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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.”

Autumn’s Gifts of Beautiful Tiny Life, and a Plea for Help

The desert is ever so quiet lately; bereft of nearly all bird song and the scurry of lizards, the hushed glide of snakes, and the plod of tortoises, autumn stills the land. Despite the fact that it is now early December, the cottonwood stands along the river are just now coming into full color, normal timing that can seem so late, given the other species of cottonwoods that I grew up with in more northerly climes. Life sometimes demands a closer look, especially during its  seasonal ebbs. Here is a gallery of some of the little things that still manage to crawl or fly about in these cooler times…

Jerusalem crickets are large, chunky insects that spend most of their time concealed under objects or under ground. One of their diverse genera, Ammopelmatus, (unique to the western US and Mexico), is currently known to contain well over 20 species. Among their common names in Mexico is Niño de la Tierra, or “Child of the Earth.” The heavy, spiked legs visible in this image are adapted for digging. The huge head houses powerful musculature that enables a very strong bite. Jerusalem crickets drum their abdomens on the ground to attract mates. They leave distinctive tracks on dusty roadways that show drag marks left by their heavy abdomens. And yes, the “I look like a big, striped, stinging insect” is a great example of aposematic coloring.

As the summer floods draw to a close, moist banks of mud remain for many weeks – even months – along certain reaches of the San Pedro River. Here, a statement in brilliant color comes to life as a group of thirsty Southern Dogface Butterflies, Colias cesonia, drinks from lingering monsoonal rainfall trapped within flood-deposited clay sediments. The name “dogface” originates from patterns seen on the inside of the wings, uncommonly noticed since this species rarely perches with its wings open.

Several species of carpenter bees inhabit the San Pedro River Drainage. Despite a detailed search, I could not find a match to identify this species with its pair of striking red head spots. Carpenter bees are big, impressive insects that chew their way into wood, constructing tunnels where they raise their young. I have watched them boring into live mesquite trees, an astounding feat, for mesquite is an incredibly tough, dense hardwood. Their tunnels can approach lengths of twelve inches.

A fleeting touch of bright orange reveals a Leafwing Butterfly, Anaea spp., whose host plants are limited to crotons. I know of very few lepidopterans native to the desert southwest that can rival this species for such sheer, saturated, brilliant orange-red coloration. When at rest, with wings folded, this insect virtually disappears into the foliage, living up to its name.

Like most people, I have seen countless spiders in my lifetime, but very few have been colored like this one, known as a Green Lynx Spider, Peucetia viridans. Measuring between 5/8 – 3/4 of an inch in body length, this species is capable of taking down prey as large and formidable as carpenter bees. Like all their kin, lynx spiders manufacture silk, but do not make webs; their silk is used to anchor them when jumping, and to attach egg sacks to vegetation. They also have a defensive trick that few other spiders possess – the ability to squirt poisonous liquid at an attacker up to a foot away. Late in the year, as foliage often yellows, this spider is able to change its color from predominantly green to pale shades of yellow. Photo by Kathleen Waldt.

A Plea For Help

Naturalists, like all professionals, require tools in order to do their work. I can say without hesitation that my most important tool has always been a pair of binoculars. Naturalists are literally disabled without them. My trusty pair of Zeiss binoculars have finally reached the end of their lifespan, after 33 years of near-daily use. I am seeking help in replacing them, for professional-quality optics are never inexpensive. If you would like to consider this sincere plea for assistance, please click on this link: 

https://www.gofundme.com/ralph-waldts-binocular-fund

or go to gofundme.com and simply type my name into their search box.

Thank you!

A Lizard with a Voice and More Monsoon Discoveries

A reminder for my readers: Please do not read this in your email program. Instead, click on the blog title and you will be redirected to my web site for a much better experience with larger and clearer photos and text. You will also see the featured image that starts off every blog post, but (for some odd reason) is deleted from these automatically generated email notices.

A few evenings ago, an uncommon view from my desk window engendered delight and a deep feeling of gratitude. The scene encompassed a wild mesquite bosque, standing tall and green in summer’s refulgence…a gentle, drizzling rain was floating its way to the ground, suffusing the air among the stout trees with the magic of a fine mist, colored soft in fading light. The land was coming alive, replete with the promise of sprouting plants, emerging fungi, and the rising scent of moist duff. A water-borne resurgence of desert life was in the making.

During the past few weeks, more rain has fallen, resulting in a cavalcade of change, a water-borne eruption of desert life. Flowers are blooming and creatures are stirring, many of which cannot be seen at other times of year. Giant millipedes are crossing roadways and threading their way through the woodlands, tarantulas are out of their burrows roaming the landscape, harvester ants are forming great clouds of alates bent on their one-day-per-year mating spree. Sonorous calls of amphibian passion are ringing through the night after every substantial rain. “Monsoon” as locals know it, is the one season that defines these lands and the ecology of southeastern Arizona more than any other. Arizona without its monsoon would be akin to Alaska without a winter. 

One of many creatures that are revealed during this season is a small, nocturnal lizard with semi-translucent skin like gauzy velvet, big eyes with vertical pupils and movable eyelids, and the very rare ability (among lizards) to vocalize. Once encountered, the western banded gecko is not soon forgotten. More than once, I have heard the word “cute” applied to this beguiling little creature that rarely grows to more than four or five inches in length and remains hidden during daylight hours. 

I discovered this little gem sheltering under an old piece of plywood. This banded gecko had lost its tail sometime in the past – the new one grew back lavender in color. A plump tail like this one indicates a good state of health, for the tail stores fats and water for the animal to draw upon during lean times, much like the tails of Gila monsters.

When predators chase after lizards, the first part of the lizard’s body that they make contact with is often the tail. In evolutionary response to this, many lizards have developed special abscission layers in their tails. Once contacted, the tail breaks off, leaving predators detracted by a wiggling morsel while the main course absconds to safety. Banded geckos have tails that break off with a very, very light touch; hence, I recommend against handling them.

When threatened or disturbed, banded geckos often curl their tails over their backs. Such posturing mimics the scorpions that they share habitat with, potentially scaring off some would-be predators. Banded  geckos can also utter an audible squeak when frightened, making them one of the few lizards in the world capable of vocalizing.

During late July, the mass of tadpoles in our bird pond (see the previous blog post) transformed into toadlets in a matter of only ten days. The tiny young amphibians are now hopping their way into the surrounding woodland, disbursing at night when temperatures are cool.

This minuscule toadlet was photographed during its first day out of its natal pond, where it had spent the initial ten days of its life as a wriggling tadpole. At this stage of their lives, Couch’s spadefoot toads (Scaphiopus couchii), are tiny and vulnerable, fitting easily atop a mere dime.

On a warm early morning in mid-July, I took a walk and discovered an abundance of white-lined sphinx moths (Hyles lineata) almost everywhere I went. Most sphinx moths do their flying at night, but these moths were out in direct sunlight. They were specifically targeting wolfberry (Lycium spp.) bushes. The wolfberry was in flower, and the moths were hungry for nectar. With unerring accuracy augmented by  rapid, graceful flight, they were moving from flower to flower, hovering at each one to insert their long tongues for sips of nectar.

A white-lined sphinx moth hovers over a wolfberry bush, deftly inserting its long tongue into the tiny white flowers to feed on nectar. Note the bend in the moth’s tongue, a common trait among many species of sphinx and hawk moths.

White-lined sphinx moths have a very wide distribution that includes most of the United States. In some areas, their tongues are considerably shorter. Here, as they coevolved with certain types of nectar-rich flowers bearing long corolla tubes, their tongues adapted over time.

Since the first of this year’s summer rains on June 18th, we have received 4.25 inches of precipitation. Here is an image of our bosque taken just before the first rains.

The same area, photographed yesterday. The difference is clear – the greening understory is composed primarily of pigweed (Amaranthus palmeri), a native plant that is of great value to a wide variety of birds and mammals. If the rains continue, this vivd understory will be capable of reaching heights of six to seven feet.

This is what is left of a pigweed plant that grew after last summer’s monsoon rains. Pigweed retains much value to wildlife even after it has died and desiccated to a state like this one. Note that the plant has been recently fed upon, and that the cuts at the tips of each stem are sharply defined, cut cleanly at a steep angle. This is a signature left by the incisor teeth of a black-tailed jackrabbit. Nearly all rodents and lagomorphs (members of the rabbit order) leave such distinctive cut marks when they browse on similar types of vegetation. If deer or javelina had done this, the cuts would be rough with frayed edges and not cut at such steep angles.

Our area, the Middle San Pedro Valley, is served by a single dirt road that frequently endures serious damage after monsoon rain storms. I photographed this large wash near our home shortly after dawn, several hours after the flood had crested. The wet marks along either edge reveal a surging flow of flood waters that had crested at over 150 feet in breadth and four feet in depth. Flows this strong are quite capable of quickly carrying away almost any vehicle, even very large trucks.

FIRST RAIN!! Early Summer in the Middle San Pedro River Valley

It has been a very long time since I posted a new entry on this blog. I feel that I owe my readers an explanation. Why no new blog posts? I have been deeply depressed for months – and depressed writers don’t write. In terms of what has been causing this lasting depression, it is a small avalanche of things…the unjustified furor over the most recent presidential election. The insurrection – one of the most unpatriotic acts I ever known to mar my country’s history. The widespread denial of science by millions of Americans. The pandemic – ranking the United States as the world leader in Covid deaths – an inexcusable national embarrassment. Mass shootings -another ghastly national embarrassment, as we lead all other nations on Earth by a very wide margin with respect to such violent, maniacal acts. The mounting gullibility of our populace coupled with a concerted effort by millions to divide a great nation. The horrific war in Ukraine…and there is plenty more, but I will keep the rest private. 

As it has been throughout my life, the world of nature has been a source of peace, calm, reassurance, and sanity during these deeply troubled times. I am so grateful to live far away from towns and cities in a rural setting where birdsong, wildlife, a lack of crowding, and sunlight feed my soul. 

So, what is going on in the Middle San Pedro River Valley lately? The landscape is very dry, even by desert standards. The usual winter rains were both scarce and weak, resulting in an entire region whose mesquite bosques sprouted no green understory plants, a valley floor bereft of the normal growth of winter grasses, perennial reaches of the river receding, and uplands nearly devoid of spring wildflowers. 

The bright crimson fruits of Christmas cactus, Cylindropuntia leptocaulis, bring color to a desperately dry landscape. This species is of special benefit to wildlife, for it retains these nutritious fruits throughout autumn, winter, and into the following spring, even in a very dry year like this one. Indigenous peoples made common use of the fruits of this cactus as a food source.

As far as avian life goes, I have never witnessed such a paucity of birds here, both in terms of species diversity and numbers. Numerous migratory species, birds that I have regularly observed every spring for 20 years, simply did not appear, or appeared in very low numbers. There were no back-throated grey warblers, no orange-crowned or Virginia’s warblers, no Empidonax flycatchers. I recorded the presence of only one Townsend’s warbler during migration, and there were startlingly low numbers of normally abundant yellow-rumped warblers. Rufous-winged sparrows, a common fixture here, are entirely absent from our property this year for the first time ever. On the positive side of things, we now have three dazzling male varied buntings visiting our water dishes daily, two more than any other prior year had provided. Our resident ravens, Mike and Mavis, hatched out a clutch of four a few months ago, just 100 feet from my office window. That brood fell victim to a group of coyotes on the very first night that they left the nest. The determined parents have since built a new nest on a nearby property, a place where the landowner is very appreciative of the local wildlife. Mavis is busy incubating her second  clutch of eggs in a safe place…

Even the local reptiles – especially the snakes – have been few and far between this summer. A few weeks ago, one of our local diamondbacks appeared at our bird pond to drink and grab a feathered meal or two.

This western diamondback – a familiar individual – appeared in May, visiting our bird-watering pond.

I have come to recognize several of the rattlesnakes whose ranges include the area close to our buildings. My sharp-eyed wife pointed out the distinctive, fused blotches on this snake’s tail. With close observation, nearly all rattlesnakes can be recognized as distinct individuals – the patterning and shape of the blotches on the back, and especially markings on the heads and tails of rattlesnakes make it possible to readily identify individuals.

I have seen diamondbacks lay in wait at the edge of our little pond, but very rarely do I see them partially submerged like this.

During the hot months in southeastern Arizona, any water source attracts wildlife of all sorts. Simply maintaining a few water dishes does wonders for throngs of very thirsty birds, reptiles, mammals, and more. Our “bird pond” is nothing more than a shallow depression dug into the ground, fed by a trickling garden hose; very simple to set up and maintain. It would take pages of text to tell all the tales of the remarkable diversity of living creatures that have availed themselves of this water source over the years.

Box turtles have come out of hiding. This one waded into the shallow pond to cool off and rehydrate itself via some long drinks.

A herd of well over 20 javelina visit here daily – here a mother drinks water from the pond while her youngster suckles milk.

Last, but surely not least, as I began to assemble this new blog post on the evening of June 10th, raindrops began pelting the roof! This was no “teaser” rain, no ten-second-this-is-all-you-get rain, but a prolonged rain that wetted the dusty ground and left small puddles in its wonderful wake. This is a rare event, so early in June. Desert life benefits from the gift of every precious drop.

A Rare Pied-billed Raven, Giant Mites, an Insect Eruption, and a Tarantula for Dinner!

The four young Chihuahuan ravens that were hatched this spring in a  nearby mesquite tree have been exploring every nook and cranny of their expanding world. One of the four youngsters is a rare bird indeed, for it has a pied bill. (“Pied” simply refers to an object or creature that has two or more differing colors.) Both common and Chihuahuan ravens have black bills as adults. It will be interesting to see if this particular raven retains the pied colors on its bill as it matures into adulthood. The bills of its three siblings look quite different; they are well on their way to becoming fully black.

The young raven sporting a very unusual pied bill.

In comparison to any of its siblings, the pied-billed bird really stands out.

On the third day of July, this desperately parched, drought-stricken landscape received the first measurable rainfall in many months. Our rain gauge registered a total of 1.47 inches from two storms that arrived in the afternoon and late evening. Summer “monsoon” rains are an exceptionally important aspect of southeastern Arizona’s ecology. The summer rains spark a surge of new plant growth, enable many insects and amphibians to reproduce, feed the trees, recharge critically important aquifers, and much more. Life blossoms on this land after the gift of rain.

The “snowbirds” (part-time residents) who run out of Arizona every spring and scamper back in the winter never have a chance to experience the glory and magic of the famed summer monsoon season. So much happens in Arizona’s natural world during summer. Many creatures that are difficult or nearly impossible to see during the other seasons make special appearances during the monsoon. Among these creatures are red velvet mites.

Red velvet mites remain hidden underground during most of the year, where they seek refuge in silk-lined tunnels. Only after a summer rain do these giants appear on the surface of the ground.

The word “mite” should immediately conjure images of very, very tiny creatures. Most mites measure under a millimeter in length. Velvet mites (classified in the family Trombidiidae) are among the world’s largest mites. Some species approach one half inch in length; the one in the photograph is about a quarter of an inch long. They are nearly impossible to miss, as their brilliant red color contrasts sharply with their surroundings. Mites are very important constituents of soil fauna and thereby play essential roles in many terrestrial ecosystems. Some mites even have a place in human medicine. Oils extracted from one species of velvet mite native to India have been traditionally used to treat victims of paralysis.

photo caption: An emergence of thousands of winged termites from a gap between two cement slabs on the morning of July 4th, just after our first summer rain.

Every summer, on the first morning following the first substantial rainfall, termites erupt in synchrony by the millions from their subterranean dwellings in a united, landscape-wide orgy of reproductive zeal. Winged males and new, winged queens flood from their underground homes to take wing, mate, and disperse across the land. This event is one of spectacular importance, for termites are among the most essential and beneficial creatures in this entire desert ecosystem. They are primary decomposers, able to break down cellulose and thereby recycle plant materials into the soil. Without them, the health of this living landscape would be in serious trouble.

A closer look reveals a mass of gossamer-winged termites – new queens and males – known as alates. They arise from these masses in great numbers like curtains of smoke, dispersing, mating, and flying off to start new colonies. After mating, the insects lose their wings, structures that evolved for the sole purpose of dispersal and genetic interchange.

Monsoon rains also bring many other creatures out of hiding. Tarantulas are common here, but they are not easy to find except during the summer, when rains stimulate them to leave their burrows in order to forage and find a mate. These huge spiders are formidable, armed with a pair of long, sharply hooked fangs and stinging hairs on their abdomens. It is hard to imagine eating a spider that is large enough to fill the palm of one’s hand, but there are a few brave creatures here who regard tarantulas as dinner items…

Sonoran desert toads are common valley residents here along the San Pedro River. They are the largest toads native to the United States, reaching lengths of nearly eight inches. This rare image was photographed by a friend as the toad was in the process of ingesting a daunting meal, an adult tarantula.

There is more to the above  photograph than meets the eye. Frogs and toads possess remarkable viscoelastic tongues that fire from their mouths with great speed to catch their prey. Their tongues have a unique saliva that is phenomenally sticky; so sticky that some frogs in the genus Ceratophrys can haul in prey weighing more than themselves. This brings forth a question: how does a frog or toad get the prey item off of its sticky tongue once it is inside the amphibian’s mouth, so that it can be swallowed?

Alexis C. Noel, a Georgia Tech Ph.D. student specializing in biomechanics, published a scientific paper in 2017 documenting her research on the remarkable attributes of amphibian tongues and their saliva. What she discovered is physically, chemically, and biologically amazing…

Frog and toad saliva is a non-Newtonian fluid; the viscosity of the fluid can change based on how it is moved. When a frog’s tongue extends to impact a prey item, the saliva changes to a much more watery consistency, so that it can very rapidly coat the prey item and adhere to every part of the prey. As the impact slows to a stop and the tongue retracts into the mouth, the saliva returns to its normal thick, goopy consistency. This all happens in fractions of a second with incredible speed.

I recall watching many frogs and toads consume food items, mostly insects. Once the tongue returns inside the mouth with the prey item, the frog or toad retracts its eyeballs into its oral cavity, pushing the prey against the tongue. The push helps to release the prey from the tongue so it can be swallowed.

The EGGS Have HATCHED! Signs of Spring Adorn a Desperate Landscape

Late in the evening of April 17th, new sounds could be heard emanating from the surrounding mesquite bosque. Barely audible but familiar from prior years, the sounds were raspy, tremulous, unique. They were the first thin cries of hatchling ravens, born to none other than our pair of resident Chihuahuan ravens, Mike and Mavis. This new brood marks their seventh successful nesting on our property and their first in the new nest (described in my previous blog post). As always, we are honored to share habitat with these regal birds. We look forward to watching them raise and teach their young. Few North American birds spend as much time rearing and educating their young as ravens do.

The demands of a raven’s day-to-day life reach a crescendo during nesting season. After the chicks have hatched, both parent birds spend their days defending the nest from predators and making countless trips back and forth to bring food and water to their young. Nestling birds require amazing amounts of food at frequent intervals. Here, the mother raven is about to abscond with a tasty block of suet.

The past year has been the driest I have ever witnessed in southeastern Arizona. Last year’s crucial summer rains barely happened here in the Middle San Pedro River Valley, and the following winter rains were extremely sparse. The landscape is desperately dry, even for a desert, so signs of spring have been more welcome than ever. One of them appeared several weeks ago when a black swallowtail flew in to get a drink from a muddy patch of soil near one of our bird water dishes. Butterflies play very important roles in the ecology of this ecosystem. They grace our lives with their flight and their remarkable beauty.

A black swallowtail, (Papilio polyxenes), gets a drink from a patch of wet soil. Caterpillars of this species can be found primarily on plants in the parsley family.

Another sign of the changing seasons was the emergence of a  beetle known as the fiery searcher. Just over an inch in length, these beetles display gorgeous coloration; an indigo-purple head, thorax, and legs with emerald green, iridescent elytra (wing coverings). This marked the first time that I have ever encountered this species here in a mesquite woodland. Usually, I find them in the riparian cottonwood-willow forests along the San Pedro River.

A fiery searcher, (Calosoma scrutator ). This insect is classified within the family Carabidae, the ground beetles. Fiery searchers are active during the day, hunting caterpillars and grubs. The species pictured here manufactures noxious chemical compounds for defense; they smell horrendous and probably taste just as bad to potential predators.

Another certain sign of spring is the emergence of reptiles. A few weeks ago, I had a surprise when I retrieved a wheelbarrow from an open shed. I always keep wheelbarrows flipped over so that rain water cannot accumulate inside and rust them out. When I flipped the wheelbarrow over, here is what I found…

This western diamondback had discovered a safe, dark place to hide in, until I needed the wheelbarrow.

I have found rattlesnakes under my wheelbarrows more than once in the past. All snakes – including rattlesnakes – are always welcome on our land. We never kill them. Once in a rare while, I will capture and move one to a safer locale, but usually I simply let them be, like this one. I do my best to respect all life!

A closer look at the formerly hidden snake. Rattlesnakes at rest almost invariably assume this characteristic, circular posture.

With respect to most species, snakes can be readily identified by their markings and coloration. Rattlesnakes, gopher snakes, and many other snakes can be recognized even further, as distinct individuals. The markings on their heads and necks are individually unique, much like our fingerprints.

Yesterday, another sign of spring showed up nearby, a beautiful glossy snake. They are among the most common snakes in local mesquite bosques. Glossy snakes can reach lengths approaching four feet and feed on mice, kangaroo rats, lizards, and other snakes.

Glossy snakes are commonly mistaken for gopher snakes. One of several ways to tell them apart is that gopher snakes have keeled scales on their backs, whereas all of the scales on glossy snakes are smooth. Their technical moniker is hard to forget: Arizona elegans. The whitish object in the upper left quadrant of the image is a velvet mesquite bean.

The local stands of mesquite furnish very high quality firewood in addition to providing crucially important habitat to numerous wildlife species. Recently, a dead mesquite was felled here on our place that was threatening to crush one of our buildings if it were allowed to fall naturally. I sawed it into firewood. Other dead trees are left standing, for they are very important to many living creatures and to the health of the soil that they will eventually become a part of.

We live in an age when most adults and even our children are soft, weak, and overweight. Machines now do much of our work for us, and recreation often consists of vegetating in front of a computer screen or playing sedentary video games. A little physical work will always do a body good. I have felled, bucked, hauled, and stacked more firewood than I can ever recall. My decades in Montana always included a demand for at least eight cords of wood annually. Even here in southern Arizona, winters get chilly and a warm wood stove can be a real comfort on frosty nights.

INCREDIBLY STRANGE BIRDS

Behold the common poorwill, the only bird on Earth known to hibernate! My first acquaintance with this fascinating creature happened in the late ‘80s. At the time, I was living in an old log cabin nestled into the stony folds of Montana’s Rocky Mountain Front. There, I heard an unmistakable signature call lilting out of dusk-wrapped foothills on warm summer nights, a plaintive two-note call that to some, sounds like “poor – will.”

Summer after summer, I heard their voices – sometimes I would  glimpse one in flight. Much about poorwills remained a mystery to me, until one fateful evening. As I was driving up a dirt road, a small bird abruptly rose up in front of my pickup truck. The resulting collision was unavoidable. I stopped immediately, dismayed to find an inanimate lump of feathers caught in the grill. Gently, I extricated the bird and gazed at its limp form in wonder; cupped in one hand, its warm feathers felt gossamer-soft. My attention was immediately drawn to its head, quite large relative to the rest of the body. Two huge, liquid eyes characterized the bird’s visage. What looked like a ridiculously tiny beak barely poked out from a covering of feathers. The area around the beak (and the rest of the bird’s hidden mouth) was festooned with a fringe of curved, jet black, semi-rigid bristles. 

Now it gets even weirder. I had read up on these birds, so I knew that they were grouped in a strange family known by several names:  frogmouths, nightjars, or goatsuckers. (Yes, goatsuckers, but that is another story altogether.) Curious, (as any naturalist should be) I pried  the beak apart. My jaw fell in synchrony with the yawning beak, for the beak did not merely open; the bird’s head nearly split in two! The hidden edges of the beak extended far back to form an absolute cave of a mouth, a great, gaping maw that could make any shark jealous. Why such a mega-mouth, and what was with those bizarre bristles?

Poorwills are highly specialized to feed on flying insects in low-light conditions. Having a wide gullet for a mouth makes it much easier to catch insects on the wing. Their heads are unusually large because plenty of  room is needed to house the mouth and a pair of very large eye orbits. Big eyes gather more light, handy for spotting prey in the dark. 

Here at the interface of the Sonoran and Chihuahuan Deserts, habitat like this is well suited for poorwills. A scattering of low shrubs, cacti, and plenty of open ground in between provides these amazing birds with unobstructed views and open flight paths to help them catch flying insects.

Some ornithologists speculate that the stiff bristles form a sort of tactile net around the mouth, effectively enlarging the bird’s open mouth.  This increases a poorwill’s chances of success when chasing its evasive flying food. During the heat of summer, these desert-dwelling birds reveal another advantage enabled by their gigantic oral cavities. As they roost during hot days, poorwills open their mouths while fluttering the muscles in their throats, cooling themselves in a manner similar to a panting dog. The efficiency of such a cooling method is substantially amplified due to the large surface area of the bird’s mouth.

A close look at a poorwill’s head reveals the long rictal bristles that fringe their mouths.

So what about poorwills and hibernation? Here, in the Sonoran and Chihuahuan Deserts, poorwills crawl into rock crevices where they go into a state of hibernation or extended torpor (these terms remain somewhat ambiguous) for months during the winter. Their respiratory rate and heartbeat drops substantially, while their body temperature plummets to nearly 40° F.! An astute scientist is credited with “discovering” that poorwills hibernate as he conducted research on them in 1948. However, indigenous peoples knew this long before 1948. For example, the Hopi Indian word for poorwill is (roughly) hölchoko, translated as “the sleeping one.” Thus, much like Columbus, the 1948 discovery simply revealed knowledge to a different culture, knowledge that was already known to another. (With respect to Christopher Columbus, it is impossible to “discover” a place where people already live. A combination of cultural condescension and arrogance can imprint our history books with less than the truth.)

There is much more about poorwills that makes them such captivating, beguiling birds. Their camouflage is utterly incredible. Poorwills roost on the ground where they literally merge with their surroundings. The cryptic patterning of their plumage renders them extremely difficult to spot. On more than one occasion, I have nearly stepped on them before they revealed themselves through movement. The genus name for poorwills is Phalaenoptilus, ancient Greek for “moth plumage.” (Our birds are a very unique species, for no other bird on the planet shares their genus epithet.) The scientific name Phalaenoptilus is fitting in two ways, for many moths are extremely well camouflaged, and moths make up a large part of a poorwill’s diet.

Don’t let the red eyes fool you! This is an artifact of the light projected by a camera flash. When seen in natural light, the eyes of poorwills are very deep brown or black in color. Read the following paragraph for more details.

Like other members of their family, poorwills possess a special layer of cells at the back of their huge eyes known as the tapetum lucidum, rarely found in other birds. These cells allow them to see much better in low-light conditions. As for the glowing red eye in the photographs, that results from light reflected from the choroid, a thin layer of connective tissue surrounding the outer periphery of the eye. The choroid is nourished by a rich supply of capillary blood vessels, hence the red color. (The “red eye effect” sometimes seen in photographs of people is caused by similar choroid reflectivity.)

Weird enough? Not quite. On the Montana evening when I held the unfortunate poorwill in my hand, I had missed something: the bird’s feet. Poorwills possess pectinated claws (one per foot) with comb-like, serrated ridges that are used to preen plumage and to rearrange the rictal bristles. There is also the fact that these birds do not build nests – they simply lay their whitish, non-camouflaged eggs on the open ground. How they manage to keep their species alive via such seemingly risky egg-laying habits may seem enigmatic, but it works, for there are poorwills year after year. Here in the uplands and mesquite bosques of the San Pedro River Valley, their lonely calls are an intrinsic part of the desert’s twilight world.

Finally, a note on the poorwill images: they were photographed recently here in Cochise County, AZ, then generously supplied by a friend for use in this blog. Unless otherwise noted, all other photographs posted on this site are original copyrighted images by the author.

Living Jewels that Seek Fire and Eat Wood

Among the most important components that power the machinery of forest life are insects – beetles in particular play crucial ecological roles in forests.  One of the largest beetle families is the Buprestidae, represented by nearly 16,000 species. These creatures are known as “jewel beetles” due to their family’s spectacular array of iridescent colors and patterns. The insect pictured above is one dazzling example, native to the coniferous forests of the Rocky Mountains.

One of the world’s largest jewel beetles is Euchroma gigantea, native to Amazonia. These insects can measure over two inches in length. This is a mounted specimen from Brazil, part of the author’s collection.

In most living organisms, iridescence is enabled by pigmentation. Jewel beetles are different – their iridescence is structural in origin; microscopic texturing on the surfaces of their exoskeletons selectively reflects specific frequencies of light while absorbing others.

Most jewel beetles lay their eggs on dead or dying trees. Once the eggs hatch, the beetle larvae go to work, chewing their way through the wood. They leave a maze of tunnels in their wake. Some species of jewel beetles will lay their eggs only on freshly burned trees. These specialized insects are known as pyrophiles (literally, “fire loving”). Forest fires create a nearly instant Shagri-la for them.

The larvae (or grub) of a jewel beetle found inside a section of velvet mesquite wood. These larvae are often known as flathead borers due to the shape of their heads. The tunnels that such larvae create in dead wood are of great importance to forest ecology.

Pyrophilous jewel beetles have evolved specialized extra-large wing muscles to enable long distance flights to wildfire sites. These beetles have a way of finding burned trees that borders on the miraculous…

One of the buprestid beetles native to velvet mesquite bosques in southeastern Arizona. Note the heavyset, thickened body of this insect, a specialized morphology that allows room for large, powerful flight musculature.

When they fly, these beetles hold their bodies at an angle, in order to orient their underside to the direction of travel.  Minuscule texturing on the ventral side of the insect’s thorax functions mechanically in response to incredibly faint traces of infrared radiation (heat). Infrared radiation causes a pressure differential to occur in the thorax texturing. This fires neurons, sending a message to the beetle’s brain. The message says “fly in this direction and you will find a smorgasbord of freshly killed trees to provide food for your offspring.” What is even more amazing is that these insects can detect the heat given off by fires at distances up to fifty miles!  (research conducted by Dr. H.P. Bustami and associates at the University of Bonn [in Germany] brought this astounding facet of jewel beetle biology to light.)

A living jewel adorned with iridescent gold flecks and shimmering purple-sapphire elytra, this native buprestid inhabits local mesquite bosque habitats.

This relationship between forests, fire, and beetles has been going on for countless millennia. However, people often take a dim view of beetle larvae drilling tunnels in trees, claiming that this ruins otherwise “valuable” wood. Such anthropocentric views are myopic, for they exclude the needs of all other living things and turn a blind eye toward the ecology of forests. Jewel beetles benefit forests as agents of decomposition; the tunnels that their larvae bore in dead trees provide important open pathways for other insects and for the introduction of fungal spores. The tunnels facilitate the exchange of gasses in the wood and furnish the perfect moist, insulated, dark environ for fungi to take hold. Fungi are crucially important to living trees, to the health of the soil, and for their leading role in the recycling of nutrients via the decomposition of dead trees and other organic detritus. No forest on Earth can exist without fungi and decomposition.

This maze of tunnels was bored by jewel beetle grubs in a dead limb on a living velvet mesquite tree. Read the text above to discover why these tunnels are so beneficial to forest ecology.

This is a limb that was cut from the same tree as the one in the preceding image. However, this limb was cut when it was alive. Note the scarcity of holes and tunnels. Most jewel beetles lay their eggs only on dead wood, but there are a few exceptions to this rule.

Here in the desert southwest, jewel beetles are usually easy to find almost any place where trees are present. I have also found them rather often in upland desert habitats – areas that are essentially treeless. Buprestid beetles fly into these places seeking nectar and pollen meals from the wildflowers and flowering shrubs that grow there. Thus, they provide another important ecological function by acting as pollinators.

A HOPEFUL NEW YEAR, WINTER IN THE SAN PEDRO VALLEY, AND AN ARTIST’S VIVID EXPRESSION OF THE RIVER

The promise of coming  vaccinations, a new president, and the start of a new year have me full of hope… a state of mind that had faded considerably during 2020, a year marked by tragedy, social division, societal unrest, and a steadily worsening global pandemic. 

Here in the Middle San Pedro Valley, the season of winter is at hand, although the use of a term like “winter” in a place like this is a stretch of the word. The coldest temperature I have ever experienced here was only 8°F., and snow rarely falls in the valley floor. The image above was taken on a winter morning when a rare  blanket of fog had smothered the riverbottom forest with its cool, moist embrace. Fog is almost as rare as snow here. When fog does occur, it is a very transient affair, for desert fog most often dissipates into invisibility very quickly as the day warms.

A full moon casts its light on a stand of winter saguaros.

A few years ago, five inches of fresh snow fell overnight, gracing our bosque with a mantle of gleaming, sparkling white. I could not resist taking an early morning walk in order to read the very best of nature’s newspapers, for the goings on of every bird and mammal were written plainly in the snow. I encountered fresh tracks of various songbirds, quail, coyotes, a raccoon, mule deer, javelina, mice, cottontails, jackrabbits, and more. Following a set of roadrunner tracks (they are quite distinctive) I came across a sight I had never seen before: a roadrunner perched in a snow-covered mesquite tree.

I met with this well-chilled roadrunner perched in a velvet mesquite tree on a snow-graced morning.

Nature has forever been a source of inspiration for artists. There are scenes along the San Pedro River that could captivate any artist’s mind. Last month, an unforgettable gift arrived in our mail, an original painting crafted by none other than my brother, Rick. He and I had spent some time hiking in the riverbottom woodlands one fine spring day, when the river was alive with color and light. We stopped for a break at one of my favorite spots, a place that left its mark in my brother’s memory. Rick captured the essence of that place beautifully in this painting. What a gift!

“San Pedro Reverie,” by Rick Waldt.

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.