Our final stop in the Valley was the sand dunes close to Stovepipe Wells. These sand dunes take up only a very small portion of the entire valley, and I found myself wondering how all this sand converged to this spot instead of being scattered to the four corners of the park. From certain angles, the dunes frame the desert in its most stereotypical pose – miles of pure golden sand. Walking across the dunes took a little getting used to. I expected it to be like a stroll on the beach, but the sand here was less packed and much more likely to give way under your feet. It was more like walking in snow. I felt that every footstep I made on the dunes was a blemish to this picture perfect scene, and I found comfort only in the thought that they will be gone and forgotten with the next gale.

The sun was just about starting to set as we approached the dunes, bathing the sands in just the right hue. I exclaimed in wonder, and snapped away delightedly with my camera. From the top of our dune, we also saw a few other people, each on the top of their respective dunes, trying to capture the moment.

“This makes it all worth it”, Paul said simply.

I nodded, and we left the Valley with its pristine dunes and its rugged mountains, its untamed winds and its salt covered terrain, its awe-inspiring panoramas and last but not least, its proud magnificent desolation.