May 2004, Sand Dunes Ntl Monument, San Juan Mtns.
Humans: Rob, Lori, Willie
Canines: Kaiser, Soph, Bailey, Charlie, Token
Well, well, well, I talked baby bro Willie (Willard I like to call him, don’t know why) into a car camping trip to the Sand Dunes. The plan is to meet out there during the day, Lori and I leaving a bit earlier so we can snag a spot in the campground…you know, beat the crowds. The Sand Dunes have long been my favorite area in the entire state, if not the entire country. I am told I first saw them when I was two or three years old and asked “who brought in all that dirt grandma?”, still a favorite story of the family elders. For those who are unfamiliar with the Sand Dunes, they are just that, an impressive array of sand dunes. What makes them truly interesting is they are smack dab in the mountains, hemmed in by the Sangre de Cristos on the east and the San Juans on the west. Over the millennia, winds have re deposited fine sand into one big pile stretching for miles in all directions. The highest dune, aptly named High Dune, is around 700’ tall. I distinctly remember climbing to the top of that dune with best friend/cousin Timmy back in like ’79 or ’80 and being shocked, SHOCKED I tells ya, that The dunes did not terminate here but rather stretched on as far as we could see. We sincerely thought what you saw was what got and nothing existed beyond that first row of dunes. I still kind of laugh at that, what were we thinkin’? Always a very popular place, the Dunes are a real draw in the springtime when Medano Creek is flowing. One can beat the heat by walking around in the cool flow as it pulses and meanders along the flat shelf before the dunes begin rising in earnest. Large sand waves, kids everywhere, dogs completely out of their little minds with the ecstasy of playing in the water. This is the Sand Dunes in Springtime and I had forgotten how fun this can be, unfortunately I was the only one who forgot.
Pulling up to the main entrance to pay our day fee we are greeted by a sign, “All Campgrounds Full” and I got a little stressed. We ask ranger lady could this possible be true? Full campgrounds and it is only May? Oh yeah, it is full. We go prowl the campgrounds anyhow just to see for ourselves. Sure enough, the place is absolutely full. In fact, it is down right congested with families, church groups, scouts, you name it. Even if there was a spot, I am not sure staying would be such a groovy idea, what with all the damn dogs and all. We head to the back country on a trail which heads northerly along the dunes and then heads East up and over Medano Pass. Embarking down the road we see several postings warning of the consequences should we get ourselves stuck in the sand and need a tow out. It will cost us a minimum of $100. I have a fear of getting stuck in sand, I think I get it from riding a mtn bike and the way it can totally shut you down and even pitch you off the bike. So, secretly trepidated, I drive on without depressurizing my tires to the recommended 10lbs. The trail meanders through some pretty deep sand, and things are going well. Eventually we get to a spot which dips down and then heads up and I can see from the ruts that the sand is quite deep here. I decide it is time to let a little air out the tires, so I roll to a quick stop and let a little out of each tire. I hope back in and try to go, no dice. The engine is screaming but I can barely go. Now I am sweating. I hop out and air down the tires all the way to 10lbs. Back in the cab, gunning the motor…nothing. Now I am really starting to freak. I drop it in low range, unstoppable tank gear, and I let her rip. We barely move. I pour on the gas and grind our way to the top of the little draw where I again stop and ponder why it is so tough to drive through this now. It is as if the brakes are locked up or something. The brakes! OK, I can’t believe I am going to admit this publicly, but I had left the stupid parking brake on. I reached down and pulled the brake release then looked over at Lori and flashed her a sheepish grin, maybe she won’t notice. I try to act nonchalant, maybe she hadn’t noticed (yeah right). I can only applaud her restraint for not digging in the spurs right there and completely emasculating me because I had it coming, that was a real stupid thing to do. But, I think she was just relieved the only problem we were having with the trail was me.
On we push, the truck is actually not having any probs with the sand whatsoever and in fact, I don’t know if I even need four wheel drive. A quick aside, if you have a 4wheel drive with some clearance, don’t be afraid of this road or getting a tow. If you go when it is busy, there will be gobs of other trucks out there willing to yank you out, if you managed to get stuck. Luckily, no one was immediately by me when I had my little “moment”. The trail will take you along the dunes and Medano creek by some really sweet picnic areas and then a fun water crossing. We turned around at the water croxxing because running a shuttle this long is really not feasible. Time to head back and find our boy and come up with a “Plan B”.
It is getting close to noon now and the visitor lot is pretty much jammed full. After all the previous heartache I am really getting my negative vibe on when voila! A front row spot! We roar in, hop out, and change our duds so we can play in the stream. Still no Willard, he is running a little late now. Hope we didn’t miss each other while Lori and I were out adventuring. But, the dogs are driving us nuts so we better haul them out of the busy lot and get them on the dirt before their heads explode. We cross the wide shallow stream as it flows over the sand flats and head up to some of the lower dunes, looking for a spot to turn the maniacs loose (against policy you know) but they really need it and I really need it, loonies on strings they be. We find a likely spot and let ‘em loose. Wow! Dogs love the sand dunes. But, it is getting on in the afternoon and the sun is blazing. It is not long before the sand is getting a little hot for their feet. We see them acting strangely and figure this out. Better get back pronto. As we head off towards the cooling stream we have to pick up the cresteds and carry them or they will just sit down and not move. The big dogs are on their own and I can tell it is hurtin. Luckily we are not far off, but be warned. If you are going to take pups out on the dunes you better do it real early and get them out before that sand heats up. Or have booties. Lori and I dash to the stream, big dogs hobbling along until they sniff that water and then they are off like shots. Whoo!
The waters of Medano Creek originate high up in the distant snowfields of the seemingly innaccessable Sangre de Cristos and walking along in the stream give you this great tactile connection to the high country beyond. Sloshing back towards the parking lot I am accosted by this enormous black dog who reminds me of a harbor seal. It is Token! That means Willard is here. While the dogs go bananas with the insertion of yet another number in their midst, we discuss the camping situation and wonder where are we gonna sleep tonight? Back at the truck Lori grabs the trusty gazetteer and begins poring over the pages and matter of factly points at spot on the map. Here. This is where we go. I look at the map and am doubtful (only because I haven’t been out to this spot previously). What if the roads are not navigable for Willies little car? What if the place is crawling with cattle like most spots we seem to pick? What if? What if? I keep it all to myself and rightfully trust Lori’s guess. Saying goodbye to the Dunes we head through Alamosa and then the great unknown.
The roads are getting ever smaller, drier and dirtier as we caravan to a point on the map. My doubts are increasing as the terrain flattens out and I see a long windy, dry night ahead of us. Lori points at the green on the map and says all will be well when we get there. The road drops into a narrow little canyon which at least has a stream. I feel better already. Then the road heads up out of the canyon and South, the terrain opening up and I feel greatly relieved for already we could choose a spot on the various crisscrossing fire roads. Continuing in a general southwesterly direction it is not long before we are driving alongside Las Animas Reservoir, a fairly large and oddly colored lake. Signs along the precipitous road claim the water in the lake is contaminated with heavy metals etc and one should not eat the fish. Judging by the sickly yellow color of the lake I am fairly certain there are mutated things dwelling in the depths, waiting unseen to catch some hapless sucker unawares. I won’t be one of them, this I know. Passing the lake we drive another 10 minutes or less and come across the campground Lori had found on the map. We pull in and do a lap, bracing ourselves for a stay in a developed campground. A place where we will have to keep all these danged dogs on leashes and cope with their incessant whining to be set loose. A complete orbit around the place reveals we have it to ourselves. Incomprehensible! Not 40 mins away from the small metropolis that is the Sand Dunes campgrounds we are totally alone.
Ecstatic, we set up camp and basically take over as much area as we wish. The odd colored Animas River is flowing by looking very yellowish, rather uncommon for mountain streams methinks, and I mentally revisit the posted signs of the polluted lake. Well, might be kind of scary but we’ve got the whole thing to ourselves. We brought our own water anyway, which is good because you can’t get any here. And there is a clean outhouse! No fees! Rockin’! Willard and I take a quick stroll to look at the terrifyingly yellow stream rushing by. Besides the unnatural color, it is a beautiful scene and looks good enough to ducky. Splash! In goes Token, the current is dragging him downstream rapidly as he struggles, his powerful body aimed directly upstream. Willie and I look at each other and drop our scotches on the ground, bolting off downstream to rescue the dog. I get out ahead of Token and wait for him. He gets close, but is still a bit panicky and not listening as he thrashes away trying to make it back upstream. I call again and he points downstream towards me. I can almost see the light bulb above his big black skull. “Hey”, he thinks “swimming this way is super easy” and he motors over to me and I snag his collar. Relieved, Willie and I give a little nervous laugh and inspect the contaminated dog. What will happen now? I remember that movie with the bears contaminated by mercury from a lumber mill. I eyeball him warily. Oh well, better refill our cups. We head back up to where the cups were dropped in a panic and SPLASH! In he goes again. This time, though, he knows how to do it and swims halfway across and back never fighting the current, clambering up the bank to safety like a really big otter. He is half black lab, half Newfoundland…mere mortals cannot keep him out of the water. Back to camp, out of sight out of mind.
Around dinner time a forest ranger pulls into the campground and, half besotted, I decide to chat him up. I meandered up to his truck and comment how empty the place is. It’s always like this, he replies. I can’t believe it. He confirms it is true adding that sometimes families from Alamosa have big ol’ picnics here on 4th July etc, but that is about it. I ask about bears. He hasn’t seen one in days. I don’t know if that is good or bad news. He mentions that the loose dogs are ok as long as no one is around to be bothered and he whips out a map and points out some even better camping spots, in his opinion. What could be better than this? I am real anxious to find this out. Now he really surprises me by giving me the map to keep! Incidentally, he also says not to worry about the water in the stream. The color is coming off a big bald mountain from natural runoff, not from mine tailings (as I had assumed). He claims the watershed will probably be declared safe within a year or two, as long as it stays as clean as it is now. Now the big dog can go lolo in the stream and provides us with an hour of soggy entertainment.
The night wears on with little worthy of comment, at least publicly. The campfire is blazing, the whiskey was flowing, and Willie and I were able to listen to some really funny bluegrass music as loud as we wanted. Not long after we retired I hear his violent puking. Gotcha again Willard! Understandably it will be a slow start tomorrow. Packing up in the morning sun, the day could not be nicer. We take our sweet time and at last head on home. Overall the entire trip was a great success. Lori was really able to make something out of nothing with her superb map skills and excellent hunches. As always, I am utterly impressed with my wife.