I forgave my eyes for their deception, for the images they were transmitting to my brain were so surreal I willingly accepted a brief departure from reality. Driving northeast toward the terminus of Colorado State Highway 150 in early May, the view far ahead along the flat, straight stretch of road was surely a mirage. After a day and a half driving through the wearisome levelness of Iowa, Nebraska and Kansas, your mind is bound to start playing tricks on you.
There are many turnouts available along the road into Great Sand Dunes National Park and Preserve, and they are necessary. It takes time to stop, step out of your vehicle, process the scene before you, and come to terms with the sight of three vastly different landscapes superimposed to create a single, spectacular vista — a Photoshopped reality.
A southern subrange of the Rocky Mountains called the Sangre de Cristo (Blood of Christ) Mountains comes to an abrupt end here, with snow-capped peaks that rise upwards of 13,000 feet overlooking the San Luis Valley, a large swath of flatland speckled with saltbush and prickly pears. In between is something that, mentally, just doesn't compute: the tallest sand dunes in North America.
At first this seems like a place that shouldn't be. Photos of the dunes appear to have been concocted through image manipulation and, even when you're there, it's difficult to trust your own eyes. Upon entering the park, I uttered the phrase “This is real“ over and over again using various inflections and didn't fully believe my own words until I actually stepped foot on the sand.
(Full disclosure: I'm from the Midwest and easily awed by any landscape that's not a cornfield. That being said, I've visited 17 national parks so far and think just about anyone would consider this place to be incredible.)
The dunes rise up to 750 feet above the basin floor and cover an area of roughly 30 square miles. From a distance they appear dwarfed by the mountains to the north and east, but as you get closer, they eventually overtake and transform you. Their presence turns adults into children, providing a substantial sand box in which to horse around and feel small. Your physical coordination reverts to that of a toddler when you first plod onto the dunes and gradually improves as you learn to walk on the sloughing sheets of sand that give way with every footfall.
Making progress up a steep dune is an arduous task that can make you feel feeble, especially if it's your first day at altitude, as it was mine. But bounding down the other side with huge strides puts you in the headspace of an astronaut exploring the terrain of another planet with the gravity turned down and refills your energy reserves. There's also the option to rent sand sleds and sandboards just outside the park entrance to humor the undeniable urge that overcomes those who wish to relive their wintry childhood memories on the desert dunes.
How did this place, a place unlike any other along the mountain range, come to be? Walk on the dunes and you'll get a good idea as grains of sand pelt your face and find their way into every crevice of each piece of gear and article of clothing on your person.
The wind faces no resistance as it blows across the flat basin of the San Luis Valley, where it picks up sand from prehistoric lake beds. The sand catches in a natural funnel created by a curve in the mountain range, then settles at the base of the mountains in massive mounds that gradually change shape over time.
An absence of sound, with the exception of wind whooshing by your ears, makes you feel like you're in some desolate dreamscape. There are no trees with rustling leaves. I don't remember seeing or hearing birds (or any other animals, for that matter) during my time on the dunefield. Other than a few fellow hikers and some scattered patches of brush, little evidence of life exists out here beyond earshot of the park's main road. When the sun goes down, the landscape is blanketed in a peaceful solitude like nothing I've experienced anywhere else.
There is a perfectly nice campground in the park called Piñon Flats where, from their sites, guests can view the beautiful backdrop of the dunes and Sangre de Cristo Mountains. Water spigots, dishwashing sinks and restrooms with flush toilets are among the amenities on the grounds. It would be well worth the $20 fee.
Don't stay there.
If you're physically able, it would be an egregious mistake to miss the opportunity to backpack on the dunes. The park hands out permits to 20 parties to camp on the dunefield each night, so get there early during busy season to secure yours. Once you do, get ready for an unforgettable night.
Backpacking at Great Sand Dunes was the first time I'd ever set up a tent on the sand, and it's unlike any other camping experience I've had. It's definitely something you need to be prepared for.
In the hot months, park rangers recommend waiting until evening to hike out onto the dunefield because the sand gets baking hot in the sun and you can easily get dehydrated if you venture out in the middle of the day. Also, make sure to carry plenty of water because there's no way to get it once you're out there.
When it comes to setting up camp, anchoring your tent is vital with the howling winds that frequently blow across the dunes. Regular tent stakes are essentially useless. Instead, you'll want to create what's called a dead man anchor. To do this, you'll need:
Fill a bag with sand, tie rope to it, bury it in the sand near a corner of your tent, then tie the other end of rope to the corner of the tent to complete the anchor. Do this at every corner and your tent won't be going anywhere.
One of the most physically demanding hikes I made during a two-month trip visiting 15 national parks, the trek out to find a campsite made me feel like a Bedouin crossing the desert without a camel. The park allows backpackers to camp anywhere in the dunefield as long as you're beyond the day-use area, which is pretty much whatever you can see from the visitors center. That's a minimum of a 1.5-mile hike. It doesn't sound like much at first. Then you start your climb up to the top of the first high ridge saddled with all your gear, frequently sliding back down as the sand collapses underfoot, and you realize you're in for a grueling ordeal.
Did I mention this was my first day at altitude? Hiking at an elevation more than a mile higher than where I'd slept the previous night in Kansas, I was gassed by the time I made it up to the high ridgeline where you no longer have to look up and can instead look out over the horizon to your next destination. Squinting west as the sun began to set over the vast golden waves of sand in the distance, I didn't have the energy to take my pack off my back and search for my camera. Instead, I reached into my pocket, took out my phone and wearily snapped this sub-par photo (sadly, the only shot I took of this breathtaking sunset) before I trudged off to find somewhere to collapse.
I hiked approximately 2.5 miles and passed a couple groups of backpackers before I found a place that felt suitably secluded. The sun had set but the wind was still kicking up sand. I battled with the invisible force as I attempted to set up my tent. I had to weigh down whatever sections of my tent that weren't in my hands for fear the whole thing would blow away, but finally got it up and anchored, crawled into my sleeping bag, and immediately fell asleep.
Bewildered and groggy upon awaking in the middle of the night, I unzipped my tent and stepped out onto the surface of a dream. The moon hung high in the sky and bathed the sand in a brilliant pearly white, while the stars seemed closer and brighter than ever before. Time froze. With the wind calmed down, I was the only being free to navigate a world encased in stillness.
Flashlights are unnecessary on the dunes when the moon is out and the sky is clear. With no sizable settlements anywhere near the park, light pollution is essentially nonexistent. I spent about a half hour taking photos, stargazing and soaking in the scene before the cold air forced me to retreat back to my sleeping bag, where I stayed until sunrise.
The air inside my tent was warm when I awoke. Outside, the sun had already risen well into the cloudless blue sky and began baking the sand. Legs refreshed from a sound sleep, I left camp with a water bottle and my camera to explore deeper in the dunefield.
I hiked up out of the swell where I'd stayed the night and continued northward, making my destination the highest dune in sight — Star Dune. At 750 feet, it's the tallest sand dune in North America and provides a stunning 360-degree view of the surrounding mountains, expansive dunefield and pan-flat valley off in the distance. A group of young gentlemen were getting some drone footage of themselves running down the dune and I waited for them to leave before making my way to the sandy summit. (Note: Drone use has been banned in all national parks since 2014, but I'm guessing people regularly break the rules at Great Sand Dunes since it's rare to see rangers well into the dunefield.)
With the heat rising, I left Star Dune to pack up my campsite and hike back out of the dunefield to my car. I planned on camping along the Rio Grande Gorge north of Taos that night but wanted to check out Zapata Falls, on recommendation from a park ranger, before the drive into New Mexico. The falls are just south of the park on Bureau of Land Management land. There's a rough 3.5-mile rock/gravel road off Highway 150 that leads up a mountain to the trailhead.
I didn't want to risk damaging my car or tires at the beginning of my big trip so I parked at the base of the gravel road and started hiking up. After several SUVs and other large vehicles passed me by, a truck pulled over about a mile from the top and the driver asked if I wanted a lift. My legs felt like lead and I gratefully accepted a ride the rest of the way from a terrific couple, Mark and Lori, who also gave me a ride back down. They were incredibly generous and I met up with them about a week later. More on Mark and Lori in a future post.
At the end of the gravel road you get a wonderful elevated view of the Great Sand Dunes, the Sangre de Cristos and the San Luis Valley. Zapata Falls is only about a half mile from the lookout. Prepare to walk through water. Near the end of the trail you have to hike a short distance in a stream between rock walls on either side. Like in a scene out of Indiana Jones or Tomb Raider, you hike into a cave to find your treasure.
The cool air in the grotto was reinvigorating after the hot hike up the mountain. Not far into the cave, I turned right and was struck by a spectacular scene. Water poured 30 feet above from an unseen source while the sky broke through an opening overhead to illuminate the space and cast a shiny sheen on the icy outcroppings of a half-frozen Zapata Falls. The 2.5-mile uphill walk in the sun was resoundingly worth the payoff.
I spent around 24 hours at Great Sand Dunes National Park and Preserve and saw just a fraction of what it has to offer. There are alpine lakes, subalpine forests and meadows, wetlands, grasslands, and a huge swath of the dunefield that I left unexplored. But what a hell of a way to start off my two-month tour of national parks. My night camping on the sand was unsurpassed by any other night on the trip and the feeling of awe I had as I first approached the dunes is one I'll never forget.