I was at least making a most loquacious drunk, and in the distance the 730-foot Eureka sand dunes loomed in the moonlight. So when people around the fire started snoring (probably my fault), we figured it was time to mount our assault.
We'd never seen the dunes by day, they were just a few massive
moonlit white hulks in the distance. So we started the trudge with
the moon lighting our way reflecting brightly off the white sand.
The sand is fine and clean as white pepper, and after you rub it
over yourself there's no residue at all, no dust or dirt or anything.
And the wind has whipped this fine light sand into a series of steep
faces cresting in a network of knife-edge ridges, with almost no
flats at all. So we were trudging and trudging for hours, and when
I threw the water bottle to Red
my aim was a little off, and we listened to the gallon jug slide
down the dune into the dark oblivion, never hearing it stop.
Oh well, water in the desert is overrated. After reaching what must have been the fifth false summit we found a nice flat spot which would have been a perfect home except that there were already a few tents there. We did the
only thing we could after walking up a monstrous sand dune by moonlight
and happening upon an encampment: we harassed them. We banged
on the sand and made animal noises until someone in one of the tents
asked "Are we being fucked with?" And when we responded
with a few moos and baaaas he said conclusively, "Yes, we're being fucked with."
He came out and shooed us away like we were a couple of raccoons, paying no attention to the fact that we were clearly cows at that point, and we made our daring escape by sliding down the midnight sanddune, then continued the trudge I mean climb.