Mexican Dam Sunset

A couple of evenings ago, the Girl and I saw this beautiful sunset at Mexican Dam on the Carson River.
A couple of evenings ago, the Girl and I saw this beautiful sunset at Mexican Dam on the Carson River.

Every now and again western Nevada offers an absolutely stunning sunset. The conditions have to be right, with a few clouds and little haze. There are many sunsets here that are beautiful, but simple, with the sun setting behind the Carson Range, leaving the day in a blaze of beautiful red but with no clouds to share in that color.

Then again, we have those evenings when we are blessed with a few clouds to share in the parting of the day. When those special evenings occur, they can be stunning.

So, when the Girl and I were on evening walkies along the Carson River Trail a few evenings ago, we were in for a double treat. With the end of irrigation season, there is a little more water in the Carson River. Flows are just enough that water is flowing over Mexican Dam again… just a little. But, it’s enough that there is a small pond behind the weir. Ducks, geese, and a blue heron are often seen here.

I laugh when we jump ducks from the Mexican Ditch on the way to the Mexican Dam. They burst from the ditch and cover, beating the water and brush with the wings, quacking their duck-curses upon us. The Girl gives chase for a few steps, then realizes she will not catch the swift flyers. This particular evening was no different.

At the dam, the light was turning special. There was enough water to provide a reflection of the sunset. So we stayed a few minutes to take it in. I made a few captures with my iPhone and my compact camera and drank a little water while the Girl snuffled about.

Then it was off for the rig to beat the dusk. I knew I pushed it a little, not really wanting to hike back to the rig in the dark. I carry a small light (enough) and think I’ll put a headlight in my pack for those evenings when we just don’t get back to the rig before dark.

On the way back to the rig, the Great Horned Owls began their evening calls. I heard three of them, announcing their presence to each other, preparing the the evening hunts. I called back as I hiked, looking for their telltale shapes on the darkening branches of the cottonwoods. None revealed themselves that evening, and I was left with the sounds of their calls, the crunching of the sand under my boots, the burbling of the Carson River over its riffles, and the snuffling of the Girl as we humped it back to the rig.

We flushed no ducks on the way back. We did encounter one other pair of hikers working their way toward Mexican Dam. I think they were too late for the sunset, but perhaps that was not their objective.

Back at the rig in the gathering dusk, the Girl hopped in and waited for me to close the door. I shucked my pack, stowed it, and closed her door. Then it was off to our room for supper and to relax from the hike.

As my favorite gun-vlogger says, “Life is good…”