It has been a very long time since I have contributed to my natural history blog – more than a year has passed. Depression is a force that puts a writer down…
Ever since the January, 2025 election, I have been horrified at what has been happening in our country. My faith in my fellow man and my hope for our collective futures has been deeply eroded. Our nation has become more and more divided; a dangerous path to follow. Within the five-word title of our country, there is one word that means far more than all the others; that word is “United.” National unison is the bedrock of this nation, the fundamental core of its history, and essential to its future.
Throughout this unfolding saga, the country’s focus has been decidedly political, diverting our attentions away from the stunning amount of damage that our national leader and his entourage of sycophants have inflicted on wild lands, wildlife protection laws, and wildlife habitats.
Considering that my life’s work has centered around teaching natural history and the protection of wild lands, and that I have a love and appreciation for my country and its democratic ideals, it is no wonder that I have not been in the requisite mood to write much of anything during the past year.
Lately, however, my mood has been steadily improving. Americans are raising their voices, peacefully and actively resisting that which is fundamentally wrong. On a local level, my spirit has been lifted by the sight of a lush emergence of brilliant green grasses and other understory plants that have sprung to vivid life in our mesquite bosque and all across the valley. A return of the normal winter rains has enabled this welcome change on the land. After more than a year of drought, the surge of new growth warms my heart and mind.
In what follows, I offer a photographic and written glimpse into some of the past year’s wild happenings. The land, the plants, and the animals depicted are a reminder that the limitless beauty and wonder of the natural world is still there – to heal, inspire, and bring light to our spirits…
In late summer, I awoke early one morning to find these paint-fresh tracks of an adult black bear that had stepped over my entry steps and walked beneath my ramada, leaving its signature tracks in fine-grained, dry soil. 2025 was my best year yet for seeing Gila monsters in the wild – a total of seven sightings, five of which occurred here within our velvet mesquite bosque. This is one of those lizards, a creature that spends the great majority of its lifetime below ground, out of sight. I was lucky enough to witness this seldom-seen event for a second time last summer, when I came upon this pair of large male western diamondbacks dueling behind our shop building. Their elegant dance went on for hours. Later, I looked for and found the victor, curled up with a female rattlesnake. The two males had been following her scent trail, resulting in a meeting that quickly morphed into a struggle for mating rights. For more info. on this behavior and more images, have a look at the previous blog, accessed via this address: https://ralphwaldt.com More than twenty years had elapsed before my wife and I saw a coati on our property. We had found their tracks many times, but had never seen one here until this big bruiser of a male showed up last month. He stayed for several days after discovering a taste for the bird seed that Kathleen spreads on the ground every morning. Note the thick, winter-furred tail and the very well-developed front and hind quarters of this impressive old male. Unlike most coatis, we never saw this animal walk with its tail raised vertically in lemur fashion. I wonder if this has something to with expressing his place in the society of these social mammals. Mature males commonly spend much of each year alone, as opposed to others of their species. Photo by Kathleen Waldt. Coatis have long, flexible rostrums (a.k.a. “snouts”). Concealed within their long snouts is an intricate maze of paper-thin turbinate bones covered with an extensive network of nerves that enable the animal’s exceptional ability to smell – and thereby locate – much of their food. The powerful claws on their front feet did not evolve for fighting, nor for killing prey – they are for digging. Among the coatis that roam the Middle San Pedro Valley, digging for arthropod grubs and pupae furnishes these Sierra Madrean mammals with the bulk of their diets. Photo by Kathleen Waldt.
This huge moth fluttered by me like a bat-turned-insect one afternoon, landing upside down on the roof of my ramada. Its common name is “Black Witch Moth,” not what one would consider a flattering moniker. I did not perceive it in such a light; I saw a perfect expression of nature’s form and beauty, a creature whose wings were adorned with intricate artwork and remarkable camouflage. The less degrading name for this insect is, in technical terms, Ascalapha odorata. Autumn leaves falling from the cottonwoods that line the banks of the San Pedro River sometimes exhibit these fascinating patterns. They are the tracings of insect larvae collectively called “leaf miners.” Leaf mining is a type of behavior that involves larvae that live within a leaf, feeding on the inner tissues while leaving the epidermal (outer) layers of the leaf intact. This affords the larvae some measure of protection from predation. Leaf mining evolved in several different families of insects, including flies, beetles, and moths.
A quiet section of the San Pedro River in early November reflects an immaculate tapestry of form, light, and color, a place of quiet beauty that instills a sense peace, calm, and gratitude into its viewers.
Among the most incredibly adept fliers in the avian world are a group of hawks known as accipiters. This gorgeous Cooper’s hawk was photographed while drinking – and then bathing – in one of our bird watering dishes. I have watched these amazing hawks pursue birds (their most favored food) at breakneck speed into and through thick brush with the ease and finesse of a darting insect. Photo by Kathleen Waldt. On a broiling hot early summer day, Kathleen captured this image of an adult bobcat, standing some ten feet from our front doorway. Opening the inner door as slowly and quietly as she could, Kathleen photographed the cat through the screen door, giving the image a soft, pastel look. Among the four species of skunk that inhabit the San Pedro River Drainage, hooded skinks are the most common in the valley floor. Their lengthy and long-haired tails set them apart from the other three species. Yesterday morning, I had walked only a short distance out the door when I spotted something that was pure white at the base of a mesquite. Immediately, I thought of the tail of the hooded skunk that has been wandering our bosque almost every night for the past half year or so. Just as quickly, I realized that something wasn’t right, for the tail was entirely flat on the ground. Sure enough, it was the tail of our resident skunk, and all life had left its owner. Perched atop the body of the skunk was a great horned owl. Photo by Kathleen.
The signature plume of the skunk’s long, snow-white tail extends far beyond its predator. It is not uncommon for great horned owls to tackle prey as large and formidable as skunks and house cats. Photo by Kathleen.
The owl remained on the ground with its large meal all day long, alternating between bouts of feeding interspersed with naps. Most of the time, the bird stayed atop its prey, protecting its dinner by covering it from sight with a look that says, “I dare you!” An eruption of fresh, new growth, composed primarily of London rocket (Sisymbrium irio), and Mediterranean grass, (Schismus arabicus / barbatus), graces the mesquite forest with a verdant refulgence of color and life. Despite the fact that these understory plants are non-native, their presence shades the ground, conserving soil moisture, while providing a substantial infusion of organic matter that will help build and maintain the duff layer and enhance underlying spoil health. The vivid color of new, green plant growth has always fed my soul and never fails to paint smiles on my face.
Cherish and protect our common mother, the Earth.
Foster a deep respect and reverence for all life.
Show kindness, compassion, and respect for your fellow human beings, regardless of race, sex, language, political affiliations, or country.
Resist passing judgement on others.
Lastly, a reminder: if you are reading this in your email, you can’t see the header image for this post, nor can you access scores of my other blog posts on local natural history. For all of that, my site is easily accessed, cost-free, and obligation free: https://ralphwaldt.com
The snake pictured above is a black-tailed rattlesnake, Crotalus molossus. Of the nine species of rattlesnakes inhabiting Cochise County in southeastern Arizona, this one is my favorite. (If you don’t see the image, it is because you are reading this in your email. Click on the blog’s title to be redirected to my blog website for a better, more inclusive experience. Once there, simply scroll down the title page to quickly find this most recent post.)
If snakes could talk, when asked the question “what is hell?,” they would likely answer “any place where people are.” Many people kill snakes on sight, and others run them over with vehicles – often a brutal, intentional action. If snakes have dreams, surely one of their worst nightmares would involve becoming entangled in certain types of fencing, like chicken wire or plastic mesh. A snake can slip its head through the openings in these kinds of fencing easily. The trouble comes as the reptile moves forward. As the body thickens behind the neck, there comes a point when the snake becomes trapped. Scales on snakes overlap and point backward. The wire or plastic mesh gets caught under the scales, making it impossible for the snake to back out. A long, slow death is the inevitable outcome. I have seen live and dead snakes trapped in fencing more than a few times, especially in chicken wire and in various types of plastic mesh and bird netting. The bottom line is simple: if you care about snakes, don’t use these types of fencing! Find another way.
Late this summer, a neighbor called requesting my help to free this 4-foot Sonoran whipsnake, (Masticophis bilineatus). The snake was badly entangled in some plastic mesh fencing. It took quite some time with a pair of small scissors to free the snake. This feisty whipsnake tried to bite me repeatedly during the delicate procedure.
Sonoran whipsnakes are among the desert’s most beautiful reptiles. They are capable of incredibly fast movements much like their cousins, the coachwhips. Large, capable eyes give this creature excellent long-range vision for hunting its prey and avoiding predators. These snakes are semi-arboreal, often found high in the mesquite trees, where they move with skilled grace in search of lizards and bird nests. This one had skin that felt like fine silk, remarkably smooth to the touch.
October brought this 3-foot Sonoran gopher snake to our residence. I have never seen gopher snakes as richly colored as the individuals I have encountered in this river valley. They are Arizona’s longest ophidians, (reaching lengths exceeding eight feet) and they are always more than welcome here. Few predators are more adept at capturing mice, rats, and pocket gophers, for these animals can do what most other predators cannot – they can crawl down into the rodents’ burrows. Nowhere else have I seen box turtles as gorgeously marked as our local variety. This is an adult – some of these turtles lose their stripes, fading to a solid brown as they get older, but not this one. The species is Terapene ornata, otherwise known as the ornate box turtle.
Yet another Gila monster visited our property this year. This one was an adult measuring close to 14 inches in length. These lizards are readily identifiable as distinct individuals, for their complex markings are never the same, somewhat like our fingerprints.The track of an opossum may be a common sight east of the Mississippi, but here it is something special. Most of the opossums in this valley are representatives of a Sierra Madrean subspecies, reaching the northern tip of their range here in SE Arizona. This distinctive footprint, along with others, appeared in the fine dust under my ramada early one morning.
Southern Arizona is among the top places in the nation for frequency of lightning strikes. Summer monsoon storms can be fierce and utterly unforgettable, particularly when they occur after dark. On the first day of September, a bolt slammed to the ground some 55 feet from where I had been seated. The bolt followed this upright support post on an open shed as it made its way downward. The carbonized streak is clearly visible on the post. The electromagnetic pulse from this strike fried our home telephone system.
The Middle San Pedro Valley sprawls across nearly one million acres of undeveloped, unfragmented land in southeastern Arizona. Its slopes and woodlands, bajadas and ridges have been rimed with frost every dawn under the abbreviated touch of winter’s Sun. Days are short. The land stands hushed and still with its seasonal absence of many birds, reptiles, and other forms of life. Nonetheless, there are many good reasons to get outside and walk the land. January and February have brought a few surprises, particularly in the way of unexpected sightings of locally uncommon birds.
In late January, five purple finches began frequenting our bird feeders, thinking they were well concealed within mobs of house finches and lesser goldfinches. My wife’s sharp eyes picked them out of the crowd. In 20+ years of avian record keeping in this valley, that was the first time we had ever seen purple finches. Another species that has been sighted sparingly here during the winter months is the American robin. For reasons that remain a mystery to me, we have been inundated with robins this winter. They bring me many fond memories of their near-constant presence during past summers when I lived in the northern states.
Speaking of thrushes, another bird that I had never seen in the valley before has arrived to grace the nearby riverbottom woodlands this winter – a Townsend’s solitaire. A friend and neighbor, Tom Talbott, first sighted one about a week ago in the forests along the river not far from our home. Tom is a highly skilled birder and a masterful wildlife photographer. A few days later, walking the same reaches of the river, a friend and I also saw a solitaire. News has been spreading of numerous sightings of this species in areas just a few dozen miles to the north.
A Townsend’s solitaire perches quietly in branches overhanging the channel of the San Pedro River. These elegant thrushes are common residents of timberline forests high in the mountains of western Montana, where I would meet them again and again as I led groups of hikers during the summer months. Their songs are unique and unforgettably angelic, like no other bird I have known. Photo courtesy of Tom Talbott.
Not far from the solitaire, we found this great horned owl snoozing within the branches of a Fremont cottonwood. These owls are remarkably capable predators whose list of possible food items exceeds that of any other North American owl. Among the creatures that great horned owls have been known to prey upon include insects, amphibians, various reptiles, mice, rabbits, domestic cats, small dogs, ducks, skunks, and even porcupines.
Mid-January brought us over an inch of rain in the valley floor during one winter storm. Rainfall amounts were much higher in the nearby Galiuro Mountains, resulting in a strong winter flow for Hot Springs Wash. Such flows during the winter months are rare.
The rain enabled millions of dormant London rocket (Sisymbrium irio) seeds to sprout, providing a new source of food for wildlife while greening the floor of this mesquite bosque with the glowing color of new life.
Large numbers of these small white puffballs erupted from the ground under mesquite trees after the rain. Fungi are becoming known as some of the most important organisms on the planet. The mycorrhizal filaments of many species of fungi form mutually beneficial associations with tree roots, for example. No forest on Earth can exist without such subsurface fungal alliances.
A hooded skunk wandered under my ramada one night, leaving its signature behind in the form of these tracks made in fine, dusty soil. Note the track pattern as the animal was walking at normal speed.
A closer look at the skunk’s footprints. Even though skunks are plantigrade mammals, the heels on their back feet often do not register in their tracks, as seen here. (The hind foot is to the left, front foot to the right.)
I discovered this torpid spiny lizard spending the winter brumating underneath a plastic tub that had been set outdoors on the ground. The lizard was found at ground level, not dug in below the frost line. Temperatures here routinely dip into the teens every winter. I was taught that reptiles must spend winters below the frost line, because otherwise they would freeze and die. I have also seen a pair of diamondback rattlesnakes spending the winter under a board in an open barn. Apparently, what I was taught cannot be correct – it seems clear that these reptiles can endure a fairly substantial amount of freezing.
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!
