WHITE SANDS NATIONAL PARK – GYPSUM HEAVEN

Set in the Tularosa Basin of southern New Mexico, White Sands National Park spreads across the Chihuahuan Desert in rolling waves of glistening white gypsum sand. The dunes keep shifting and settling over hundreds of square miles, which is how this place became the largest gypsum dunefield in the world. And it all started hundreds of millions of years ago, when the Permian Sea covered this area and left behind the gypsum that still cycles between selenite crystal and sand today.

During our journey to Tucson (for the nation’s largest gem show), we stayed in Balmorhea, down the road from the incredible White Sands National Park. Not quite sure what to expect, we went in with tamped-down expectations. In the rockhounding world, you learn quickly not to get your hopes up too high because it is a constant game of hide and seek. Yes, even with a “sure thing” such as a national park.

To say we were not disappointed is an understatement!

We drove in and immediately saw the white gypsum sand mixed among the cactus and desert grasses. At first, we thought maybe that was all there was — scattered patches, a little sparkle here and there. Then, off in the distance, we saw it: a sea of white.

Sea of gypsum sand

The road twisted and wound like a snake, pulling us deeper in until we hit the “end of pavement.” What is that? Suddenly, you’re on what looks like snow-plowed streets — except this wasn’t snow. It was gypsum, as far as the eye could see, framed by mountains in the distance.

Entering the "end of pavement" area

We stopped at a towering cliff wall to grab some photos and video — we couldn’t resist any longer. I immediately scooped up a handful of sand, needing to feel it for myself.

A gypsum cliff

This was definitely not your average sand.

Janet from jujujems holding a handful of "snow"

It was soft, light, and completely dry. It didn’t clump. It didn’t stick. It slipped through my fingers like powdered silk. Since it was winter, it felt cool to the touch, and we quickly started calling it selenite snow — nothing like what you picture when someone says, “desert sand.” And oh, how I wanted to bag some up and take it home to love forever ... but that is very much off-limits here.

Jim from jujujems atop a steep gypsum hill

Just when we thought we had this place figured out, we ran into what a park worker casually referred to as the popcorn field. Same gypsum, totally different experience. Instead of soft and silky, this stuff was hard, scratchy, and crunchy underfoot — like walking across petrified popcorn. No scooping this up and letting it drift through your fingers. This was gypsum in its don’t touch me phase, sharp-edged and loud with every step.

The "popcorn field"

Now for the geeky jujujems take

You may be wondering where selenite comes into all of this.

Gypsum is basically pre-selenite. Same mineral — calcium sulfate — just a different stage of the story. Instead of growing into clear crystal sheets, the gypsum here gets broken down and recycled by wind and water until it becomes the bright white sand White Sands is famous for. It’s essentially a crystal that chose chaos instead of structure.

At its heart, gypsum is a mineral that loves water … and then leaves it.

It dissolves easily, drifts along for a while, and then shows back up when the water evaporates — similar to the way salt gets left behind after a tide goes out. That simple dissolve-and-return cycle is what makes this place possible in the first place.

When rain and melting snow hit the gypsum-rich mountains, tiny amounts of gypsum dissolve and wash downhill. Everything eventually funnels into the basin floor, where the water has nowhere to escape. No river. No outlet. It collects, spreads, and … waits.

Over time, that water reaches the lowest part of the basin near Lake Lucero. When conditions line up just right, the water evaporates and the gypsum settles back out, slowly organizing itself into crystals. This is where gypsum becomes selenite — the clearer, more crystalline form of the mineral. These crystals are extremely delicate and can grow impressively large before breaking down again and rejoining the cycle.

Selenite blades on Lake Lucera

We asked about seeing the selenite blades up close and got a gentle no. Because the area around Lake Lucero is connected to military land, visitors can’t freely wander out there for safety reasons. So, the blades remain just out of reach — doing their slow, sparkly thing without us. Honestly, that feels very on brand for selenite. We’re hoping to join one of the occasional guided tours on a future trip.

Gypsum doesn’t stop with selenite, though. It shows up in a few other forms too — satin spar, desert rose, and gypsum flower — each shaped by slightly different conditions and each with its own personality. At White Sands, the stars of the show are the rare gypsum sand that makes up the dunes and the selenite crystals that form, dissolve, and reform again and again.

So yes — same mineral.

Different expressions.

Different moments.

And that’s exactly why gypsum — and selenite — continue to fascinate us. One material, endlessly reshaped by time, water, and place, falling softly between your fingers in one moment and crunching beneath your boots like petrified popcorn in another. 

Gypsum hills for sledding

Stay Sparkly!

The jujujems Team ✨