Bruneau Sand Dunes; An Evening In Old America

It was 3 pm and I arrived to Endsville, nowhere, what felt like a nice slice of America away from robotic this or that. The sand dunes dog piled before me in tons of tiny stones, blowing brush strokes and painting the air with grit. This whole land looked as if the sun could catch it ablaze with a wink; Smokey said the chance for fire was moderate. I arrive at the toll booth and I deposited my obligated $7, except I only had $10, so I left a tip. I rolled in slowly and parked then immediately set off through the parking lot; the first trail defeated. I passed by a simple family of four attempting to start up an RC (remote control) truck; unfortunately, none of them were mechanics and by the time I walked away, the car stayed motionless. I stopped by the map and took a long glance, to study its path and prevent my loss. I was foolish enough not to take a picture and I began. I stepped off page like Cormac McCarthy's words into the great partially untouched west. My feet sank step by step into the sand, creating a mess where I trod. Tumbleweeds blew in the distance in exaggerated numbers like on set of a spaghetti western, good, bad, and ugly. The wind was blowing strong this afternoon and chilling every part of my being. Unlike the deserts of Tucson Arizona, which are only cold at night, this peaceful emptiness could be cold whenever it felt. I looked down at my feet for sometime during the start of the trail; I noticed many deep holes polka-dotting the sandy land. I never figured out what these meant, but I thought it interesting enough to mention. I walked along humming and whistling and enjoying the endless ceiling for thought that stretched before me. I navigated around gatherings of tumbleweed, listening intently and wondering what they met about. I came across a gravel path with park benches, grills, and restrooms. No one was here to use these accommodations, the whole park was mine. I had nothing on me though, save one bottle water, one bottle bear, an extra jacket should the wind pick up. I took the horse trail from here and shuffled through a wider and emptier trail, do not make this mistake; It doesn't necessarily ruin the whole hike, but the main trail has more John Wayne appeal. My goal this time, was to reach the observatory. I later found out you have to reserve a spot to use it but we'll get into that later. I kept on walking with this in mind, and I'd guess about two miles in, I'd gotten lost. The white poles marking the path seemed to drop off suddenly; They must've quit last week. I saw some footsteps to the left of where I stood, and followed them blindly to nothing. This was terrible I thought; I'd have to turn around and walk all the way back and the whole thing would be for nothing. I turned around from the dead end, where the footsteps abruptly stopped and returned the final white pole. I found a nice little bump of sand to stand on and I looked out to the dunes. I understand now how sailors to new land felt when the shore bobbed in the distance. The head of a white pole peaked faintly over the dry brush; I was ecstatic. I rolled on like good times to the next check point, which turned out to actually be the last. From here there really was nothing in terms of guidance, just the dunes and a huge lake. I climbed up the dunes about a quarter and observed, scouting my next step. In the meantime it was the perfect place for booze. I took out my bottle beer and began to sip away and enjoy the landscape before me. It was like something out of our old high school history books on the Natives. It was under appreciated and here I was, Coors in hand, trying to take it all in. I'd recommend you to do the same, get a feeling for that old west, the endlessness with no town in sight. Who'd ever thought alone could be so beautiful and thought provoking. Reality returned, and my two minutes of peace ended as another hiker appeared from the land. She was like a child of the earth and seemingly came from the terrain. I called out from above her, asking if around the lake was the right way to go. Once closer, she told me she didn't know and had only recently arrived. Her name was Sam; she was a friendly from Boise whom recently moved there after her studies in Wisconsin. She was brought to the dunes by the same alluring force as I, a blank schedule on an eventless Saturday. I originally had plans to barhop in Boise but here we both stood alone but together. After some introduction and small talk, we took off up the dunes and around the lake. Something called "partner hiking" which is a term I'd never heard before. I usually hike alone and on a whim, sticking almost strictly to places uninhabited or visited; this was crazy chance. As we talked, I learned she came to camp and had reserved a nearby spot; this explained the mythical nature of her arrival. Along the way to our unknown destination, she picked up many dry twigs for a fire she was worried if she could start. All she stocked was a lighter and flint and steal. No bueno I thought; not good at all, but she was self assured that she'd figure it out. She was almost like a strange off the grid type. She only owned a flip phone, didn't own WIFI or keep up with the internet. She carried around an old camera to take various photos of sunsets, lakes, mounds of sands, and strangers (me). I was amazed the kind of people you could meet in the darndest places. Here I was trekking the vast and forever alone, and somehow encountering such a being; I still am marveled by the surprises of life. After an hour, we arrived to the camp site. To my disappointment the entrance nor my truck were in sight. This was it, I'll have to hunt scorpions and boil the lake water to survive. Luckily, Sam offered to drive me to my true destination. I hopped into an old blue van, absent of any modern accessories, waited to finally make it back. The drive was short but longer than I'd want to walk. On this road we discussed the observatory; It was here I discovered it was booked out for a month or so, a real shame. I believed it to be free of use at any time. Perhaps some more research would have saved me a lot of heartbreak today. Anyway, we finally arrived to my truck and exchanged goodbyes. In the three hours I had been here, it felt like an adventure out of novel co-written by Jack Kerouac and Jack London. If you've ever got an afternoon to spare, visit the Burneau Sand Dunes. You never know what or who you might find, even what kind of story you could tell and don't forget seven dollars cash.