White Sands

San Andres Mountains above White Sands

After leaving the Gila Wilderness I drove south, through the mountains to the old mining town of Silver City. I'd met a friendly guy camping up in the wilderness and agreed to give him a lift. Johnny was an interesting guy, a student of religion and alternative healing, who had given himself to wandering the land. He told me stories of working on a trail crew in Idaho, about how he was headed back to a farm in Missouri, and how he was trying meet up with a friend of his in Silver City. Apparently this friend sold kettle corn out at Woody's Flea Market east of town, but we never found him. He entertained and engaged me with stories and religious philosophies for hours. I ended up dropping him at the Greyhound station in the storied desert town of Las Cruces. I stopped long enough for a taco salad and a coffee, then got back on the highway. I was headed to sleep out in White Sands.


In south-central New Mexico, bound by the Sacremento and San Andres Mountains, lies the Tularosa Basin. It's an ancient lake bed with no outlet, where gypsum washed from the encircling ranges has collected for millions of years. Here, in White Sands National Monument, is the world's largest gypsum dune field. Unlike silica sand, this rare gypsum sand is a pure, blinding white that absorbs none of the sun's energy. On a triple-digit summer day the sand stays cool to the touch. Most visits involve driving out into the dunes for some photos and a short walk. Sledding some of the steeper, higher dunes is a lot of fun too, but for me nothing beats a night in the dunes. A limited number of backcountry permits are available on a first-come, first-served basis, allowing people stay after the monument closes for some peace and quiet under the stars. 



I got to White Sands just in time to get my permit, top up my water and drive a few miles out into the dunes. I'd done this three years previous and always dreamed of coming back, the dreams full of the most brilliant and subtle sunset colors on the planet. I parked in the backcountry lot and hiked the trail out to my site, guided by plastic stakes stuck in the ever-shifting, wavelike dunes. The sun was already sliding behind the San Andres in the west, and in the soft evening light the sunset colors deepened and flooded the sky with pink, purple and peach. Everywhere I looked were soft pastels, broken by bright brown clumps of dry grass and spiky green soaptree yucca. The silence in that ivory sandscape rang in my ears as I walked the dunes. A bright, chalky moon waxed nearly full in the eastern sky. The sun finally sank and left the west to Venus, sparkling above the darkening purple peaks. Shadows slid between the dunes and I climbed into my sleeping bag. 

Sometime after midnight I woke to a cold, clear sky. The moon had sunk low in the west, and a huge constellation stood out high above me: Orion, hunter of the winter night. I stayed awake for a few minutes, gazing up at the milky way, amazed by the November sky. Later, the surprisingly heavy dew turned into an icy frost that crackled on my sleeping bag when I woke at dawn. I shivered and checked my watch - 30 degrees! I packed up and snapped a few more photos as the sun exploded above the Sacramentos, flooding the sky with a blast-furnace yellow. 

My camp in the dunes

White Sands sunrise

Soaptree yucca

The Alamogordo breakfast spot

As I traversed the dunes to the parking lot, I decided to drive north to Taos in one shot. A 300-mile drive requires a good breakfast, and as I drove through nearby Alamogordo I spotted the Pancake and Waffle Shoppe (add chicken-fried steak and gravy to any order for $3.10!) A massive meal, three cups of coffee, the El Paso paper and a day on the New Mexico highways. Carrizozo, Corona, Estancia, Santa Fe: I watched the towns roll by. Cattle, pick-ups and cowboy hats. Diners advertising green chile stew. Distant, snowy mountains. Tamales and a beer at the Mineshaft Tavern. The canyon of the Rio Grande and the pretty adobes of Taos. A long day's travel ended in the ski valley with good friends, grilled salmon and an early winter storm dropping two feet of powder.