Category: turkey

A Celebration of Birds in a Birdwatcher’s Paradise

Few places in the United States can rival the watershed of Arizona’s San Pedro River as one of the nation’s premier birding hotspots. A phenomenal richness of birds has been documented here – well over 450 species. Join  me as I celebrate this gift of life with a sampling of our beautiful, diverse, and fascinating avian fauna…

One of the rarest colors among all the creatures of planet Earth is blue, here brought to brilliant life by a male blue Grosbeak, (Passerina caerulea).

The broad-billed hummingbird, (Cynanthus latirostris), tiny and utterly dazzling, underscores the need for a pair of good binoculars to enable full appreciation – not to mention a heightened sense of wonder – of this jewel-encrusted sprite. Unfortunately, it has been dubbed with one of the dullest and most unimaginative of names.

Hummingbirds are important pollinators of many native plants. Here, a fitting example of coevolution presents itself: the saguaro evolved to raise its flowers high into the desert air as an offering to flying pollinators like bats and hummingbirds. The bats and the birds are able to locate these tall beacons at long distances. The height of the saguaro’s blossoms ensures that its pollinators will remain secure and at ease, out of the reach of a long list of ground-based predators.

Ravens are the most intelligent birds in our country – they possess larger brains relative to their body size than any of our other species. Ravens also have the largest vocabulary of all American birds, they mate for life, and they can live for decades. These black-as-night birds are absolute masters of flight. Magic attends all ravens. This is Mavis, a female Chihuahuan Raven (Corvus cryptoleucus), who has successfully raised many broods here on our property with the help of her mate, Mike.

A fledgling raven spends months with its siblings and parents, exploring and learning about its world. During that crucially important period in their lives, the young birds meet many of their neighbors for the first time. Adult box turtles like this one have little to fear from the fledglings, but neonate turtles are a favorite food.

Cooper’s Hawks, (Accipiter cooperii), are what instill constant wariness and universal fear in most other birds of smaller or equal size. These hawks are specialized, highly skilled bird hunters. Utilizing the combination of a long, rudder-like tail, lightning reflexes, powerful flight musculature, and incredibly sharp eyesight, they are among the world’s most capable avian predators.

The sight of a Crested Caracara, (Caracara plancus) in the Middle San Pedro Valley is a rare treat. Caracaras are classified as members of the Falconidae, the falcon family. The crested caracara is the world’s second largest falcon.

Elegant, gorgeous, and highly social, Gambel’s Quail, (Callipepla gambelii) are common valley residents. The ecology of this species is closely linked with Gila monsters, for quail eggs (and occasionally young chicks) are a major food source for the big lizards.

Greater Roadrunners, (Geococcyx californianus), are a frequent sight here, but seeing them in snow is anything but common, for snow is rare in the valley floor. Their tail feathers display are an eye-catching blend of beautiful iridescent greens and bronze. Roadrunner populations are locally cyclic, but what determines that is something I have yet to learn.

Lark Sparrows, (Chondestes grammacus), are a great example of why no one should be without a pair of binoculars. Seen with the naked eye, they are just another small, drab brown bird. Viewed through binoculars, these sparrows come to life with ornate patterning and rich, saturated colors.

A Loggerhead Shrike, (Lanius ludovicianus) scans for its prey from an elevated perch in a velvet mesquite. “Loggerhead” refers to the shrike’s unusually large head. (The largest non-pelagic turtle in our country also shares this moniker with the shrike: “loggerhead snapping turtle.”) Shrikes sometimes impale their prey on long thorns and even on barbed wire. This beautiful predator has been in sharp decline all across its range for decades. Loggerheads are the only shrike endemic to the United States.

Dressed in vivd red hues, Northern Cardinals, (Cardinalis cardinalis) are a visual standout in any habitat type – that is why cardinals tend to spend much of their time concealed in dense shrubs or other types of thick cover. In the valley, cardinals have a very close association with graythorn (Zizyphus obtusiloba) bushes, where they find safety and peace of mind within the thick maze of very thorny branches that so characterize graythorns.

As humans, we tend to conceptualize and visualize birds either in flight, or as viewed laterally (from the side). I think this posterior view of a northern cardinal may outdo any other viewpoint – what an amazing crest!

Decades ago, Spotted Owls, (Strix occidentalis) ignited a huge controversy when they were added to the endangered species list. Many people lost sight of the fact that it was not just the birds that mattered, for spotted owls were a symbol for what really mattered most: the ecoregion itself – the magnificent coastal rainforests of our westernmost states that have literally been torn to shreds by humanity’s rapacious demand for wood products. Few people know that these owls are also residents of the Sierra Madrean Ecoregion. Sometimes known as “Mexican spotted owls,” this subspecies – Strix occidentalis lucida – reaches the northern tip of its range in the San Pedro Watershed. During a very lucky day, I photographed this individual in the Huachuca Mountains.

There are few more vivid ways to mark the coming of spring to the Middle San Pedro Valley than the arrival of Vermillion Flycatchers, (Pyrocephalus rubinus). These tiny birds light up the fields and bosques in early March – before the mesquite trees leaf out. Adult males are wearing freshly grown feathers in March, plumage so pure and bright that these minuscule flycatchers can be seen with the naked eye at distances approaching 100 yards. Their crowns sport the most radiant part of their plumage, hence the name “Pyrocephalus,” which translates to “flaming head.”

Rare Autumn Color Transforms the San Pedro’s Forest

For the past three years in a row, I had made a date with the San Pedro River: I would spend my birthday walking the river under the gilded magnificence of tall willows and stately cottonwoods alight with prime autumn color. For the past three years, the autumn colors have failed to shine. “Autumn,” if you can call it that, comes late to this river’s riparian forest. Fall colors do not peak here until the second week of December. The timing does not vary due to temperature or climate, it functions via the most universal and reliable of nature’s temperate region chronometers: the photoperiod. In most years, the trees along the river either suffer a hard freeze before the second week of December, or they get stripped off by strong winds, or both. Freezes can rob the forest of its fall color overnight by turning all of the leaves a withered brown. 

When conditions are just right, chlorophyll fades from the leaves to reveal anthocyanic compounds that transform the forest canopy into a fluttering galaxy of bright yellow leaves. This year brought a reprieve from late November winds and early December freezes – this was one of those special years…so I set out for a walk on my birthday, a serene journey into the river forest. The following images help to tell the story of a rare day on the river.

The  first place I walked to that morning was a hilltop where I saw the lone cottonwoods pictured above, lifting plumes of sunlit gold skyward. As I watched, a great egret came sailing out from behind the trees! Imagine an elegant pair of outstretched wings spanning over four feet, the bird flawless, brilliant snow-white, set against a clear blue sky. My wonderful new binoculars brought this seldom seen creature in close and sharp – what a gift it was to witness the egret! My jaw went slack when a second egret appeared to join the first. The pair then departed northward, winging over the tops of the trees as they followed the river that sheltered and fed them. I envied their freedoms.

A rich blend of plant communities (and thus many habitat types) is underscored by the blaze of autumn color along the river. Here, a dense growth of velvet mesquite and catclaw acacia flank the riparian forest. Highlands are visible in the distance, providing more habitats for wildlife and wild plants that vary according to aspect and elevation.

I left the hilltop, then returned to the riparian forest, where I walked down to a favorite sitting spot by a bend in the stream just below a vertical cutbank. There, a set of cougar tracks was pressed into  the moist sand, made the night prior by an adult male. I sat under a willow to look, to watch, and to take in the morning’s biophony. The forest was quiet, the still air punctuated by a slight rustling of leaves above, the quiet murmur of the river water, and the voices of a few birds. As sunlight warmed the cool air, small clouds of midges began to rise within discreet, sunlit areas above the water. There, the air temperature was most favorable for their airborne gatherings. As the midges danced in the light, a gray flycatcher began sallying back and forth into the insect clouds, garnering breakfast with typically adroit flycatcher movements. Then another bird joined in the feast, flying into the swirling insects to garb morsel after morsel with some amazing acrobatics. It turned out to be a ruby-crowned kinglet! I had no that clue kinglets could – or would – engage in such feeding behavior.

A favorite and long-familiar reach of the San Pedro River in mid-December dress.

Next, I walked down the river until I got near the northern terminus of my trail. The going was easy, the stream shallow in most reaches. I was glad to find no recent signs of trespass cattle anywhere, nor any signs of feral pigs. There was little in the way of animal tracks, as a heavy mantle of recently shed leaves covered most of the ground thoroughly.

A dense carpet of crisp, shed leaves draped the forest floor. This made for noisy walking!

I heard these Gould’s turkeys before I saw them emerge from the forest to slake their thirst at river’s edge.

Gooding’s willows cast long shadows into a beguiling artist’s chiaroscuro of glistening water, dappled light, and autumn leaves.

As I neared the end of my walk, I veered into the forest to avoid some deep water. (For much of the way, I’d been wading.) The wind suddenly arrived, causing a blizzard of shimmering golden leaves to return to the ground that had bore them, an entrancing display of fluttering motion and light as one of nature’s grand cyclic acts of life unfolded all around me.

Truly a stellar birthday!

An Early Monsoon Photo Gallery

This year’s monsoon got off to an early start in mid-June, but thus far, we have received just 2.98 inches of rainfall. Many storms have passed by, missing us by only a few miles. Hope for more rain is justified, however, because the summer monsoon season still has a couple of months to go. Summer rain always brings a wonderful blooming of life to this arid landscape, most of which cannot be witnessed at any other times of year. Here is a brief gallery of some of those recent gifts…

The floor of the local mesquite bosque has been bereft of greenery throughout the autumn, winter, and spring. One of the first substantial monsoon storms brought color to the woodland floor – an effusion of fresh, young plants erupting from the soil. Also visible in this image are mesquite pods. Millions of these highly nutritious pods have fallen from velvet mesquites in the valley during the past couple of weeks, providing a keystone food source for a tremendous variety of pod-eating wildlife.

Rain cleans and wets the ground surface, providing a crisp, fresh record of the presence of local wildlife, like this mule deer buck’s trackway. As is the case with most quadripedal mammals, these tracks show substantial dimorphism: the larger track represents a front foot, the smaller a hind foot.

The remains of a well-chewed mesquite pod reveal the place where a rodent fed the night before. This one was most likely the work of an Ord’s kangaroo rat.

Tarantulas remain hidden and mostly inactive during much of the year. Summer rains bring them out of their burrows. This is a full-grown (palm-spanning) male Arizona blond tarantula, Aphonopelma chalcodes.

If I am not mistaken, these are western subterranean termites, Reticulitermes hesperus. After the first strong summer rain storm, these insects emerge in spectacular swarms to embark on their aerial, one-day-per-year mating flights. Termites are among the most essential of all insects in the desert southwest, for they are primary decomposers of plant materials, recycling essential nutrients back into the soil.

A western diamondback feeding on a lesser goldfinch at our bird pond. Some people may find this image disturbing, but such a viewpoint implies an abiological bias…the cute little bird and the horrible, scary snake. Both are native residents of this ecosystem, both are equally welcome on our property, and both must eat to survive.

An ornate box turtle, Terrapene ornata, stationed itself under a suet feeder one day and revealed something new – box turtles love to eat suet! Bits and pieces fall to the ground as woodpeckers and other birds feed on the suet block; these high-calorie morsels are eagerly consumed by other creatures, including ravens and nocturnally foraging mice.

A heavy rain brought several Couch’s spadefoot toads to our bird pond. Females are typically colored with dark reticulations like this individual.

Male Couch’s spadefoots are usually much more plainly colored.

A first! This morning, our “bird pond” was wriggling with new life, a batch of spadefoot tadpoles! If these tadpoles survive to grow into adult toads, they will carry the memory of their natal pond’s geographic location, and will return to it to breed in future years.

Another first for our bosque – a Gould’s turkey with young in tow. I had seen turkeys here before, but never a hen with her offspring.

At dawn’s first soft light after a nighttime storm, there were a dozen or more white-lined sphinx moths (Hyles lineata) circling the small pool of water that constitutes our bird pond. The moths were alighting to drink – they disappeared soon after, as daylight strengthened. These are large insects with three-inch wingspans, equipped with powerful musculature that enables strong, rapid flight. This species ranges from Central American northward to Canada.

A Photographic Tour of Early Summer Life Along the San Pedro River

First, an important message to my readers: For a much better experience, when you receive notice of new blog posts in your email, please be sure to click on the blog’s title. That will take you to my blog website, where the photographs are larger and the text is more readable. Also, there is a “featured image” at the top of every new blog post that does not appear in the email version. Do this now – you will notice a substantial improvement!

Summer has come to the river and its valleys, bringing a cavalcade of change to the animal world. Today, my thermometer registered 113° F. I don’t leave southern Arizona during the summer like so many people do every year. This is my favorite season here, because so much happens in the natural world during the fierce heat of summer…

Mike and Mavis have successfully raised their seventh brood here on our land. This year, four new ravens have fledged and left the nest. Here are two of them. Note the pinkish-white bordering around their beaks and their pink mouths. As they mature, the pinkish color on their beaks disappears, and the inside of their mouths turns black.

Several weeks ago, the velvet mesquite trees erupted with fresh blossoms. These are the precursors to an abundance of bean pods that provide one of the most crucially important food sources for the valley’s wildlife.

A closer look at the flowers of a velvet mesquite tree. These blossoms perfume the air with a sweet, heady fragrance.

A queen butterfly alights to drink from the wet mud surrounding our watering hole. This insect is often mistaken for its well-known cousin, the monarch.

The back side of a male Gould’s turkey in full display. These birds – and their tails – are huge! The white tips on the tail feathers are one of the field marks that distinguish this race of wild turkeys from their eastern relatives. Part of the display involves dragging the wing tips on the ground, an action that creates a loud rasping sound, meant to intimidate rival males.

A male summer tanager comes to feed from a block of suet. This is America’s only all-red bird, a living statement of resplendent color and grace. Their future in this valley is being threatened by large numbers of brown-headed cowbirds.

This male black-headed grosbeak has been sending his voice through the bosque every morning, a series of loud, robin-like notes.

Few of our western birds are more strikingly colored than the western tanager. A different race of this species stays here in the valley floor to breed every summer. Most western tanagers utilize very different breeding habitats – namely, conifer forests at higher elevations.

A male blue grosbeak that visits daily for water. Blue is one of the rarest of colors among Earth’s terrestrial vertebrate animals.

A new beaver dam graces the flow of the San Pedro River. Dams like this permit substantially more water to infiltrate the ground below their surfaces, recharging the shallow aquifers that give life to the river’s riparian forests of cottonwoods and willow trees. There were five more dams below this one. I cannot think of a single mammalian species that is more beneficial to the river and its forests than beavers are.

I awoke one morning to find this characteristic fresh imprint at the foot of my entry steps. A rattlesnake had curled up there the night prior, leaving its signature circular mark. No other Arizona snakes rest in such a circular position. For reference, the grizzly track cast in concrete is six inches in width. Grizzlies were once common along this river until they were wiped out by Spanish and American settlers.

A black-tailed jackrabbit resting in the shade of a mesquite trunk on a toasty summer day. When the heat cranks up, animal behavior changes. This hare let me approach within four feet, something it would not have allowed on a cooler day. The name “jackrabbit” is a misnomer, as these creatures are hares, not rabbits.


Until I came to live in southeastern Arizona, I would not have believed that there could be pink snakes native to our country. This coachwhip snake appeared on a hot afternoon, five feet of blazing bubblegum pinkness!

Coachwhip snakes are expert climbers. Kathleen and I looked out a window one day to see this tail protruding from an active Gila woodpecker nest. Fortunately, the snake did not wipe out the entire brood – it consumed one or two nestlings and moved on.

A gopher snake encountered on a sandy bank of the San Pedro River. These snakes attain lengths of seven feet or more and are often mistaken for rattlesnakes. They are among the most effective rodent controllers we have. Favored food items include mice, rats, and gophers.

A diamondback rattlesnake slithers through the mesquite bosque, traveling in a manner common among rattlesnakes, using caterpillar motion. When snakes crawl in this fashion, their bodies remain almost straight rather than sinuously curved. We never kill these animals. They have a right to live here, no less than we do. When summer comes, we are always on guard, watching closely where we place every footstep, especially after dark.

Beavers add a special touch of beauty to the river, creating ponds that mirror their surroundings and provide needed habitat for a long list of other creatures.

A Rare Bird Surprise, a Huge Insect, and the San Pedro River in October

It has been quite a while since I crafted a new post for this blog. During the past month, my life had been turned upside down with growing trepidation over the presidential election. I was not in a frame of mind conducive to writing. Now that the election is over, I feel a huge sense of relief and renewed hope. This was an election not only for the people, but one that will benefit wildlife and wild places as well.

I walked a perennial reach of the San Pedro River recently. There was  a new beaver dam, just a tiny one that was still under construction. Turkey, javelina, bobcat, deer, coyote, opossum, raccoon, and skunk tracks were visible in the mud along the stream’s edges. I was intrigued to find a set of feline tracks that suggested ocelot or jaguarundi, for they were certainly not made by a bobcat and were just as surely not left by a cougar, even a very young one.

A small, new beaver dam was discovered. This one was constructed using quite a few stones in addition to the usual combination of mud and tree branches.

October has finally brought some relief from the heat that so characterized this summer…109 consecutive, record-setting days of temperatures cresting at 100°F. or higher. The nights have cooled off and crisp air now graces our mornings. Our local woodlands have quieted considerably with the departure of many migratory birds, but there have been some amazing avian happenings here this month. A very rare event happened not long after the sun had set a few weeks ago. My wife, Kathleen, and I stepped outside to listen to the nocturnal sounds coming from the mesquite forest that surrounds our home. 

We heard it almost at once, a mysterious, alien-sounding voice emanating from midway up in the trees, only a few dozen yards distant. It was certainly an owl, but not a species that we had ever heard here before. On many a night, we have listened to the calls of great horned, western screech, barn, and elf owls in this woodland, but this was something new, something distinctly different. It suggested a screech owl, but both of us readily agreed that it was not “right.”

I had a growing hunch, so we went back indoors where we consulted a very useful website (xeno-canto.org), one that offers a multitude of audio files for most bird species across the globe. The first species that we chose to listen to was a bird whose range barely extends into the United States, a bird that inhabits oak and conifer habitats high on mountain slopes in extreme southeastern Arizona… 

As soon as we heard the recordings, we realized we had a whiskered screech owl hidden in the darkness of the tall mesquites only yards from our home! This was an owl that should not be here, for we live far from the high mountain slopes in the floor of a low-elevation valley. I believe that a major wildfire event from this past summer may provide the answer to this enigma. Less than 20 miles distant, the Bighorn Fire torched nearly all of the mid-to high elevation habitats off the face of an entire mountain range, the Santa Catalinas. Countless birds were driven off of those mountains, subsequently appearing in nearby places where they would ordinarily not be expected. For example, my friend Woody Hume, a very capable naturalist, told me that he had numbers of western bluebirds appearing at his place of residence not long after the fire. That is a species one does not expect to see during summer in the valley floor. Other such unusual species have been reported here this year. I would not be surprised if the owl that galvanized our attention had been living high in the Catalinas and wound up here, temporarily, as it looked for a new place to live.

A fully grown praying mantis crawls across my screen door. This is a gravid female, ready to lay her egg case, as evidenced by her swollen abdomen.

October and November brings new happenings in the insect world of southeastern Arizona. It is common to find adult preying mantises at this time of year. It is impressive to see one of these three-inch, bright green insects in flight. The individual pictured is an introduced species that has become widespread and firmly established in southern Arizona and other parts of our country.