Closeted Dunes, Freed in B&W

These are from two rolls of film that I shot and developed last September and forgot about. I shared my forgotten-but-not-lost color discoveries in my last post. These b/w’s are from two separate September ‘25 mornings at the Great Sand Dunes National Park.1

The morning window of opportunity at the Dunes starts about 30 minutes after the local sunrise — about the time it takes for the sun’s rays to rise above the surrounding Sangre de Cristo mountain peaks — and ends 90 minutes later when the sun is vertical enough to whitewash the shadows back into the sands.

If the clouds stay clear, the shadows return a few hours before sunset with a new vibe. The light is saturated, at least in the summer months. Looking away from the sun, the sands can take on a reddish tint, a bluish tint looking into it. The afternoon also brings strong winds, painfully strong if you’re not prepared, which adds drama to the whole affair.

But every morning that I’ve been there — maybe a dozen total — the Dunes have been silent and still — only myself, sometimes a few distant, human specks casting their own shadows, and a very occasional bird. I’ve wilderness camped a few times, not much, so the Dunes have given me most of what little taste I’ve had of how the world feels when waking up in it miles away from human exhaust-bellows and concrete rip-rap. There’s no taste like it.

It was good timing, rediscovering these now. This is my first summer in several years not trekking through Colorado and into the southwest. I miss the road trip, and I miss the adrenaline rush as the first of the sun’s rays hit the sands and the clock starts. Ninety-minutes, starting now! This vicarious visit is a nice gift.

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