Turning regular-season triumphs into postseason glory is no small feat, and the Lowry Buckaroos learned that the hard way. For the third time this season, they got outmatched by the Churchill County Greenwave, this time in a 61-55 heartbreaker. Their latest brush with Churchill County had ended in a 47-36 defeat just two weeks prior, and this one proved no less frustrating.
At the heart of Churchill County’s victory stood Raegan Johnson and Vernita Fillmore, a duo that played like seasoned professionals. Johnson dominated the boards and the scoreboard, notching a double-double with 16 points and 14 rebounds, throwing in two blocks for good measure—the most she’s recorded since December 2024. Fillmore, meanwhile, ran the show with 13 points, five assists, and four steals, keeping Lowry on their heels all night. Not to be left out, Amillya Bishop contributed a solid 12 points, adding to Lowry’s woes.
With the loss, Lowry wrapped up their season at 15-8. As for the Greenwave, they’re riding high on an 11-game winning streak, their record now an imposing 22-6. Wasting no time dwelling on their latest conquest, Churchill County charged ahead and made quick work of Fernley, cruising to a commanding 63-31 victory on the 15th.
Lowry can only wonder what might have been while Churchill County forges ahead, leaving their latest challenger in the rearview mirror.
There once was a time when the Virginia & Truckee Railway puffed its way across Nevada like a proud old-timer telling tall tales—some true, some exaggerated, but all worth the price of admission. Today, however, the yarn it spins is one of dwindling dollars, political hand-wringing, and the ever-present question: What do you do with an expensive relic that refuses to pay its way?
Like a physician breaking bad news to an aging patient, Carson City Mayor Lori Bagwell informed the Nevada Assembly Committee on Growth and Infrastructure last week that the railway had failed to live up to the grand promise of self-sufficiency. It may come as a surprise only to those who believe that money grows on sagebrush.
Flanked by Storey County Commissioner Clay Mitchell, Bagwell requested a study to determine whether the railway should be saved, sold, or left to fade like an old miner’s ghost. One option on the table is to dissolve the commission that oversees the railway and auction off its assets to the highest bidder—though one suspects the highest bidder will be in no hurry to lay hands on a business that leaks money like a sieve.
The situation is as follows: Without financial backing from Carson City and Storey County, the railway would lose between $100,000 and $150,000 annually. With that support, it can puff its way into the black by about $140,000—a thin profit margin that would make a prospector weep.
The railway is best known for its Christmas-themed excursions, wherein it transforms into the Polar Express, ferrying wide-eyed children and their weary parents into a winter wonderland of nostalgia. It is one of the few times the train makes any real money. Unfortunately, the V&T Railway Commission only owns the engine, not the passenger cars, nor the facilities required to maintain them—akin to owning a horse but not the saddle, stable, or oats.
In the spirit of practical governance, Bagwell pointed out that Carson City has potholes to fill, roads to pave, and the endless demands of modern infrastructure to meet. Nostalgia, she implied, is a fine thing—but it won’t fix a broken street.
Storey County, on the other hand, seems less inclined to let go. Mitchell noted that Virginia City sees the most direct benefit from the railway, with visitors rolling into town with pockets full of cash and an enthusiasm for historic charm. He suggested that, even if the railway were doomed to “tread water,” it would remain a beloved fixture.
No decision was made, no fateful spike driven, and no whistles blown—save for the weary sighs of officials wrestling with the age-old problem of keeping history alive while balancing the books. The Virginia & Truckee may yet chug along, but one gets the impression its next stop may be the auction block.
1843, and Ethan Carver lived in a cabin near the Carson River, a mile from the water. He was a hunter and a trapper, quiet and sharp-eyed, with the endurance of a man who knew the wilderness well.
For years, he lived alone, save for his dog. One winter, visiting a nearby Paiute Village, he met a girl.
Her name was Pamahas, and she had a way of smiling that made Carver forget his solitude. He visited her camp often, bringing gifts for her father, and in time, she became his wife. The tribe performed the marriage, and he brought her back to his cabin.
On the day of the wedding, a man from her tribe, a jealous fool who had wanted Pamahas for himself, came at Carver with a knife. The dog leaped at the man before the blade struck.
Carver beat the attacker senseless, driving him from the cabin as the onlookers laughed at his disgrace. Carver and Pamahas built a life together.
In time, there was a baby. The three lived simply in the cabin, the dog ever watchful.
One evening, Carver noticed the grass near his house bent in a way that spoke of footsteps, not his own. He muttered something about a hunter passing by and thought no more of it.
A few days later, returning at dusk, he found the fresh marks again. The trail led to his window, then back into the woods.
That evening, he stumbled on the body of his dog. It lay stiff near the door, throat cut, blood soaking the earth.
Carver burst into the cabin and called for Pamahas. She hushed him with a whisper, her voice low. “You’ll wake the child.”
She sat on the hearth, her dress torn and her face streaked with blood and soot. In her arms, she cradled the baby, its body limp, its dress dark with blood.
The head of the child lay on the floor beside her. She rocked back and forth, crooning softly, her glassy eyes fixed on the fire.
Carver stood frozen, his breath heavy in the silence. When he found words, Pamahas only whispered again, “Hush, you’ll wake him.”
The night crawled by, and when morning came, Pamahas’s strength waned. By the second night, she lay on a bed of skins, her arms empty.
For a brief moment, her senses returned, and she told Carver what had happened. The jealous man had come back, knife in hand.
He killed the dog, struck her down, and tore the baby from its bed. With a slash of his blade, he took the child’s life and threw its body into her lap.
“This is my revenge,” he had said. “I am satisfied.”
Pamahas died before dawn. He did not cry. He did not shout.
He saddled his horse and rode west to the Paiute village. There, he told the tribe what had happened and demanded the man responsible.
The elders gave him up.
Carver bound the man with rawhide, tying his arms to his sides. He threw a noose around the man’s neck and tied the other end to his saddle. Then he rode through the night, the man stumbling behind him.
At the cabin, Carver worked in silence. He cut willow branches and wove a cradle-like frame.
Into it, he strapped the man, tying him tight so he could not move. Then he brought Pamahas’s and the baby’s bodies from the cabin and laid them atop the man, face down, their weight pressing against him.
The murderer groaned, but Carver said nothing. He tied the two bodies together until they were one mass.
Carver stood near the empty cabin for a time before setting fire to it. Then he took his rifle, mounted his horse, and rode away.
The fine gentlepeople at Sun Silver Limited have set their sights on a grand undertaking in the wilds of Nevada, a land that has never lacked for folks with picks in their hands and gold dust in their dreams.
With an eye toward fortune and formality, the company has commenced environmental surveys at its Maverick Springs Silver-Gold Project, a necessary bit of paper-waving to appease the regulatory gods and keep the development wagon from losing a wheel. These surveys shall march on until August, collecting all manner of ecological intelligence to assure the world that Sun Silver is not just digging holes but doing so with a sense of decorum.
Maverick Springs rests between Elko and Ely, perched on the northwest flank of the Maverick Springs Range, where men have long suspected the good Lord stashed a great deal of silver and gold. Access to this promised land is via a gravel road from Ruby Valley, a journey no doubt best made with auto springs and a determination to avoid getting bogged down in the dust.
The company is quite proud that its Maverick Springs asset now boasts a mineral resource of nearly 196 million tons, with a silver equivalent of over 423 million ounces—enough to make a prospector’s head spin and a tax collector’s hands itch. A thorough combing of old drill records and some fresh reimagining of what the earth might still be hiding has confirmed what Sun Silver has suspected all along–there’s more where that came from.
Sun Silver, not being the sort to sit back and merely count numbers, has been drilling, particularly to the northwest, where recent findings suggest richer veins than previously imagined. One particular hole, MR24-186, turned up a mighty promising stretch of silver, proving their suspicions were not just empty tavern talk. The company believes these results indicate a grander treasure still awaiting discovery beyond their current claims, and they intend to press forward, ever hopeful and ever digging.
So it is that Sun Silver finds itself at the helm of what may be the largest pre-production silver asset on the Australian Securities Exchange, a position that makes investors swoon and rival companies grind their teeth. If all goes well—and the hills of Nevada are as generous as they seem—Maverick Springs may be a modern El Dorado, mined with careful science, legal paperwork, and just enough old-fashioned luck.
The Nevada Legislature, in its infinite wisdom, has set its sights on a grand and noble cause—enshrining a collection of taverns and dance halls as a historical landmark. A resolution, tendered by Democratic lawmakers on Thursday, seeks to recognize the “Fruit Loop” in Las Vegas, a cluster of establishments that cater to the city’s LGBTQ crowd, as a site of great historical import.
Now, there ain’t a soul alive who disputes a man’s—or woman’s, or whatever—right to carouse where they please, but one does begin to wonder if taxpayer monies might get better spent on enterprises less fixated on commemorating the consumption of cocktails. According to the resolution, the area, situated around Paradise Road and University Center Drive, sprouted LGBTQ-friendly businesses in the 1970s and has since been home to such reputable institutions as the Piranha nightclub and QUADZ bar.
Meanwhile, as Nevada’s great minds dedicate themselves to the sanctification of nightlife, the state continues to suffer a mental health crisis that would make a lunatic asylum blush. Hospitals burst at the seams with the afflicted, funding remains as scarce as rain in the desert, and the resources needed to treat the desperate are getting met with the sound of crickets.
There is no hearing date set for this pressing matter, which is to say, even the Legislature has the good sense to delay a foolish endeavor when it sees one. But fear not, for when the day comes, we may all sleep easy knowing rather than tending to the needs of the sick and suffering, Nevada’s lawmakers have seen fit to erect a monument to merrymaking.
There is no word yet on whether the hallowed barstools shall get preserved behind velvet ropes or if the state intends to embalm the cocktail napkins for posterity.
Senators Catherine Cortez Masto and Jacky Rosen that the Department of Veterans Affairs is engaged in a most peculiar practice—dismissing those individuals charged with caring for the nation’s veterans. The unexpected development has left the senators and the veterans in a state of astonishment not easily put into words suitable for polite company.
Determined to unravel this mystery, the two senators have penned a letter to VA Secretary Doug Collins, demanding an explanation for what inspired the department to thin its ranks. In particular, they wish to know why Nevada has suffered such a noticeable pruning of personnel and whether the affected individuals might be veterans—having traded one uniform for another, only to find that neither offers much security against bureaucratic shears.
“The VA plays a critical role in ensuring that our nation’s veterans receive the care, benefits, and support they have earned through sacrifice,” the senators declared in what can only be an appeal to common sense. “A significant reduction in staff could have serious consequences for both VA operations and our veterans in Nevada.”
Indeed, it requires no stretch of the imagination to conclude that when one needs more work done, one might consider retaining rather than discarding those capable of doing it. Whether the VA subscribes to this or believes that medical care, benefits processing, and other essential services should get left to the whims of chance remains to be seen.
The nation’s veterans, no doubt, await an answer with bated breath—though one hopes not for too long, lest their health, too, be left to the efficiencies of modern cost-cutting.
Ever the paragon of forward-thinking, Nevada has generously decided that one solitary crisis call center for the entire state was perhaps not enough. After much deliberation, elbow rubbing, and undoubtedly a good deal of committee meetings where the coffee was plentiful and the solutions were scarce, the Nevada Board of Examiners has greenlit a $49.7 million contract for a second 988 Suicide & Crisis Lifeline call center in Southern Nevada.
Why, you ask? The first one is positively drowning in calls, and nothing says ‘mental health crisis under control’ like the state scrambling to add another call center two years after launching the program.
According to Rachel Isherwood, who manages the Crisis Response Section, they’re thrilled to support the rising call volume. Now, there’s an interesting choice of words—’thrilled’ about a sharp increase in mental health crises.
That’s like being ‘delighted’ by a three-alarm fire or ‘tickled pink’ about a plague of locusts. But rest assured, this new facility will be part of what officials have deemed the ‘crisis response continuum,’ which, if we may be frank, sounds less like a plan and more like an acknowledgment that the crisis is so vast it needs an entire spectrum of response.
As it stands, Crisis Support Services of Nevada is the lone outfit fielding desperate calls from Nevadans teetering on the brink, valiantly answering more than 3,700 calls a month. One can almost hear the faint hum of a bureaucratic sigh in the statistics.
You see, the state proudly declares that 76 percent of these calls are being answered—meaning, by simple arithmetic, that a quarter of those reaching out in distress are met with the ever-comforting sound of silence or rerouted to a national backup center where a stranger from who-knows-where does their level best to help someone in a place they’ve never been.
But worry not, dear citizen!
The state assures us that 95 percent of calls will get answered within 20 seconds at the upcoming center.
How comforting to know that in just under half a minute, someone in crisis may reach a professional trained to de-escalate them—provided their particular brand of despair adheres to a neat and orderly timeline. And for those whose suffering refuses to be so accommodating–there’s the national center.
And let’s not forget Carelon Behavioral Health, the lucky recipient of this $49 million contract. They’ll be absorbing Crisis Support Services of Nevada into their operation, folding the experience of a battle-hardened crisis center into their national network.
It means that Nevadans will soon benefit from improved technology and ‘multiregional administration,’ which, translated from the language of bureaucratic optimism, likely means more paperwork, more metrics, and more hoops for people in crisis to jump through before receiving help.
As a final flourish, 988 Crisis Counselors will be seated alongside 911 dispatchers in Clark and Washoe counties. Officials promise it will allow for seamless call transfers, ensuring that if a person in crisis has dialed the wrong number in their moment of need, they will get redirected—because nothing soothes a tormented mind quite like being put on hold and handed off like an unwanted casserole at a potluck.
So, there you have it. Nevada is taking bold action, which is to say, the state is hurriedly patching holes in a rapidly sinking ship while pretending it meant to install a swimming pool all along. Thus, the crisis response continuum trudges forward, expanding, never solving, and always promising that the next call will get answered in time.
If any man with a working set of morals ought to expect from his attorney general, it’s that he’ll spend his days making sure that criminals are made uncomfortable, the innocent are kept safe, and that law and order are as sturdy as a brick outhouse. But in Nevada, folks have a peculiar sort of misfortune
.
Instead of a man with a backbone, they’ve got Aaron Ford—a fellow who seems to think his chief responsibility is making certain Chinese nationals have an easier time skirting the law than a greased pig at a county fair.
Ford is handing out “Know Your Rights” guides in Mandarin—giving illegal aliens a handy little playbook on how to avoid deportation.
Now, I don’t know about you, but when an attorney general starts working harder to protect illegal aliens rather than his constituents, it’s time to check if he’s getting his paycheck in yuan. While Nevada families are left to deal with crime, fentanyl, and a border that leaks like a screen door on a submarine, Ford is too busy rolling out the red carpet for folks who have no business being here in the first place.
Of course, this sort of mischief doesn’t come cheap. While your hard-earned tax dollars should be going toward making sure the streets are safe, Ford is using them to put together instruction manuals for people who already broke the law when they set foot in the country.
And to top it off, some of these upstanding “newcomers” have been linked to the Chinese military. But don’t worry–Ford’s making it so they have all the legal resources they need to keep living in Nevada, rubbing elbows with the good citizens who belong here.
Naturally, Ford isn’t satisfied with being the best friend an illegal alien ever had. He’s also trying to stop the federal government from keeping its house in order.
He cheered a court decision that halted the Department of Government Efficiency from searching out wasteful financial dealings, claiming it was about protecting Nevadans. More likely, it’s about making sure the swamp stays murky and that the wrong people keep getting their pamphlets.
Here’s a man who wants to be your governor in 2026. If you’re fond of a state where the law applies to everyone except criminals, where your tax dollars get spent on pamphlets for people who shouldn’t be here, and where the highest lawman in the state is more worried about making Washington bureaucrats comfortable than making Nevada families safe—well, Ford is your man. But if you’d prefer a Nevada where common sense isn’t outlawed and law-abiding citizens don’t take a back seat to foreign interests, it might be time to put Ford where he belongs—out of office and out of excuses.
It was a long road to disappointment for the Fernley Vaqueros as they saddled up for their season opener, only to get sent packing by the Galena Grizzlies in a 21-2 drubbing on Saturday. The loss extends a streak of misfortune that has dogged Fernley since last season, now stretching to an unlucky seven in a row.
Despite the rout, Riley McCullar proved he wasn’t going down without a fight, turning in a perfect 3-for-3 performance at the plate, crossing home once, and swiping two bases in a futile but spirited effort.
With the dust of this contest settling, both squads now look ahead to friendlier confines. The Vaqueros will hope the home turf offers better luck when they host Palo Verde Valley at 10:30 a.m. Thursday. Riding high, the Grizzles will take on Varsity Opponent at 3:00 p.m. that same afternoon.
For now, Galena’s faithful can rest easy knowing their boys gave them what they wanted—a decisive statement to open the season.
Having soared through the regular season with the grace and dominance of a bird of prey, the Spring Mountain Eagles found their wings clipped when they met the Virginia City Muckers in playoff action.
The Muckers, showing no inclination for mercy, steamrolled their way to a decisive 65-35 victory, handing Spring Mountain its most lopsided defeat since the chill of January 2. The Eagles, finishing with a record of 15-7, will have time to reflect on what went wrong as their season ended.
Meanwhile, the Muckers, improving to an impressive 24-3, have now strung together two straight wins and look every bit the team to beat. But for now, both squads find themselves without a future contest on the horizon—one relishing a triumph, the other lamenting a hard fall from grace.
The Old Blog in the Desert 