White Sands National Park
JUNE 2021 ● JOURNAL
After spending a night in some fabulously shoddy motel in Alamogordo, New Mexico, we hurried on down to what was originally the trip's main destination: White Sands National Park. God, we could not have timed our arrival more poorly. We rocked up to the park just as the sun was directly overhead. Smart. There wasn't a cloud in sight to boot. The white sand glistened and almost appeared to visibly radiate heat as it rested beneath an endless stretch of vibrant, blue sky. We packed up our photo gear, applied some sunscreen, grabbed a jug of water, and advanced on into the desert of dunes and gypsum crystals.
As we marched onward, farther away from the roads and trails, we increasingly gained an appreciation for the landscape in all of its magnificence. Though I will say, however, that it was quite disorienting at times. While there exists a large mountain range beyond the park, in some valleys and troughs within the dunes, your vision can be quite obscured - everything looks the same every which way. Imagine spinning three hundred and sixty degrees around, seeing only two colors: white in the lower half of your vision and blue in the upper. I had personally never seen sand dunes that were white. It was glorious and everything I had hoped for and envisioned, yet it was odd. It very nearly resembled snow, but of course the sweltering heat knocked that notion out of my head real quickly any time I made the comparison. And depth perception. That was entirely fucked. You ever hear that tale about how Lewis and Clark traveled across America for over two years, estimating distances along the way? As it goes, Mr. Clark asserted that they had gone 4,162 miles - he was only off by about 40 miles. I'm guessing the duo didn't journey through any dunes.
After a modest haul up and down dune after dune and across peak after peak, Trevor and I found a particularly serene spot perfect for lounging. I sat, resting my elbows on my knees with my hands crossed, and gazed off into the distance. Sweat pooled in the bottom of my shades and in the corners of my eyes, my leather boots gradually sank into the soft sand, and I basked in the moment, fascinated by the world's natural beauty. Oh, I also basked in the sun. No - I baked in the sun. Wearing thick, black jeans and a black t-shirt to White Sands was not the wisest choice. I've made worse decisions though. It's actually amazing - I can be such a tremendous idiot sometimes, yet things always seem to work out. When we left the park, I could already feel the effects of heat exhaustion spoiling my body. My energy was depleted and my face just kept on getting more and more red throughout the day. By the time we reached El Paso later on that night, it looked as if I had dipped myself into a can of paint. The paint eventually faded though, and peeled away after a week or two, revealing my true skin tone. To be fair, Trevor did tell me to put sunscreen on my face and I didn't listen.
Anyway, we were enjoying the moment. We were out in the middle of nowhere with only a few souls within visible range. I folded over and situated myself on my knees, grabbed our jug of water, and then out of the corner of my eye, I caught Trevor emptying sand out of his shoes. Way too much time had passed between the first grain and the last. How the fuck had he even fit his feet in there? By the way, I just did laundry the other day, and after washing my jeans for maybe the third or fourth time since this little adventure, I'm still finding goddamn sand in my pockets. Souvenirs I guess? So, Trevor fixed his little sand situation. We snapped some photos. I thought about how strange it was that plants and flowers could grow and thrive it that climate. And then I noticed some bushes - or maybe they were trees - off in the distance, closer to the mountain range.
I was adamant in suggesting that we had to push on and make it to those bushes. "Can you imagine what it must look like from over there?" I asked Trevor. "Who knows what we might see? Maybe it's different! How many chances are we going to have to be here?! Let's go!" Trevor adamantly declined my invitation. And, once again, he proved to have been the wiser between the two of us. I told myself I was young and healthy, in good shape, that it couldn't be more than a hundred or two hundred yards away at most, and then decided to carry on by my lonesome. Trevor decided to stay put in our serene little spot and continued on with his lounging. To save myself the burden of any extra weight, I left my main bag behind, as well as the jug of water - I figured I had already consumed enough for a day's worth, so what was the big deal? I'm here to enjoy nature and take photos after all - all I need is a camera and some film.
"What the fuuuuck???" I thought to myself. I was convinced I had hiked at least two or three football fields worth of sand. After what seemed like hours, I turned back and could still see Trevor off in the distance, playfully scooping sand as he watched it roll smoothly between his fingers before sliding back down onto the ground. In reality, I couldn't have been gone for more than an hour. And I'm sure I hadn't hiked three hundred yards. I'm no William Clark. Well, at that point I became rather competitive with myself. I had to make it. I had made such a fuss and practically begged Trevor to join me, promising an even grander sight at the bushes, that I couldn't let myself quit just yet. A rather brilliant idea crept into my mind. What if I were to just stray from the trail and make a straight line toward the bushes? That ought to save me some time, eh? Well, it didn't because those trails exist for a reason. I suddenly found myself crawling up amazingly steep dunes. I ragdolled myself down the other sides once I had reached the peaks. And when I came across slightly less amazingly steep dunes, I walked sideways in a most awkward fashion. With one hand balancing on the face of the dune, I would sidestep and dig my boots into the sand for traction. At this point, blisters were forming on my heels, sand was stuck to all parts of my body, and I was breaking down. I yearned for that wretched baggage I had left behind - namely the water. And then came what would be my final summit. I stood still. I looked side to side. My left looked like my right and my right looked just the same as my left. Directly in front of me stood a tall, sharp ridge that I had to scale. I had no choice. I mean, I wanted to get to those damn bushes or trees or whatever and see something glorious and triumphant. I wanted to be triumphant. But that didn't matter. Mother Nature was too strong and had too many wicked tricks up her sleeve.
After quite literally dragging myself up that dune, inch by inch, I made it. I rose from my knees and saw the bushes far off in the distance - probably no more than a hundred or two hundred yards away. As I stood fully upright, my vision became spotty and I began to see little stars and zaps. Fuck. I slumped down onto the ground, and for 30 minutes, I rested on my back, fully stretched out with my hat over my face. Inside, I was writhing and moaning and panicking. On the outside, I was motionless. I didn't reach where I had intended, but I made it somewhere beautiful - otherworldly. Eventually, I sat up and relished in the seclusion of the desert. And then I turned around.
This article is featured in the sixth issue of the Y35 Mag. Check it out here.