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 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.
Darkness settles over the land. Many miles from the lights and sounds of towns and cities, Arizona’s Middle San Pedro Valley sprawls wild and still. At twilight, only a faint poorwill and a pair of great horned owls can be heard. The coyote telegraph erupts and then fades as it travels from ridge to distant ridge. In contrast to the rich variety of summer sounds, an autumnal hush blankets the countryside.
At day’s end, dusk gently ebbs into darkness as a brilliant October moon emerges from the far shores of the eastern horizon. Here, in our mesquite bosque, the peace and comfort of the night suddenly give rise to a thousand voices raised in the jubilance of courtship. These are sweet, almost melodic sounds – October’s distinctive nocturnal biophony. Tree crickets are singing from the ancient trees, thousands of them spread across the valley floor, their songs a vivid proclamation of thriving life within an otherwise quiet forest.
This species of tree cricket sings from the tall mesquites in our bosque. Its ecology is intimately connected to velvet mesquite trees. These are small insects with a big voice.
I have come to love the sounds of these delicate, gossamer-winged insects. Long after summer’s insect frenzy, when most species have faded from the scene, tree crickets come to life in the coolness of October nights. The males raise their transparent wings, then call to the females by stridulating – in other words, they rub certain parts of their bodies together to produce a surprising volume of sound. Females are drawn to these love songs. The males go one step farther by offering their mates a special reward. After mating, metanotal glands located on the dorsal side of the male’s abdomen secrete a substance that the female feeds on.
Eight species of tree crickets inhabit southeastern Arizona, where they produce two generations each year. The ones singing in local October bosques belong to the genus Oecanthus. Each species has its own unique song. However, even among the same species, sound can vary quite a bit depending upon air temperature. The frequency (or pitch) of the crickets’ songs increases as temperatures rise and slows as temperatures fall.
A bizarre butterfly landed on my screen door last week – an American snout butterfly, Libytheana carinenta. Last year, large numbers of these butterflies erupted all over the valley in late summer. Snout butterflies use their strange shape to blend in with their surroundings. When perched on a plant stem, their elongated “snout” breaks up the outline of their bodies, resembling a broken twig or a thorn. The range of snout butterflies extends all the way to South America. They are known for migrating across landscapes in huge aggregations.
A study in camouflage, the American snout butterfly sports wings that blend well with tree bark and a unique body shape that helps to conceal the insect when at rest.
This summer’s plentiful monsoon rains have continued well into October. Since the monsoon began on June 18, our rain gauge has recorded an amazing 13.46 inches of life-giving rainfall.
One of the local washes experienced some large summer floods. I took a walk down this wash with a friend a few weeks ago, to have a look at the powerful changes wrought upon the land by the big floods. What we saw was in stark contrast to the wash I had known from walks during the past several years.
During recent times, this broad wash had been covered by a wall-to-wall effusion of burro bush (Hymenoclea) standing six or more feet tall with a galaxy of roots anchoring the bushes to the ground. The flood had erased most of that growth, leaving behind a clear streambed lined with heaps of debris – tree trunks, plant material, rocks, and more. The floor of the big wash had been totally rearranged, its topography and course markedly changed during a couple of events that lasted only days.
In places where floodwaters form swirling, circular eddies, holes are dug into the wash floor like this one. These depressions can be very large and quite deep. They often hold pools of surface water that can last for months after flooding, a valuable offering to birds, mammals, and other wild creatures in this desert ecosystem.
Powerful floods like these transport thousands of tons of boulders, rocks, gravel, sand, clay, and a wide variety of organic materials – whole trees, cacti, and other plants. Downstream, entire soil profiles are altered and built as sediments settle from the turbid waters. Cutbanks collapse, dropping great layers of soil into the roiling floodwaters, releasing seeds that have lain dormant from ancient times into the present-day ecosystem. Old genetics from times long gone may invigorate plant populations and enhance the genetic variability – and hence, the viability – of modern plant communities.
Most people would simply label this collapse of a stream-side cutbank as “erosion.” That is an accurate use of the word, but I see much more going on here.
Debris piles left along the stream banks can be very large, consisting primarily of tangled, broken bushes, parts of trees, and other plant matter. They provide shelter and denning sites for small mammals, reptiles, amphibians, and other creatures. Floods are not all bad – they are simply a natural, intrinsic agent of change, some of it beneficial, some not. People often label floods as “bad,” but that viewpoint roots in anthropocentric thinking, a myopic way to view our world.
The ecology of many native species of plants and animals actually depends upon flood events. The beautiful stands of cottonwoods that line the San Pedro River could not exist were it not for floods creating the specific conditions that their seeds require for germination. The riparian forests that accompany the river depend upon having their roots tap into subsurface aquifers. The aquifers get recharged when floods happen.
As floodwaters recede, the bed of the San Pedro River leaves records of local wildlife in the drying mud. Here, the patterning of fine surface cracks results from a place where the river water subsided very gradually with little or no turbulence, resulting in the deposition of extremely fine clay particles. As these clay deposits dry, they crack in characteristic patterns.
October typically brings us the last ophidian visitors of the year, most of them not to be seen until next spring. A beautiful gopher snake was here last week, and as I write this, a diamondback is curled up a short ways from my entry door.
An October gopher snake, crawling along the wall of one of our buildings. This one was a male, measuring right around 63 inches in length. Always welcome here, as are all snakes.The year’s last generation of pipevine swallowtail butterflies occurs in October. I found this gorgeous caterpillar recently – it is either in the fourth or fifth (last) instar of its development, after which it will climb a plant stem and metamorphose into a chrysalis suspended by a single loop of silk as it waits out the winter season. The leaves visible in this image are pipevine leaves, (Aristolochia), the only plant that these caterpillars feed upon.
October is THE month for seeing pinacate beetles (Eleodes spp.) – they are literally everywhere at this time of year, easily noticed because of their large size, slow movements, and diurnal habits. When they feel threatened, pinacate beetles stop moving and assume this head-stand posture. If the threat escalates, (for example, when a bird tries to grab the beetle), the beetles fire a noxious, very disagreeable fluid from the tip of their erected abdomen. Chemical defenses are very common among many insect species.
Just a few days ago, I noticed this small tuft of feathers laying on the ground. Immediately, I began searching the area for more, because such a find usually indicates that a bird was recently preyed upon somewhere nearby.
I soon found many feathers like this, their shafts intact. Intact shafts indicate feathers that were pulled out, not bitten and yanked out as mammals do. So this was the work of a predatory bird, likely a Cooper’s hawk that I have been seeing frequently of late. This was a special find, for these feathers could have come from only one species, a gilded flicker. Gilded flickers are relatively rare in local bosque habitats.
Arizona’s spectacular monsoon season is in full swing this year. Here in the Middle San Pedro River Valley, we have received 7.28 inches of life-giving rain during the past seven weeks. Life of all kinds is emerging, much of it empowered by this season alone.
The strikingly beautiful Gila monster pictured above was photographed by my wife Kathleen just days ago. (One more reminder to my readers: if you don’t see that image, it is because you are viewing this in your email. Always go to my blog site – https://ralphwaldt.com – to see this post as I intended it, without omissions.) It is one of many desert animals whose activity increases or otherwise changes as a result of monsoon weather.
The world we live in has been under deep duress this past year; the global pandemic, political division, economic hardship, and numerous worldwide catastrophes have all combined to make many people feel stressed and depressed. That is the anthropocentric world. A wider view – beyond the human-centric world that we pay so much attention to – encompasses the rest of the planet’s glorious and infinitely varied life. When I feel overloaded after viewing the day’s headlines, I can always find a source of solace, reassurance, and joy simply by abandoning the vicarious, shallow world of my computer screen in favor of the outdoor world. All it takes is a few steps outside. Sunlight, vivid green plants, lizards, trees, bird song, fresh air… the real world is medicine for the soul.
One does not need to live in a rural area like I do in order to tap into the natural world. I have a friend who lives in suburbia, along the fringes of the immensity known as Dallas-Fort Worth. He spends time in his backyard where trees, shrubs, and a garden bring life and happiness into his world. There are no bears, cougars, or Gila monsters in his yard like there are here – but there is a diverse variety of life. My friend focuses his attention on smaller creatures and other forms of life; insects, lizards, and flowering plants, for example. He photographs what he sees – things that most people never even notice. The photographs from his back yard are often stunning, revealing a world remarkably rich in life captured by a talented, artistic photographer whose sharp observational skills remind us that life is everywhere, and that life is beyond beautiful.
With those thoughts in mind, I offer a series of recent images taken during the heart of the monsoon season here in the Middle San Pedro Valley of southeastern Arizona…
My wife, Kathleen, encountered this Gila monster as it was attempting to cross a public roadway. She did the right thing – she pulled off the side of the road, turned on her hazard lights, and stood by, ready to usher the lizard out of harm’s way should a speeding motorist arrive on the scene. As the Gila monster made it safely off of the pavement, it turned to face Kathleen and her camera, then ambled off into the desert. The lizard was lucky this time. Large numbers of reptiles are killed on Arizona’s roads every day, many of them by people who are fast drivers and/or simply harbor callous attitudes towards reptiles. All it takes to avoid such losses is slower speed and a modicum of care for the life we share the planet with.
A single feather laying in front of our ramada had a story to tell: a great horned owl had landed there the night prior, likely as it pounced on a prey item.
Mornings that follow monsoon rain storms often reveal the nocturnal work of encruster termites. These tiny insects encrust plant stems (or in this case, mesquite beans) with a mixture of soil particles and viscous saliva, then feed on the encapsulated items. Termites are exceptionally important components of this ecosystem; they are very numerous, widespread, and perform a crucial ecological function by breaking down plant cellulose, thus returning essential nutrients to the soil.
Some two decades ago, I first tasted wolfberries – they were delicious. Native peoples gathered these berries as a seasonal food source. A large number of birds and mammals utilize them as a high-calorie-per-unit-weight food source, packed with natural sugars. This plant is of the genus Lycium.
Summer raindrops adorn the fresh blossom of an Arizona poppy plant, Kallstroemia grandiflora.
One of the valley’s most common summer wildflowers is also among its most beautiful; trailing four o’clock, Allionia incarnata.The emergent blooms of a barrel cactus. These cacti rely on summer rains for their annual reproductive efforts.
Silver-leaf nightshade – Solanum elaeagnifolium – always a joy to encounter, this native plant is grouped in the same botanical family as tomatoes, but it is not safe for human consumption.Tarantulas are common here, but can be seen with any frequency only during the monsoon season, when lower daytime temperatures and increased humidity bring them out of hiding. If left alone, these are harmless, innocuous creatures.
Caterpillars of the white-lined sphinx moth (and other native Sphingicampid moths) are very common sights during summers graced by monsoonal moisture. When mature, they reach a size approximating that of a person’s index finger.A few days prior, I encountered this mating pair of diamondback rattlesnakes just outside my shop door. Courtship and mating in this species is a process that can go on for several days.
Another diamondback appeared here last week, a large individual. This snake is quite rotund in the latter half of its body – I’d guess that it was a gravid female. Snakes are a valuable asset here, for they are a major help in controlling rodent populations. Mice and rats in southern Arizona could win gold medals for their ability to get into vehicle engines, where they cause frequent and very expensive problems. Puffballs sprout from the floor of our mesquite bosque with great speed after summer rainfalls. Puffballs are specifically designed to work with rain. First, an initial rain is required to soak the soil. This enables the spherical mushrooms to sprout above the surface. Puffballs quickly mature, then wait for the next rainfall to facilitate their reproduction. When raindrops impact a puffball, they cause a sudden increase in internal pressure, forcing thousands of minuscule spores to erupt (or “puff” like smoke) out of the hole in the top of the mushroom. By releasing its spores only in response to falling rain, the fungus assures that freshly moistened soil is available the enhanced survival and successful growth of its offspring. Pretty cool or what?
