It's hard to say what time it is, but easy to say it is late. You can forget about getting a good nights sleep. Knees curled up in the back seat of the jeep, the stale odor of dog vomit and forgotten fast food perforate the air inside the cab. Not even the whisky can save you. Outside the wind builds to a gail. It howls out of the northwest, belligerent and cold. It shakes the cab with violent gusts; whips the dirt into a frenzy out over the distant playa, and seems to feed off of the enormous ancient lake below. Pyramid Lake spreads out like a dark serpent writhing in the midnight wind; it's strangeness only upstaged by the creatures that call it home.

A bit of fear and loathing on Pyramid Lake.

After the storm. Aaron Silverman on Pyramid Lake

A shiny buck comes to the net at Pyramid Lake