Into the Sand: A Trek through the Atacama Desert

The sun beats down with relentless force, scorching any remnants of life. Wind whips against my face, hurling sand like tiny needles. Every step I take up the dune collapses beneath me, hot grains spilling into my shoes. This is the Atacama Desert.

I’ve been in the Atacama before, on the Chilean side but this is my first time in Peru, and my first time trying to hike through it. Hard to believe that just yesterday I was on a boat spotting wild penguins and sea lions. Now, barely an hour away, I’m surrounded by one of the driest landscapes on Earth.

Instead of taking the bus to Huacachina, a small oasis town tucked between massive sand dunes with a population of under 100. I’ve teamed up with a few new friends for something more adventurous. We’ve decided to hike there. All day. Through the dunes.

We loaded up on water, wrapped our faces in scarves, slid on sunglasses, and covered every inch of exposed skin to guard against the sun, wind, and ever-present sand.

The journey began somewhere that felt more like a remote beach than a desert. Birds circled above, fish leapt from the surf, and a small hut stood near the shoreline with two lazy dogs watching us pass. It would be the last sign of life we'd see for hours.

At the end of the beach, the dunes began. Hiking them was brutal. Each step sank into the slope, eroding any progress and filling our shoes with more sand. We had to stop constantly to shake it out just to keep going. When looking back at, our footsteps within seconds would be covered by the windblown sand, leaving no evidence that we were even there. 

When we finally reached the top of the first dune, we were rewarded with a surreal view. The endless Pacific behind us and a vast expanse of sand ahead. No signs of a town. No paths. Just wind carved ridges fading into the horizon. No one in our group had done this hike before, and looking out over the empty desert, I couldn’t help but wonder if …

“Come on!” Maggie called back, already descending the other side.

And so we continued, for ten long hours. Up and down the dunes. No trails. No shade. No signs of life. Whether it was 30 minutes in or 8 hours, the scenery didn’t change. Just sand in every direction. Without a compass, it would’ve been impossible to know if we were headed the right way.

We didn’t talk much, but I could sense we were all carrying the same quiet worry: What if we’re lost? The sun was beginning to dip, and none of us wanted to be stranded out here after dark.

Then, as we crested a final towering dune around the nine-hour mark, we saw it, Huacachina. A tiny patch of paradise nestled in the sand. Palm trees, people, a little lagoon. A mirage come to life.

We practically stumbled into town, exhausted, dusty, and starving. After checking into a hostel and scarfing down a meal, we collapsed. The next day, we did nothing but lounge by the pool.

Over the following days, we ventured back into the desert but this time for fun: sandboarding down massive slopes, flying through the dunes in buggies, and marveling at skies so clear we could see the entire Milky Way overhead.

That hike to Huacachina was tough but also incredibly rewarding. There’s something deeply humbling about crossing a landscape so raw and unforgiving and finding beauty in its emptiness.