Let These Dunes Put You in the Pink

Some Pacific Islanders like to boast that they have sand that isn’t run-of-the-mill gray stuff, that theirs is colorful. Those natives are justifiably proud of their gritty possession, but us statesiders have a sand trick of our own.

Standing tall (hundreds of feet high) and ancient (10,000 to 15,000 years old), these ground rock products have a beauty all their own. You won’t find these wind-blown waves of russet sand next to the Pacific, Atlantic, or any other major body of water. Rather, these pink dunes are hidden away in a quiet southwestern corner of Utah. Off the main highway, tucked away on a “scenic backway,” these magnificent mounds that comprise the Coral Pink Sand Dunes are in easy reach of many of the Grand Circle National Parks: Zion, Bryce Canyon, Arches, Capitol Reef, and Grand Canyon itself.

Salmon Colored?
Some ask, “Are the dunes really coral pink?” Well, that depends on what kind of coral you’re familiar with. They could be described as coral pink, but in our eyes, they’re salmon colored. Maybe salmon are too often associated with large saltwater bodies, and since the nearest salt water is the Great Salt Lake, which spawns forth no salmon, perhaps the official-dubbers-of-place-names decided that coral pink was more apropos. Yet, when you think of coral, don’t you think of a beach? Oh, well.

These dunes are pink, in whatever shade you care to call it, be it dusty rose, coral, salmon, or whatever reddish shade is the rage of the day. The pink color is attributable, according to scientific analysis, to large quantities of iron oxide. That’s some of the coating you get when you expose iron to air and moisture, only it’s called rust. But somehow Rusty Dunes didn’t make it into the Chamber of Commerce glossary.

Actually, the makeup of the dunes is something of an act of geologic engineering on a long-term scale. The whole area is known for its rock formations; in fact, it’s often termed Red Rock Country. Huge formations of Navajo sandstone from the Middle Jurassic geologic time frame have slowly been chewed on by the winds of time. But why did the wind not just dump the eroded sand off willy-nilly?

Enter the Venturi Effect. The nearby mountains of Moquith and Moccasin form a great “notch,” which puts an interesting spin on the winds that blow through. Carrying their payload of rust—beg pardon—coral pink sand, the winds speed up and are hurled out of the notch. Once out of the notch, the wind speed drops dramatically, and the sand is likewise dropped, forming dramatic dunes.

Open for Enjoyment
Today these vast acres of pinkish dunes lay under the care of the government. Between the authority of the Bureau of Land Management and the good folks from the Utah State Parks Department, the dunes are kept open to those who would enjoy them. While a large portion of the dunes are closed to motorized traffic, hikers and shutterbugs readily traverse them.

Well, maybe readily is a bit too optimistic. Hiking through the dunes can be a challenge, particularly to those of us blessed with weak ankles. The state maintains a park in the dunes where picnickers and RVers can enjoy the view without getting sand in their sandals.

An alternative, the scenic backway route, gives good views and handy pullouts for photography, and physical access to the dunes is possible. A no-frills campground called Ponderosa Grove lies at the northern edge of the dunes, courtesy of the BLM. Since the dunes shift less here than an in other places, plant growth is more lush, and views of that pink granulation are a bit less spectacular.

So yuck it up you Pacific Islanders. You may have white sand. You may have black sand. But you don’t have anything like the rusty—er—coral pink sands of Utah.

The De Maris’ book, RV Boondocking Basics helps RVers learn how to enjoy camping without utility hookups. For information, visit www.ican-rv.com, call (360) 357-5728 or write to info@icanrv.com.