9Apr10 (Fri) Sand Dunes National Park, Colorado

In the morning, we ate at a ‘real’ diner in Durango. Grease oozed out of every pore of the place, coating us when we walked in. A cop sat at the counter that wrapped around the cooking area. We took two seats facing the cook. Our plates were huge, greasy, and delicious. Any weight I may have lost with all the hiking I promptly gained back with my ten pound portion of hashbrowns that accompanied my eggs, toast and plate sized pancake.

It was a good meal to start the drive, since we had several hours until our next destination – the Great Sand Dunes. We finally arrived around 5pm. Appearing out of the middle of Colorado shrub and mountains, the sand dunes form from dried lake beds that blow sand into the base of the Sangre de Cristo mountains, piling it as high as 750 feet. It is so unexpected in its location, it could be a set for a desert movie.

I had this idea in my mind that Derek and I would climb about the mounds of sands, frolicking, letting our inner children be coaxed free (and Derek’s is pretty close to the surface anyway, so I figured it wouldn’t be hard). Derek’s idea, on the other hand, was to achieve the best photo possible, at any expense, and to this effect, he decided we should hike far west (much further than where other people were headed) so that we could shoot east. At first, I was really enjoying myself, playing with the long shadows and the ripples in the sand. The lighting at this time of day was dramatic. With the rippling, swirling wind patterns and the harsh contrast of shadow and light, the picture possibilities seemed endless. I also loved how the shifting of the sand under foot left a trail of dinosaur like footprints behind us. At one point we decided to stage a fun video where I attempted to slide to the bottom of one ravine created by several hills of sand. We soon found out that sliding on your butt is nearly impossible. It’s much more fun to take giant steps down the steep hills, in a sliding, stepping manner. There was a hairy moment as I attempted to climb out of the sand pit. Sand has different textures, sometimes firmer than others, depending on – well I don’t know why.. I’m sure there’s a perfectly good explanation, but I don’t know what it is. I reached the last quarter of the climb, and the sand shifted texture, and suddenly for every step I tried to climb up, I would slide back down, so that in effect I was making no, or perhaps even negative progress. The faster I tried to climb, the worse it became, a bizarre hillside quicksand. Luckily, I was close enough to the top that after a few flailing attempts, I was able to grab Derek the strongman’s hand, who dragged me up the rest of the way to the top.

As many people know, hiking through sand, even on a flat surface, is tiring. I kept complaining about how far west we were going, but Derek was ever enthusiastic. When he deemed it far enough out, we began the climb. It was arduous. For every step I took onto firm sand, my second step would slide out from under me, so that it was an uneven progress forward. To add to the difficulty, there was always a fine layer of sand on the surface of the dunes that is blown by the wind. Even though I’d been on dunes in Oregon, I’d forgotten about this. It coated everything – us, my water bottle, my camera bag, and my camera. I began to really worry about my camera, and cursed my stupidity at bringing the good one (should have brought my point and shoot instead). But it was too late, nothing to do but go on.

We hit a really big hill. We climbed about two thirds of the way (and I was really panting at this point), and Derek by some strength of will managed to find his way to the top. But I kept slipping. I finally kneeled on the hill, and put my camera away so I could use both hands. Then, in a sideways crab motion, I pulled and slid my way almost completely horizontal across the sand, step by laborious step, moving incrementally vertical. Each movement would sink me in the sand to my ankles, wrists and halfway up my knees. In this fashion, and really working the cardio, I managed to crest the hill.

But we were far from done, and I’d just about spent my reserves. I began walking sideways so I wasn’t so pelted with the sand and to help my progress upward. It was cooling down the higher we climbed, and my enemy the wind strengthened with each step upward, numbing my fingers and toes. I was so winded I could barely breathe. I began to question our sanity at the route we were taking. What was supposed to be a fun, frolicking adventure had turned into a nightmare climb, just to get a good photo. My leatherclad Leah devil had thrown up her hands, questioning my sanity. Even my David Rees angel shrugged his shoulders. Only Derek encouraged me forward, and to him all of my wrath turned. “We’re almost there,” he would say (for the fiftieth time). “Liar!” I’d shout out, and he would ignore me. He promised “Just one more hill, I can see the top!”

“That’s bullshit and you KNOW it!” I’d irrationally shoot back. And then we crested the hill that Derek had promised was the highest and would give us beautiful views and….there was a much higher hill East that appeared only when we crested our supposedly tallest dune, and we couldn’t see shit from where we had so arduously climbed to. “I’m not doing it, I’m not climbing that other hill,” I insisted. Smiling, still enthusiastic, Derek said “but Leah, we’re so close. You can do it. Come on!” He offered to take my camera bag and I handed it over without a word, glaring at him. And for some reason, perhaps because I didn’t want to be stranded in a blizzard of sand, I followed my tormentor. We climbed and clawed our way upwards, though I was sure I was too winded to finish. Even Derek’s encouragement quieted the farther we went, as he concentrated all of his energy on his own climb.

And then we were at the top, and we could see all the sand dunes around us, in a riot of light and dark and sandy curves, backed by the Sangre de Cristo mountains. It was beautiful, and we both took pictures, but the wind was raging, and we had a twenty minute wait until sunset. I was m-is-er-a-ble. My lips were chapped and so cracked I couldn’t even force them into a pretend smile when Derek asked me to take a picture. My eyes burned with san granules. I had taken my camera bag back from Derek to place it down on the sand, and it was being buried by the sand blowing in the wind, which kept up a steady, incessant moan. It was freezing, we were being pelted by granules no matter where we turned, I could barely move fingers or toes, and I wanted to leave right then and there, unable to imagine waiting it out for 20 minutes, and worried about being caught on the dunes in the dark. Derek, who only seemed invigorated, and completely immune to cold and pain, told me to suck it up. I huddled, took a photo now and again (though it was becoming a bit repetitive, since our ridge space was so limited) and prayed for the sun to set faster. As the sun finally dipped below the surface of the western mountains, the color of the sand glowed orange, and it almost made the misery worth it. Then I was off the top of the 750 foot dune like a shot. I galloped down the large hill, slipping and sliding with some whoo hoos and yippees, moving like a barreling, runaway train. At the bottom I had to wait for Derek to catch up. Even just one hill down it was less windy and warmer. Each time Derek came into sight, I took off again. Going down was so much quicker and fun, it also almost made going up worth it. I felt reinvigorated. Derek, on the other hand, lost all the energy that kept him manic at the top, and he, for a change was struggling. Now I encouraged him. “We’re almost there! Only a few more hills!” At that moment, I felt like I could fly. What had taken us hours to climb took us maybe 20 minutes to descend. Navigation proved to be the toughest part – finding our path back to the car without ending up stranded at the bottom of a sand ravine. I also moved quickly because I wanted to be out of the dunes before the last light faded, though we didn’t quite make it. Luckily, Derek had brought a headlamp, and when we hit the edges of the dune, Derek flipped it on. It was dark, and everything looked the same. We scanned the twilit horizon attempting to figure out where we had entered the dunes. We thought we recognized a few logs, and began to cut a path out of the dunes, until we realized it wasn’t a real path, and we were just trekking through random trees. We ended up near a road in the park. I thought we had to turn right for our parking lot, but Derek was pretty sure we were left, and as I’m completely direction senseless, I deferred to his judgement. He was correct, and after only five minutes of anxiety about whether we would find the car, or end up shivering and huddled together to wait out the night, we saw our car – as always the last in the parking lot – in the distance. We dumped a pound of sand out of our socks, and shook off our clothes as best we could. I was afraid to even touch my camera, since each time I tried to focus it or change the zoom, everything grated together. I lamented that I might have ruined it. Luckily, with careful cleaning, and Derek helping me to suck out the sand (yes, suck out!), it seems to work alright. It’s definitely going to need some professional love after the trip is done. In hindsight, it was all worth it, and I’m glad Derek had the strength to pull us both through. Definitely though, if we were to attempt that again, I would want to take a less convoluted, much more direct route.

Both of us more tired than we had been thus far on the trip, and coated in a fine layer of sand, we drove out of the park at a crawl, watching for deer with every turn of the wheel, who seemed fearless of cars. We had at least three slowly walk out to the road and stare us down, before nonchalantly moving on. I worried for these deer - I don’t know how they don’t get flattened during the busier season, and with less careful drivers than Derek. We made our way to Walsenburg, Colorado too tired to drive any further. We checked trip advisor, which recommended the Plaza Inn/B & B. Best stay of our trip yet. Turns out it had just that month been taken over by new owners. A very nice man, Jeff, greeted us, even though it was 10:30pm at that point. The rooms were charming and quaint, and reminded me very much of my friend Bunny’s B & B. Jeff even helped Derek lug his 200 pound suitcase up the stairs. We were so tired, we didn’t even bother to shower, though sand was crusted in places it shouldn’t be. We climbed into our frilly, quilt covered bed. We had been warned about the trains that run all throughout the night in Walsenburg. We heard one whistle right before we fell asleep, but though there were other trains that night, Derek and I were oblivious too them, lost in a sandy dreamland.

Captions:

1. Derek's beard growth in the Great Sand Dunes National Park, Colorado

2.Derek climbing the sand dunes

3.footsteps in the sand

4. Derek hiking in front of me

5. The last hill

6. Sunset towards the West

7.Sunset towards the North

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