Month: December 2020

A Big Buck in His Prime, New Life, and Rescued Wildlife

Winter brings many changes to the activities of our local wildlife. Mule deer move into the mesquite bosques to feed and find shelter. Last year, a magnificent buck lived here, in the company of many does. On a late December afternoon, he stepped out into the light, his neck characteristically swollen in the midst of rut, muscles rippling beneath a sleek coat of winter fur, polished antlers gleaming.

During these stressful times when so many lives are being lost due to the pandemic, it is reassuring and soul-warming to witness death’s opposite: new life coming into the world. A few days ago, I looked out my window to see a herd of javelina, some of them less than 20 feet distant, heading for our bird-feeding area. At this time of year, this group of nearly 20 javelinas visits our place every day and also during the night – seeing them was no surprise, were it not for the newcomers. Several of the adult females had tiny young in tow, varying in age from one or two days to about a week.

Baby javelinas follow closely behind their mothers. Unlike many other native mammals, javelinas do not have a set time of year to give birth, but several females have appeared here recently with newborn young.

When javelina are very young, they often remain nearly hidden beneath their mother’s bellies. They are so tiny that it is easy to miss them as a herd wanders by. I have never pictured adult javelinas as cute or endearing, but a mere glance at one of their stubby-legged babies can quickly reshape one’s views. Those little buggers are, in a word or two, downright cute. They can become otherwise as adults, fouling bird watering dishes, forcing any attempt at gardening in this valley to include stout fencing, and eating much of the bird seed that we scatter for our avian friends. On one occasion, our dog was nearly killed when it charged directly at a full grown javelina. In a split second, the dog was howling in pain as it returned at top speed with a life-threatening gash. Javelina are powerful and deceptively quick. They are well armed with a set of formidable, self-sharpening tusks. The poor little dog simply did not know any better. I did not reach for a rifle after the event occurred. The javelina was simply defending itself; in my mind, it had as much right to be on our land as we do. “Our” land is a place shared with other life. Enough said.

A javelina explores the world with its mother only days after its birth. Female javelinas are protective of their young, as all good mothers are. It is wise to give them room when very young offspring are present.

A year ago, another visitor appeared on a cool winter morning, an animal in serious distress. A hooded skunk had been lured by curiosity to the edge of an empty pool on our property, where it slid down into the bottom, only to find itself suddenly trapped. The vertical walls of that small pool are 5 1/2 feet high. Skunks are not built to be high-jumpers or cliff scalers. Normally, I keep an escape ramp positioned in the pool; a long 2×6 board. I had removed it the day prior when I had cleaned some debris out of the pool, but for whatever reason, I had not replaced it afterward. As soon as I discovered the trapped skunk, I replaced the ramp, sliding it down into the pool gently so as not to put the animal into defense mode. It did not take long for the skunk to walk up the ramp, out of the pool’s clutches.

Empty pools are wildlife traps. A simple escape ramp can make all the difference. Such ramps are also recommended for livestock watering troughs, allowing birds and other small animals a way to get out. A small amount of kindness can go a long way. Here, the hooded skunk ascends its way to freedom.

Once free, the skunk began to amble about, seemingly unruffled by its prior confinement. It was searching for food, and hardly paid me or my wife any mind as it stood less than ten feet from us. I have encountered other hooded skunks in the valley before…every meeting with these creatures had left me feeling that they were utterly inoffensive and little concerned with my presence. Some neighbors reach for a shotgun when  skunks come near their dwellings. Doing so shows a distinct lack of respect for other life and a lack of knowledge when it comes to coexisting with certain wildlife. Much like rattlesnakes, skunks are shy and inoffensive, unless they feel threatened. I know that if I were as small as a snake or a skunk, I would want some potent defensive measures. The rules are simple: maintain distance between oneself and such creatures and leave them alone. Maintaining distance assures one’s self protection. Leaving the animals alone and undisturbed shows respect.

Hooded skunks grow tremendously long tail hairs, a beautiful hallmark of their species.

Skunks bring special distinction to this part of the nation, for their kind are represented by four species here: striped, hooded, hognose, and spotted. Five species of skunks inhabit the United States. Only in a small part of southern Texas, southern New Mexico, and southern Arizonado the ranges of four of the five species overlap.

The skunk was in no hurry to run away after it was free of the pool. It wandered slowly, searching for food, as we stood watching less than ten feet away. This creature was mellow, inoffensive and beautiful; never once did we think we might get sprayed.

Rain Graces a Thirsty Desert and Four-footed Winter Company

For the past three months, hardly a drop of rain has fallen here in the Middle San Pedro Valley. This is, after all, a desert region, or nearly so – deserts are defined as areas that receive less than ten inches of precipitation per year. Here, we get a tad more than that. 

A typical rural driveway in the Middle San Pedro Valley; no street lights, no signs, and most of all NO PAVEMENT.

When the skies turned darker and darker shades of gray a few days ago, I was overjoyed. The land – and its life – has been under duress in southeastern Arizona. The past summer “monsoon” season yielded very little rain. So, when it finally began to rain earnestly on, of all days, my birthday, it felt like an exceptionally wonderful gift. As I stepped outside at dawn that morning, the air bore the rich, humid smell of rain and earth and wet leaves. I drew in big lungfuls, savoring the feel, the coolness, the dampness. For most Americans, rain is no big deal, a common part of life. Here, it is always something to be reverently grateful for.

After the rain, the floor of the mesquite bosque (Spanish for the word “forest” or “woodland”) was covered with millions of tiny velvet mesquite leaves.

The ground had changed color in two ways; it had turned darker  from the thorough soaking, and had also turned green, carpeted with millions of minuscule velvet mesquite leaves that had been unleashed from the trees by the pelting raindrops. The cyclic path of nutrients from soil to trees and back to the soil lay exposed at my feet, exemplified and accelerated by the rain.

The leaves of velvet mesquite are very small, but they grow in multitudes on the trees, providing a crucially important component of this hot, dry desert ecosystem: shade.

A few hours after dawn, a group of mule deer appeared. They are part of a small herd that has taken up residence in the surrounding mesquite bosque for the past several years. We always welcome their company and never consider them as our “guests,” for they and their kind have been here long before us or our forebears. If anything, we are honored to be guests in their home.

A group of mule deer appeared not long after the rain, foraging on mesquite pods and pigweed (Amaranthus palmeri).

Reading Land: Decoding Rattlesnake Tracks

I thought I knew something about rattlesnakes before I moved to Arizona. I had spent decades in Montana, where I had interacted countless times with the single species that lives in that state, Crotalus viridis, known as the prairie rattlesnake. The signs that these snakes left of their presence on the land were usually limited to shed skins, skeletal fragments, or scats. I rarely saw their tracks for the simple reason that the prairies that I roamed in were completely covered with grasses and other plants.

Most snakes leave tracks like this, their serpentine form easily recognized.

Here in southern Arizona, a different situation presents itself, for there are plenty of open areas in the desert where tracks appear readily and often. When I first arrived here, I thought that snake tracks were snake tracks and not much more – until I discovered that rattlesnakes often leave very distinctive trackways. Unlike most other snakes, rattlesnakes crawl in a distinctive manner, known as caterpillar motion. Their bodies remain very straight (rather than sinuously curved) when they travel across the landscape. If a rattlesnake is in a big hurry, it will leave “S”-shaped tracks, curving and sinuous like other snakes. But these vipers are rarely in that much of a hurry, so it is far more common to find their straight trackways, a hallmark of their kind.

Rattlesnakes most often leave very straight, distinctive trackways like this one found on the dusty floor of an Arizona barn.

When rattlesnakes want to stop and rest, they invariably curl themselves into tight, circular shapes. If they have rested on a sandy or dusty substrate, they will leave behind another very distinctive rattlesnake trademark, a circular crater often dug one or more centimeters deep into the ground. No other Arizona snakes that I know of assume this distinctive at-rest posture.  Rattlesnakes do the great majority of their hunting in such a stationary, circular posture, where they wait, motionless, for prey to come by. Thus, these snakes are referred to as “ambush predators.”

When at rest, rattlesnakes curl into a tight, circular shape, leaving distinctive craters in the substrate. Here, even the snake’s rattles have left a clear impression in fine, dusty soil. The blue ruler, a standard item in many of my track photographs, measures 6 x 1 inches. For this part of Arizona, a crater of this width represents an average-sized western diamondback rattlesnake about three feet in length.

Why did such behavior evolve in these reptiles? Ambush predators rely on concealment. Most animals, including people, immediately recognize the unmistakable serpentine form of a snake. By assuming a non-serpentine look, rattlesnakes can hide from both their prey and their predators more effectively. I have encountered many diamondbacks and other rattlesnake species, and I can say with conviction that when these creatures are at rest in their usual circular posture, they can be extremely difficult to spot. That is one reason why I usually wear heavy boots and snake gaiters when I am hiking during the warm months. A little prevention can go a long way. Some of the rattlesnake species in southeastern Arizona are exceptionally potent. The average cost of treatment for snakebite is now over $75,000!