculously adorable cat as well, blazing an even deeper orange as the sun died. Sunset did not disappoint, and I walked slowly back to my tent after almost an hour and a half with a memory card full of pictures and the last glow of day silhouetting the western mountains. Leaving the tent doors open, I settled back in the soft light of desert stars and drifted off to sleep.
Read the first part of this story here, and check back on Sundays for the next two parts!
Fair warning on part one, Queen of Avoidance: It is incredibly personal, and not strictly necessary to get the whole story of my time at White Sands. It's more of an explanation of why I headed to White Sands, and like I said, it gets into my head. Also, warning for talk of birth control, menstruation, and other reproductive-related topics.
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