The sun had fallen down below the peaks of the San Juans to the East, and rising above the Sangro De Cristo’s straight behind was a full moon, providing ample light so long as you were atop a dune ridge and not in a bowl of sand.

Great Sand Dunes National Park and Preserve

What had started off as a nice, one-night getaway to camp, eat well and enjoy a few beers out near the Dunes had turned into a lung-busting, quad-crippling, skin-stinging power hike/run up to the top dune at Great Sand Dunes National Park and Preserve. I should also add stomach-turning, since the brat, 2 burgers, steak, chips and three PBRs I’d had at dinner only about 30 minutes prior to heading the to the Dunes didn’t exactly sit well… go figure.

The whole trip to the Dunes was kind of a last minute thang, as roomie Alex and her family were going and invited me to tag along. I wanted to go all week after hearing about it, but didn’t if I’d be able to for sure until Thursday. Things worked out, and after work Friday I took the Topaz out to meet the Schultz’s at the Oasis Campgrounds, and dinner was practically ready for me as I pulled up.

After being well-fed, there was some discussion as to whether or not to head up to the Dunes on Friday evening or just go afte packing up camp on Saturday, but the prospect of visiting a massive, shadeless pile of sand at noon in August sounded less than ideal, so Friday night it was. We got the Dunes as the moon was starting to overtake the sun, leaving the air feeling nice ‘n cool. A nice relaxing walk on a waterless beach was feeling pretty nice and my I felt as if my full stomach wasn’t going to lead to any discomfort. But, thinking that the total drop of the sun might make for a turnaround before reaching the highest dune, we kicked things into overdrive rather unexpectedly and from there it turned into a run/scramble/crawl. I booked it up the first majorly steep-grade of sand, making it all the way up without relying on the use of hands. But man-oh-man did it hurt something wonderful. It was a hurt that I haven’t experienced in months, a wonderful burning sensation shot through every muscle in my legs, and my lungs burnt so good. For the first time in over 7 months, I was reduced to clutching my legs, bent over and gasping for air - it was blissful.

Following that first steep sprint, my legs were crying out in a wonderful pain as I went down a grade equally as steep, though much shorter, and then succumbed to scramble-crawling my way up an even longer ascent. I was now up high enough that you could really feel the wind - or more accuratley, you could really feel the sand that was being whipped at your skin by the wind. But I didn’t care, not even about the sand that was snaking its way past the frames and lenses of my glasses and poking me in the eyes. I was simply putitng, my head down and working my way up, up the large piles of sand.

Left hand. Right foot. Right hand. Left foot. Repeat-Repeat-Repeat-Repeat, etc, etc.

I wasn’t moving exceptionally fast, probably not even remotely fast since my progress was cut in half as each footstep slid half its length backwards in the sand slopes. But I was moving, not stopping, and that’s all I was aiming for at this point. The burning pain of real effort was mounting as I scaled the final climb before only a short jaunt on the topmost ridge remained, and all I could hear was my breathing. Heavy, but even - a grandfather clock inside my chest. But that sound was joined by a heavy blast of wind as I came within feet of the ridge, and was nearly knocked backwards.

My balance reasserted, I jogged the final 100 feet to the stick marking the top of the dune. Covering my face with my hands, I turned 360-degrees, getting a sense of the real vastness of the Geat Sand Dunes. Wow… Minus the mountains that were towering to the North and East, and the ones that were merely serving as a backdrop to the distance South and West, all I could see was sand. The moon made the trip back easier than I would have thought, while the lights of the last few cars in the gave me a point to head towards. The effort which was required to make my way up was replaced by playfulness on the way down. With each footfall I was not losing feet and inches, but gaining yards. The softness of the sand on my feet deleted the fear of taking a spill, and I didn’t even become aware of the act that I was working to propel myself until reaching the final 100 or so flat yards that preceded the parking lot.

Not until I’d been stopped for a few minutes did I take a moment to assess my ankle. The familiar soreness and discomfort that has accompanied most of my effortful physical movements since December was hardly present, if at all. Instead, my stomach was the epicenter of discomfort - I guess I had that coming though, huh?

All back from the top dune, we retreated back to the campsite for (what else?) s’mores and more beer, before hitting the sack early. A long night’s sleep, a hearty breakfast and a detour to Zapata Falls then brought us back into Alamosa.