They Didn't Show, So I Went Into the Bisti Badlands Alone at Night Anyway

Speeding down Highway 371, I received a call. The two photographers who knew the way around Bisti Badlands weren't going to show tonight. This was a problem. I had never been there, and it was basically Mother Nature's escape room.

Bisti has no trails, no signs, no landmarks, and no cell signal. Just thousands of hoodoos and winding canyons. I'd have to find my way to some of the features, then find my way back to my car in the dark in a place I'd never been before. It would just be me and my navigation app. Here's how it went.

Going It Alone

I had been rushing around all day to try to meet two people at Bisti Badlands at 6 p.m. However, at 5:45 p.m., I received a call. "We arrived at Valley of Dreams Trailhead. See you soon!"

This was a problem.

This was not where I was going. It was not the correct trailhead. In fact, it was not even in Bisti Badlands.

They were an hour away, in Ah-Shi-Sle-Pah Wilderness. 

For the past several days, we had agreed to meet at the south trailhead at Bisti Badlands. I had rushed from Monument Valley to get there on time. Now I would be alone in a place I had never been before, on a dark, moonless night.

What Brought Me to Bisti Badlands?

I had driven to Farmington, New Mexico, to give two presentations for the Nightscaper Conference in May 2026. The conference is a four-day educational and community event that brings together 250 night photographers, astrophotographers, scientists, and dark-sky advocates to learn night-sky photography techniques, discuss astronomy, and celebrate dark-sky preservation. I was one of the 35 or so speakers.

I had shown up a few days early to get the lay of the land. I had the Garmin Explore GPS navigation app loaded up and wanted to explore. 

And I was here at Bisti now in the early evening. I didn't really know where I was going, but I was going to go anyway.

With my camera backpack, a tripod, several bottles of water, and a long-sleeve shirt in case it got cool later, I walked past the gate of the parking lot and headed toward the distant hills.

"Those Hills Don't Feel Like They're Getting Any Closer!"

My cell signal disappeared after about 15 or 20 minutes of walking. Also, it felt like the hills in the distance weren't getting any closer or larger. It was also 80 degrees, and I was already plowing through my water. 

After half an hour or so, I began wandering through some low-lying hills. I began seeing odd-looking, two-foot-tall hoodoos with flattened tops, as if someone had sat on a white plant stem and the top had bloomed outward. I had admittedly been feeling annoyance over the two people not showing, but this was evaporating, giving way to genuine excitement.

And all this was just a warm-up. The best was yet to come.

Before long, I was walking among hills that had colorful layers, as if someone had dumped out cones of spumoni or Neapolitan ice cream and turned them to rock. The hoodoos became increasingly absurd in shape. More and more, it felt like I had been transported to a strange new world straight out of "Star Trek." What an amazing landscape!

I tried to find some of the features marked on my map. They all had fantastic names: Paint Palette Hoodoo, Valley of Bones, Alien Woman. I wasn't sure what they looked like. I never had confirmation about whether I found them.

The Cracked Eggs of the Badlands

After wandering for a while, I came across a series of weird formations. This one I recognized from photos. The eerie formations were called the "Cracked Eggs," also known as the "Alien Egg Hatchery," "Alien Hatchery," "Egg Factory," or the "Bisti Egg Garden" by hikers and photographers.

A couple from San Jose showed up. Then someone else approached. "I've been here five times looking for the Cracked Eggs and could never find them. But I figured since the three of you were standing here with cameras, this might be it!"

The setting sun cast a beautiful light on the Cracked Eggs. Then a group of eight people walked up, led by a Navajo guide. Realizing they would want to photograph, I picked up my tripod and began walking to the side.

That's when one of the women in the group impatiently waved at me. "I don't want to be rude, but could you please get out of the way?"

I walked up to the group and quietly asked the woman, "Do you always command people to move when they were here before you and were already moving so you can photograph?" I could feel my annoyance from the day's events welling up inside me again.

Thankfully, the guide and everyone else were considerably friendlier. The guide asked if I was here for the Nightscaper Conference. I said yes and mentioned that I was giving two presentations. He handed me his business card and said he would be guiding conference attendees to Shiprock later in the week.

The group eventually dispersed, everyone racing to make the two-mile walk back before losing the light completely. I stayed behind to shoot some blue hour photos to blend later, using a dim handheld light to light paint some of the features. I felt peaceful and calm.

Pack That Water!

I was glad I had brought so much water. I had drunk over a liter of it walking in. Bisti will drain you fast, especially when you're walking constantly. The cool air that the night brought was a relief. Still, I ended up drinking all three bottles of water that I brought with me, about three and a half liters.

Getting Into the Groove

I didn't feel I was completely in a groove yet — the rushing to drive from Monument Valley to the parking lot on time and the day's events had worn on me a bit — but I was having fun, and I felt happy to just be out there shooting. I skipped waiting for the Milky Way to rise since all the early mornings were already wearing on me, but the starry landscape was more than enough. After visiting several locations I had passed on the walk in, it was time to attempt the walk back to the car.

The Quickest Way Between Two Points Is Not Always a Straight Line

Even without a cell signal, the Garmin Explore app is surprisingly useful. Sure, without being paired with a Garmin GPS device, the location drifted a little, but it remained quite reliable. Of course, you do have to download maps of the area ahead of time, but it does work well.

I had left "digital bread crumbs" marking my trail from the car. However, remembering the long distance, I thought I would try to proceed more directly. I thought I would try to go back the same way I had seen the guide and his group walk.

But especially in the dark, a shortcut isn't always a shortcut. 

I started climbing hills, then descending into valleys. Their depths were amplified by the darkness. Some of the scree was slippery. After several hills, I stopped, waving my flashlight ahead. Several more rows of faint hills loomed in the darkness. Beyond that, I couldn't see much, just inky blackness and the stars.

I retraced my steps, then followed the large wash back to the parking lot. I had added a mile of walking and 30 minutes to my return. However, considering that I had never been here, I felt that this had gone reasonably well. I had worked up quite a thirst, though. I kept several gallons of water in my car and was only too happy to drink a lot of it on the 50-minute drive back to Farmington.

New Places to Explore in Bisti

The next evening, I decided to try exploring from another parking lot. The southern lot from the previous night had 13 vehicles, including a few camping overnight. This new one was empty. Because I wasn't rushing and there was no one around, I felt like I was more in the flow, feeling more creative and open.

On the first night from this new lot, I found my way back to the parking lot only to be stumped by a barbed-wire fence. I couldn't find where I had walked through it before. After 15 minutes of walking back and forth searching for an opening, I walked completely around it, adding another mile.

The Third Time's the Charm

During my third visit, I returned to the new lot. This time, however, I parked farther to the north, lining myself up with a tall blinking tower back toward the highway. That one simple trick changed everything. I barely consulted Garmin Explore on the walk back. I just walked toward the blinking light, and it led me straight to my car.

It turns out Mother Nature's escape room had a cheat code after all. It just took me until the third night to find it.