Each authentic lodge-style room has beautiful tongue and groove knotty...Read More→
The Tularosa Basin, in southern New Mexico, isn’t especially overcrowded today. It was practically uninhabited, at least by the lights of Washington bean-counters, when, 70-odd years ago, chunks of it were given over to serve as a range on which to light up missiles and barrage the poor horned lizards and pronghorn with artillery and tank fire. The firepower would become more awesome in 1945, when the basin saw the world’s first atomic explosion, the one from which bomb inventor Robert Oppenheimer recoiled and said, “Now I am become Death, destroyer of worlds.”
For those of us who grew up during the Cold War and all its weird duck-and-cover glory, White Sands, in the heart of the Tularosa, is and shall ever be ground zero of a particular state of mind. Still, only 15-odd years after Trinity, I and zillions of other kids who lived nearby used the irradiated gypsum as our playground, enjoying one of the few places in the West—and perhaps the entire North American continent—where one can comfortably sled all year around without needing a single flake of snow. Small wonder, one might think, that Death has found so many of us in the form of strange maladies of a nuclear kind…
That gypsum, a kind of powdered limestone once called plaster of Paris, represents the bones of the once staggeringly tall mountains, now weathered and worn but still plenty sharp of tooth, that ring the basin. The stuff is fairly abundant around the world, with large deposits in places such as Russia, Iran, and Brazil, but nowhere are dunes of exposed gypsum sand so extensive as here at White Sands, taking in 275 square miles of Chihuahuan Desert. That’s good enough reason to have established a national monument here, as took place in 1933, and good enough reason to make the place a centerpiece of any visit to the area.
White Sands certainly ranks among my favorite venues in the Southwest, along with nearby Otero Mesa, a vast stretch of land that deserves similar natural protection as the last grassland of its kind north of Mexico. East of the monument lies Tularosa itself, a handsome little town that opens the door to the last tall mountains you’ll see before hitting the Appalachians far to the east. West lies the Rio Grande, that great artery of life in the desert. Travel in any direction, and you’ll see something remarkable. Just steer clear of the Destroyer, who is everywhere.