Great Sand Dunes National Park, August 2015

I'd visited Great Sand Dunes National Park four times before this past Saturday, but had never actually hiked out into the dunes any appreciable distance. When opportunity arose, I decided to take advantage of it and hike to High Dune.

Unfortunately, weather conditions when I arrived seemed to conspire against me a bit.  I'd thought I'd arrive by 3:00.  Instead I didn't make it until around 5:30 and late afternoon thunderstorms were doing their late afternoon thing over the Sangre de Cristo Mountains.

I asked a ranger if he thought I'd be able to get to High Dune and back by sunset.  He hemmed and hawed, clearly not wanting to have to state the obvious as lightning crashed to the north.  "What's the worst that could happen," I asked, already knowing the answer.

"Well, you could get hit by lightning," was the matter-of-fact response.  Super.

I pondered my options, but admittedly only briefly.  This was my only shot.  I figured I'd just keep a close eye on the sky, and if things got truly dicey I'd either turn back or just hunker down until it blew over.  So in a steady rain I headed out, crossing Medano Creek and following the clearly established tracks.  The moisture actually seemed to make the sand a little easier to walk on, and added an interesting visual dimension to the footprints.

I was making pretty good progress despite the rain.  An occasional low rumble of thunder still came from the north, but the lightning stopped.  Then the rain also ceased, and I felt vindicated by my decision to head out.  Traffic was light, too, likely as a result of other people having enough common sense not to try to make the hike at that time.

The clouds weren't particularly thick to the west.  So as the sun descended, it would shine through breaks in the clouds and yield some nice textures and shadows.

In roughly an hour I was at the summit of High Dune, and just elated at the sight.  An absolutely unique spectacle of nature.

I drank it all in, occasionally snapping but more often just trying to shield myself from wind gusts that were sandblasting me like a graffitied playground wall.

I've never had much success trying to capture wind in a still image, which makes sense since wind is defined by motion.  This was probably my best attempt at recording sand blowing off a ridge.

I used Lightroom's new HDR feature to blend three exposures of this scene.  Not bad.  But with that break between the lowest clouds and horizon, I felt that there was a chance for a spectacular sunset.  The problem was that sunset was still about 45 minutes away.  What to do ...

Duh.  I stuck it out, hunkered down below the ridge line for the most part to try and stay out of the strongest gusts.  A couple of young guys joined me, one of whom was wearing just shorts and a tank top.  THAT dude I felt bad for.

Another decision validated.  I knew I was in for something special right when the sun started to peek out from below the clouds.

I zoomed out and my breath caught in my throat.  I had to look up from the viewfinder to take in the scene with my own eyes.  Warm colors on the pristine dunes.  A bit of sand blowing off the ridge.  Rain falling in the distance.  And a beautiful starburst from the setting sun.  I gave a silent prayer of thanks for having the chance to witness this amazing moment, then added a little request to have managed to record it.

Bounding back down the dunes in the twilight I felt like I was walking on the moon, taking giant, loping strides and sliding in the sand.  I stopped for one shot, intrigued by how the textures changed in the low light.  Then I realized I wasn't going to get another shot even close to what I just had, and I still had to get dinner, and I still had to drive three more hours to Crested Butte.

It's really true that anything worth having is worth working for.  The drive, the hike, the hesitancy over the weather, the stinging sand.  Sure, I've gotten some great shots just pulling my car over and leaning out the window.  But this ... this was something I felt I'd earned.  I didn't just have a shot; I had an experience.  A memory.  A story.  One I'm delighted to get to share with you. :)

Great Sand Dunes: Winter

Last stop on my way out of Monte Vista actually involved a bit of a detour.  I have a hard time resisting the lure of a national park under any conditions, let alone ones as beautiful as this late winter morning. So after my sunrise shots south of town and a hearty breakfast back at the Monte Villa Inn I headed northeast to Great Sand Dunes National Park.

I didn't even have to get to the park before seeing scenery that took my breath away, like this view of Little Bear Peak and Blanca Peak.

I normally like the effect of leading lines drawing your eye into a photograph.  But even with the snow-covered road providing that here, I think I still prefer the previous peak shot.

Once in the park it wasn't like the views dropped off, like this look at Mount Herard with the dunefield starting to rise to the left.

The dunes themselves were even more magical than normal, the mix of dry sand, wet sand and snow combining to form truly unique patterns.

Quite a few hardy souls had made the trek into the dunefield.  If I'd had more time, I might have joined them.

Even with the fairly harsh midday light there was still plenty of texture in the landscape.

In hindsight I wish I'd gotten down on my belly to make the horses more prominent in this scene.  But there was no easy way to tell what was under those few inches of fresh snow; and I didn't really need to smell like manure on the four-hour drive back to Denver.

A fantastic end to the weekend -- really the cherry on top of a terrific trip!

Great Sand Dunes: Animals

I couldn't really call this post "wildlife" since most of the fauna we saw were at Colorado Gators Reptile Park. Still, enough solid pics to cobble something together.

A small herd of mule deer were grazing by the main dunes parking area before sunset.  And scratching, as needed.

The vegetation was apparently lip-smacking good.

I don't think this gal was as well hidden as she thought she was.

You can just barely see the antlers starting to form on this young male.

I believe this pose is called the "Black Widow."

How close are you to the gators at Colorado Gators?

I shot these with my wide-angle lens, not my telephoto.  And had to back up to reach my minimum focal length.

Fencing that doesn't keep most folks' dogs in their yards was all that separated you from a few dozen prehistoric killing machines.  Fortunately they weren't too lively after a night when temperatures dipped into the thirties.

I could have gotten closer to these ostrich, but somehow I felt like their greatest pleasure in life came from tourists doing just that.

Same for the emu.

A couple of large tortoises were free to roam around, but seemed content to snack on a pile of greens.

I actually highly recommend a stop at the gator farm if you're in the area.  The grounds aren't shiny and spotless by any stretch -- the place is primarily a tilapia farm that originally brought the gators in for waste disposal.  But they've evolved over the years into an attraction, educational tool and rescue center and I commend them for their flexibility and dedication.  Check them out sometime!