Uploaded January 2026 | Updated September 2026, 2 hours ago
This fresh snow transforms the high desert landscape in ways that never get old, no matter how many times you've witnessed it. The junipers and piñons that normally blend into the earth tones of the high desert now stand in stark relief, each branch outlined in white, each needle bearing its burden of crystalline moisture. This is welcome precipitation in a land that counts every drop, every flake, every bit of moisture as precious currency in an ongoing negotiation with aridity.
I glance at the thermometer mounted outside the kitchen window. Eleven degrees Fahrenheit. Cold, certainly, but nothing like the three- and four-foot snow depths we experienced during those seventeen winters at Casa Oso, our log cabin perched at 9,500 feet overlooking Angel Fire. There, winter meant real work—clearing driveways, managing roof loads, preparing for the possibility of being snowed in for days at a time. Here at Casa Santa Fe's more modest elevation, winter is gentler, but no less beautiful.
nmosg.com
This fresh snow transforms the high desert landscape in ways that never get old, no matter how many times you've witnessed it. The junipers and piñons that normally blend into the earth tones of the high desert now stand in stark relief, each branch outlined in white, each needle bearing its burden of crystalline moisture. This is welcome precipitation in a land that counts every drop, every flake, every bit of moisture as precious currency in an ongoing negotiation with aridity.
I glance at the thermometer mounted outside the kitchen window. Eleven degrees Fahrenheit. Cold, certainly, but nothing like the three- and four-foot snow depths we experienced during those seventeen winters at Casa Oso, our log cabin perched at 9,500 feet overlooking Angel Fire. There, winter meant real work—clearing driveways, managing roof loads, preparing for the possibility of being snowed in for days at a time. Here at Casa Santa Fe's more modest elevation, winter is gentler, but no less beautiful.
nmosg.com




![Pecos River Gorge Bridge
Completed in April 1957, the Pecos River Highway Bridge spans the Pecos River Canyon at the junction of U.S. Highway 90 and the Pecos River. The height above the river varies with the level of the Amistad Reservoir but the bridge is approximately 273 feet above the water level.
The highest highway bridge in Texas, it is actually the fourth bridge built by the Texas Highway Department to cross the lower Pecos River Canyon. Earlier bridges were washed away in the floods of 1923, 1954 and 1955. Consisting of two central piers with one 1040 deck truss unit, one concrete slab span and one 240-foot continuous plate girder span, the present bridge is 1,310 feet long and carries approximately 1000 vehicles per day.
The Pecos River, in New Mexico and Texas, is yet another river at risk of drying up soon. It runs for around 926 miles and runs from the Sangre de Cristo Mountains near Santa Fe, New Mexico into the eastern part of the state of Texas before emptying into the Rio Grande just below the Hwy 90 bridge west of Del Rio.
The Pecos River (Spanish: Río Pecos) originates in north-central New Mexico near Santa Fe and flows into Texas, emptying into the Rio Grande. Its headwaters are on the eastern slope of the Sangre de Cristo mountain range in Mora County north of Pecos, NM, at an elevation of over 12,000 feet. The river flows for 926 miles before reaching the Rio Grande near Del Rio.
The name Pecos derives from the Keresan (Native American language) term for the Pecos Pueblo, [pæyokona]. The river was also historically referred to as the Río Natagés for the Mescalero people.
The river played a large role in the exploration of Texas by the Spanish.
On June 6, 1990, 20.5 miles of the Pecos River from its headwaters to the townsite of Tererro received National Wild and Scenic River designation.
nmosg.com Pecos River Gorge Bridge](https://i.ytimg.com/vi/Ku5jIip2jNM/mqdefault.jpg)





