An Angel in Great Sand Dunes National Park

First of all, I don't really believe in angels or symbols or mystical messages. Well, I didn't until the day I took this image because I really thought I was going to die that day.

Last month, I was alone and in the middle of a cross-country drive taking me from San Francisco to New York City.

Everything up until this day had gone well; I'd seen good sites, my car was running fine and I'd felt adventurous and blessed. Well, blessed in my own way that probably isn't like other people's.

I woke up this day in Pagosa Springs, enjoyed the hot mineral pools for an hour, then hit the road. My first stop was Great Sand Dunes National Park because, as a photographer drawn to vast landscapes, I couldn't pass it by. It is also one of the least-visited of all our national parks because, well, you can see why.

The dunes are brown and big. Really big. But not really beautiful. The surging stream is pretty cool, but hey, who's going to drive 50 miles out of the way to watch water go by with a heartbeat?

Well, there's spirit in them thar hills. I am not a religious type, but I might have to re-think that after experiencing this park.

I kicked around some sand, took some photos and several hours later found myself back in the car headed for I70 East. I was planning to spend the night as close to Kansas as I could get.

I headed northeast on 24 and as I left the Rockies behind me and the great land rolled out completely flat in front of me, to the north of me and to the south of me, I watched a giant storm system completely take over the northern half of my view. The direction I was headed was clear, so I nervously pressed on.

Fewer and fewer cars passed me going the opposite direction.

The wind started to pick up. The purpley-black cloud just grew and I began to get more than a little nervous.

I am NOT a fast driver, but my foot got a little heavier. I drove 70. Then 75. Then 80.

Then somewhere between 6pm and 7pm, the entire angry storm was on top of me. Giant cup-clouds dropped out of the sky. These terrifying, udder-like clouds fell with a beautiful, luminescent white against a backdrop of blackness.

My skin crawled and my palms sweated.

I grew up in Minnesota and knew that those cup-clouds are dangerous. What I didn't know was what to do.

I didn't know if you're supposed to drive away from a tornado, pull over, seek shelter....I was near panic.

In a blind, scared kind of haste, I dialed all the AM stations for Weather Information posted on those blue highway signs.

All I got was static. Loud, unfriendly static.

The one FM station I could get was KCME and they were serenely playing some violin concerto featuring Josh Bell. There were no interruptions. I couldn't understand why. This weather was dangerous.

I snatched the cell phone and called at least ten friends. All I got was voicemail. I needed someone to check the weather in my area and then tell me what to do and I couldn't find anyone!

Now the wind was screaming and there was NOBODY on the road. No cars in front, none in back. There were no side roads, no towns, no shelter. I didn't think I should be on the road. But now, what was the alternative?

I was really scared.

Then I hit I70 and saw a little humanity in the tiny little town of Limon, CO. All good judgment had evaporated from my brain and instead of pulling off the road and getting some live advice, I hit the highway.

That's when the fun really started. For some reason, I never seemed to find wind blowing the same direction I was driving. It was ALWAYS blowing perpendicular! And that night, giant, washing-machine-sized tumbleweeds were tearing across the highway helter skelter in front of me, on me and under me. I avoided some, but I probably drove over a whole lot more.

Oh, my poor car.

Every crunch, thud and smack scared me into a tighter, tenser ball. Now I started to feel pretty stupid, but I still needed information! Was it going to get worse? Were there warnings out? I decided to break out the hand-held CB radio my dear friend Megan gave me.

I pulled onto an off-ramp to set the thing up. Even though I knew that antenna had to go on the OUTSIDE of the car, I was really hoping it would work just a little from the inside of the car. No such luck.

I opened the car door a crack and felt the surge of that ominous wind. I shut the car door and grabbed my temples thinking maybe it wasn't worth it.

But I still needed information and nothing else was working.

So I forced the door open, ran to the other side of the car, slapped the antenna onto the roof just over the passenger side door and ran for cover.

Even the truckers were concerned! But silly me, I got encouraged by the Westbound traffic saying it was a lot better east.

The cell phone finally rang and it was a friend of mine's mother who knew I was driving through that area. She looked up what was going on for me and said the worst of it was to the West and not to worry.

Even though I believed her, the reality seemed determined to prove her wrong. I said It's getting dark! She said good, then you won't be able to see any reason to be scared.

I pulled into Burlington, CO shortly thereafter and checked into a Comfort Inn. It was wonderful. I felt safe, finally.

I am a photographer and I have to look at the work I do every day before I go to bed. That day, exhausted as I was, I began to look through my images.



I started to cry when I saw the angel. Now, I'm not really a believer, but it was as clear as day to me that this beautiful creature, facing east, had been with me and had watched out for me throughout that scary ordeal. I never saw the shape when I took the picture, but apparently some things you can not see when you do not know what purpose they serve.

On checkout the next morning, I learned that we had had sustained winds over 60mph and that tornadoes had touched down just east of me. I had squeaked into the right place at the wrong time with just enough of a sober reality check to count my blessings and keep me reverent.

For the record, I now know that you're supposed to get OUT of your car and slink down into the wet, muddy ditch and get as flat as possible when there's a tornado bearing down on you.

I thought some of you might appreciate the story and might get some use out of the Great Sand Dunes National Angel. Clearly, she doesn't discriminate between those who believe and those who don't and, while she's not that pretty, she sure is powerful.