We had other plans for Saturday night. Astronomers from the Biggest Little City to the West had planned an evening at a local lake to stargaze. This has been on my bucket list since the day I moved to Winterpast 5.5 years ago. With no white light allowed (to avoid light pollution), it would’ve been the perfect night to enjoy the stars. I’ve been told you can even see the Milky Way after dark. What a lovely thing to do.
Well, Mother Nature had some other ideas for us. A monsoonal rainstorm struck on a night when there was a 10% chance of rain. That’s the desert for you. If you don’t like the weather, wait ten minutes and it will change. So different from the boring Central Valley of California, where I spent decades gazing at grey skies without wind or puffy white clouds. How I wish I had known the secrets of the desert in the 70s. I would’ve moved here then.
There’s something unforgettable about rain in the desert, especially when it doesn’t just whisper through but roars in with all the force of a monsoon. At around 7 PM on Saturday night, the skies over our quiet desert neighborhood cracked open. What started as a soft breeze quickly escalated into 45 mph gusts that rattled our windows. Within minutes, the clouds unleashed a downpour so heavy and relentless that it was hard to believe we were still on the high desert plains of Northwestern Nevada.
Gutters overflowed almost instantly. The rainfall was too much, too fast, as it cascaded over the edges like small waterfalls. Water rushed down the streets through the main neighborhood drainage system, never designed for anything close to this. Clogged with debris, it began to back up. Within fifteen minutes, the end of the block looked more like a shallow lake than a road.
And then there was the lightning. For thirty full minutes, bolts lit up the sky like a light show, with some arcing horizontally while others slammed straight into the nearby mountains with bone-shaking thunder. The dogs, usually so brave, huddled under the patio chair, ears back and eyes wide, waiting for it to end. I dashed to the garage to shut off the still-running sprinklers, completely unnecessary in this kind of rain.
Although beautiful, it was also a bit terrifying. The kind of storm that makes you stand in the doorway in awe, even as the wind tries to push it shut. The air smelled of dust, ozone, and something ancient, as the land remembered what it felt like to be soaked.
In the aftermath, the desert will come alive with green. It’s amazing how quickly the colors change with the growth of new life. That’s great news for the bands of mustangs, numbering around 30. With two new foals that we know of, water is a welcome relief in the middle of August. Hopefully, they’ll walk on by Winterpast, and stay in the desert where they belong.
I’m pretty sure those working on the Playa while preparing for Burning Man suffered some setbacks. Mud Fest 2025 may be in the works after such a downpour. Just wait for the fun to begin.
By 7:30, the show was over. The only things left were puddles, a few broken branches, and a night sky so quiet it seemed like nothing had happened at all. Not sure that people danced under the Cosmos after that. Desert mud is pretty nasty and with no white light allowed, I’m glad we weren’t there to experience it. If you were here, you know exactly what happened and you’ll never forget it.
More tomorrow.
