“All you need is faith, trust and a little bit of pixie dust.”
–Peter Pan
“The moment you doubt whether you can fly, you cease forever to be able to do it.”
–Peter Pan
A colossal windswept dune field appears out of nowhere as we cruise down the highway and make a left into the White Sands National Monument in southern New Mexico. The brilliant white mounds of sand appear to be sparkling ocean waves splashing against purple-gray mountains called the Tularosa Basin. The far away mountains wiggle in the hot sun and I wonder if it is perhaps a hazy mirage.
The ever-changing dunes imitating snow are not sand, but calcium sulfate dehydrate crystals, called gypsum that is often used as fertilizer. I find this fact a little intimidating since I will soon connect with these dunes in a very intimate way. My friends and I are on a quest to go sand sledding. At age 65, I wonder if we are sane.
Our first stop is the visitor centre to learn more about how this unique place on the planet was created. During the Permian Period, which spanned 47 million years, flowing rivers from the basin drained into the valley forming shallow seas where the gypsum settled to the bottom. Eventually, over time, the seas dried out leaving the gypsum forever trapped.
Considered one of the world’s greatest natural wonders, these dunes spread over more than 440 km of desert. Claimed by the first indigenous people called the Paleo-Indians, ancient artifacts and sites over 10,000 years old are scattered throughout the area. Archaeologists have found bones of many large mammals such as mammoths, camels and bison. By the time the Spanish arrived in the early 15th century, the Apache Natives were living and farming at the foothills of the dunes.
Unlike sand dunes made of quartz-based crystals, the gypsum does not readily convert the sun’s energy into heat and can be walked upon safely with bare feet, even in the hottest summer months. This is where we come in.
I had much experience snow sledding during my younger years and assumed the main difference was that shorts could be worn instead of ski pants. However, my friends tell me that sliding on gypsum is not like sliding on snow.
A special sled designed to slide on the unique crystals was available at the gift store for a small daily fee. My bright orange sled was carefully chosen as a safety feature in case I wander into the white abyss of dunes to be hopelessly lost. Why did I wear sand-coloured pants?
The place is amazing! The wind forever blows crystals across the road, which is cleared by a snowplow. We soon park at the Roadrunner Picnic area with futuristic tables and benches scattered in a daily plowed area surrounded by dunes. Scanning the endless desert, I spot pretty, yellow flowers and prairie grass sprouting out of shallow dents in the continuous flow of white.
Choosing just the right spot, my sand sledding trainer, who is roughly my age, duly educates me on the aspects and skills necessary for this sport. All I can think of as I look almost straight up into the sun to the top of a very large dune is how difficult it is to walk in sand. That itself will give me a heart attack. My last year’s bone density test results come blaring into focus and I begin to calculate how long it will take to get to the nearest hospital.
Then I sadly realize – I am acting my age. I am proud to say I rarely act my age. In fact, I’m not sure I ever grew up. I work hard every day at staying in shape, mainly so I can do crazy things when the opportunity arises. So here I am, getting ready to test my heart rate climbing straight up in moving sand to slide down on a small round sled with no handles all the way down to a hard road without the means to control the sled or stop it.
I’m wondering if I could use a kayak instead of this child-size sled – which is not much bigger than a hubcap – when John yells at me to get in gear. He is already half-way up and smirking. His wife, Judy, who suspiciously has a cold and is NOT sledding, rolls her eyes.
Off I go, stopping halfway to catch a bunch of breaths. We are at about 4,000 feet and I live at 100 feet above sea level, so I don’t panic or rush. Eventually, I am sitting on my orange hubcap and watching my trainer’s sledding skills intently. At the bottom, he smiles and says, “nothing to it.”
The extra 10 pounds I put on at Christmas ensure I need to push off more than once, but soon I’m sliding down the beautiful white crystals. Twisting slowly sideways halfway down and landing almost on my head; I never lose my death grip on the sled. I simply laugh all the way. Okay, maybe I screamed once. What a trip!
Before giving it a second thought, I’m struggling back up the hill with gypsum dust in my hair, my nose and a few other places. Soon, we are exhausted and content for the rest of the afternoon to watch the children nearby run up the hill and slide down squealing all the way.
As a retiree and travel enthusiast, I take a lot of trips. But sometimes it is the modest, brief trips with dear friends that fill our lives with such childlike joy.
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