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.
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Among our most universal and compelling fears, one that is widespread across cultures, continents, and through vast spans of time, is the fear of snakes. In terms of simple survival, this makes perfect sense; many snakes can be lethal. For countless millennia, I am sure that people knew which snakes were dangerous and which were not.
In modern times, our culture has become so disassociated with the natural world that most of us can no longer identify what species are harmless and what kinds are not. The deep-rooted, possibly instinctual fear of snakes remains – when coupled with widespread ignorance, it results in the needless death of many snakes every year. You say rattlesnakes are easy to identify? Tell that to the many people who have killed slightly similar gophersnakes, thinking they were rattlers. Or to the screamers that wield shovels in attempts to automatically kill any snake they see.
The photograph above the title depicts a pair of mating western diamondbacks. A reminder – if you are viewing this in your email, you will not see the header images. Move your cursor over the title and click on it to be re-directed to my blog site, where the header images appear and where other images are larger as well.
What follows is a celebration of the beauty, grace, and elegance of the remarkable animals that we call snakes. Thirty-four species inhabit the Middle San Pedro Valley. Here is a sampling of a few that I have had the delight to encounter…
A Sonoran coralsnake, (Micruroides euryxanthus), a highly fossorial, nocturnal, (and therefore seldom-seen) species. The striking aposematic coloration of these beautiful reptiles is a clear warning to many would-be predators. Bites from these small snakes are very rare – and very serious. The venom is primarily neurotoxic; drop-for-drop, it outdoes any other southwestern snake for sheer potency.Sonoran coralsnakes are small, (rarely over two feet in length) shy, and retiring, preferring to hide their heads when threatened rather than strike defensively.
Gophersnakes, (Pituophis cantenifer), are Arizona’s longest serpent, capable of reaching lengths of over eight feet. These powerful constrictors are experts at preying on rodents. A special scale armors the front of their snout, enabling them to push through soil in rodent tunnels with ease. Gophersnakes play a key role in landscape-scale ecology by controlling rodent populations. This also makes them an ally to ranchers and farmers.
Sadly, many are killed by ignorant people who mistake them for rattlesnakes, and many more are intentionally killed by drivers, brutal acts that are a mark of cruel, simple-minded people.
While gophersnakes are common in Arizona, this one is very rare due to the aberrant patterning on the upper parts of its body. The usual dorsal blotches have been replaced by long, striped markings. Glossy snakes, (Arizona elegans), are quite common in the Middle San Pedro Valley. This species can attain lengths approaching six feet. At a glance, it is not hard to confuse these snakes with gophersnakes.
A Sonoran lyresnake, (Trimorphodon lambda), curled up against the wall of my adobe residence. Lyresnakes are fascinating; their large eyes feature vertically elliptical pupils, whereas most of our other snakes have round pupils. This is a nocturnally active species whose its diet is composed primarily of lizards. Lyresnakes don’t have injectable venom; instead, they secrete venom from glands in the rear of their mouths that is very toxic to lizards – but not to humans.
A typical “pink” coachwhip, (Masticophis flagellum). Coachwhips are often erroneously called “racers” or “red racers” by local residents. Coahwhips are phenomenal creatures, the true “über predators” of the southwest. Equipped with large eyes capable of exceptional long-distance acuity, coachwhips are the desert’s fastest snakes, and are surely among the fastest in the world. These are extremely alert reptiles that specialize on hunting lizards but will also consume a wide variety of other prey items. Coachwhips occur here in three color phases, with intergrades as well. The pink phase predominates locally.
I spotted this long-nosed snake, (Rhinocheilus lecontei), crawling across the dirt floor of our open shed on a warm, early summer morning. Its vivid colors and patterning are a reminder that snakes can be very beautiful creatures.
Long-nosed snakes occur in southern Arizona in two main color morphs. This is the other one, a completely different mix of colors and patterns compared to the individual above.
A California kingsnake, (Lampropeltis californiae). To me, this is one of the most beautiful snakes in Arizona, combining a chain-like pattern of cream-yellow bands set against a glossy, satin-black background. Kingsnakes are snake specialists, actively hunting many other species including rattlesnakes – kingsnakes are immune to their venoms. In addition to snakes, other foods include small rodents, eggs, and lizards.
A desert kingsnake, (Lampropeltis splendida) This species occurs locally in two primary color phases – the one pictured here is the most common. Some desert kingsnakes exhibit melanistic (all black pigmentation) coloration.Checkered gartersnakes, (Thamnophis marcianus) prefer habitats near water sources such as streams and ponds, where one of their favorite types of prey can be found most reliably – amphibians. Three species of garter snakes inhabit the San Pedro River Basin.
Rattlesnakes are the victims of more prejudice and brutal cruelty from people than all other American snakes – most often, the prejudice and cruelty arise from deep ignorance. We tend to overlook the comforting fact that rattlesnakes are among the very few toxic snakes on Earth that give us the courtesy of a warning. This western diamond-backed rattlesnake, (Crotalus atrox), is one of several that I see quite often around our buildings. Bites from this potent species are very serious, but also very rare IF one simply pays constant, close attention to where one’s feet and hands are placed when outdoors. We never kill these snakes, (nor any others, for that matter). Most diamondbacks are shy and inoffensive if left alone. Quite abundant in many habitat types, diamondbacks play a very important role in local ecology by helping to control rodent populations.
Of the world’s 36 species of known rattlesnakes, surely the black-tailed rattlesnake, (Crotalus molossus), would win one of the top prizes for sheer beauty. My wife and I spent half and hour watching and photographing this unagressive, beguiling individual. We found it basking, suspended several feet off the ground among tree branches in a walnut – velvet mesquite bosque. This one was large for its kind, close to 48 inches in length.
I had to radically adjust my search image for local rattlesnakes when I uncovered this snake in our shed, an Arizona black rattlesnake, (Crotalus cerberus), curled up beneath an inverted wheelbarrow. Before that moment, my search image had concerned itself only with the grays and dull browns of western diamondbacks; black rattlesnakes were not “known” to inhabit low-elevation places like our valley-floor bosque, situated at 3,100 feet. Since then, I have recorded this species locally several more times.
The Mohave rattlesnake, (Crotalus scutulatus), is the most potent rattlesnake in the entire American west, injecting substantial amounts of strong neurotoxic venom when it bites. This one emerged from under a stack of lumber that I had been working with, furnishing an unforgettable reminder that only fools slip their hands under wood stacked outdoors without looking carefully beforehand.
The most reliable way to visually identify Mohave rattlesnakes is to get a close look at their supraocular scales that lie atop the head between the snake’s eyes. It is difficult to do this safely without a good pair of binoculars with close-focusing ability. Diamondbacks can look quite similar to Mojave rattlesnakes, but their supraocular scales are much smaller and more numerous. Adding to identification difficulties, the two species have been known to hybridize in Cochise County.
Small and inoffensive, ring-necked snakes, (Diadophis punctatus) are common in the San Pedro River Drainage.
When threatened by a predator, ring-necked snakes may flip themselves upside-down, feigning death while revealing their striking, aposematically-colored ventral side.
Eastern patch-nosed snakes, (Salvadora grahamiae) feel like smooth satin when handled. This species is always among the earliest to emerge when the weather begins to warm in the valley, often above ground by mid-March. Note the heavy scale at the proximal end of the snake’s head, armoring for its snout as it digs underground in loose soils.
Upon lifting a pile of old branches and debris one day, I exposed this incredibly tiny snake, a highly fossorial species I had never seen before.
My first thought was, “I never knew earthworms lived on our bosque,” until I looked closer and picked it up. Coiled in my palm with room to spare was this amazing western threadsnake, (Rena humilis). Threadsnakes prey on ants, ant eggs, ant larvae, and termites. They are a favorite prey item for Sonoran coralsnakes.
Replace ignorance with knowledge. Be kind to snakes.
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.
I am happy to report that the Middle San Pedro Valley has finally received some summer rain! This has been a very dry summer – during July and August, we have received only .63 inches of rain. Most of that has occurred during the past four days. The summer “monsoon” season is what literally defines this ecosystem – enabling much of the rich assemblage of plant and animal species that makes this part of Arizona such a remarkable place.
Despite the extended drought, the velvet mesquite trees in the local bosque have put on a tremendous spurt of foliar growth this year. Additionally, the trees have flowered three times since spring. As I write this, the ground under the trees is plastered with a heavy crop of “beans,” the nutrition-packed seed pods that are one of the cornerstone food sources for our wildlife. How can this happen during such a bone-dry, hot spring and summer? The answer is rooted in last year’s very wet monsoon season. Mesquites have a remarkable ability to move rainwater down their roots, where they store it at depth for later use. That’s right; these trees can move water in both directions in their root systems! The big bean crop owes its genesis to last year’s stored rain water.
Wind plays a pivotal role in the ecology of velvet mesquite trees. When the seed pods are ripe, winds accompanying rain storms can release astounding quantities of pods in very short periods of time. Pods on the ground then become available to all wildlife, not just the species that climb trees. Mesquites depend upon animals to remove the tough outer seed coating by chewing and gnawing on the pods. The seeds of mesquite trees are able to germinate only after the outer husk is removed. This beautiful bumblebee appeared last week, an uncommon insect in local bosques. The ecology of bumblebees is intimately woven around the activities of small rodents. Local bumblebees make their colonial nests in the abandoned underground nests of mice and kangaroo rats.
Iridescent scales glitter on the back of this Clark’s spiny lizard, at rest in the shade of my ramada on a 108°F. day. Prime habitat for this species are mesquite bosques, where the trees offer an abundance of shade and escape routes from predators. Clark’s spiny lizards can climb trees with the speed and agility of an over-caffeinated squirrel.
Within the sheltered confines of a small depression in the joined trunks of two mesquites is a small rodent’s dining room – in this case, likely an Ord’s kangaroo rat. Note the many chewed fragments of mesquite pods. Kangaroo rats and many species of mice prefer such places to gnaw on their foods.
As of this writing, the raven family is still together as the trio of young birds explore their new world, constantly learning from their devoted parents. That’s papa Mike in the foreground, Mavis in the background, and their rowdy, inquisitive kids in between.
Mavis eyes up one of her favorite foods. Large eggs like this one must be held in the bird’s beak with skill and finesse. She sauntered off with this one, walking some 90 feet into the bsoque, then gently dropped the egg, dug a hole, placed the egg into the hole, then covered it with soil and duff. The spatial cognition and spatial memory of ravens is astounding. Hundreds of food items get stashed in tree crotches or buried for later use – with uncanny ability, the ravens remember where every one of them is hidden. This morning brought us a seldom-seen spectacular visitor in the form of this Gila monster that was crawling along the foundation of our home.
When viewed dorsally, the reticulated patterns on the backs of Gila monsters really stand out – patterns that are mirrored in the art of many native southwestern cultures and tribes. No two Gila monsters are patterned alike, so photographs can identify specific individuals. This one is an adult, about 14 1/2 inches in length.
I have always looked forward to the month of April in southeastern Arizona, for it brings a great diversity and large numbers of migrant birds to the land – or does it? The first time that I birded the San Pedro River was in April of 1977. In a word, that was a stunning experience. The numbers of birds were incredible, as were the variety of species. Today, the story could hardly be more different.
Migrant songbirds (and other migratory species) have been steadily declining ever since Europeans began to populate the North American continent. The rate of decline was slow at first, but it has increased continually through the centuries. During the past several decades, declines in bird populations have become so severe that some birds have become extinct, while others are persisting by the thinnest of threads.
Here in the Middle San Pedro Valley, I have been participating in avian surveys and have been keeping detailed records of local bird life for 21 years. The data is disheartening, but this year has been the worst thus far. Numerous species that have appeared on schedule at our property every past April are simply not appearing. Many others are here in very low numbers. Sadly, close to 100% of these declines are attributable to mankind. Overpopulation, urban expansion, climate change, pesticides and herbicides, tremendous habitat losses, loose house cats, and more add up to a world that is becoming quieter and quieter every spring.
What is spring without bird song?
Other happenings in the natural world have been occurring as well, ones that are not disheartening. Lizards and snakes have awakened from their winter brumation to add their grace, color, and life to the land. A few days ago, a Sonoran gopher snake appeared a few feet from my doorway, followed by the year’s first diamondback rattlesnake and the emergence of Clark’s spiny lizards. Our resident ravens, Mike and Mavis, have successfully hatched yet another brood and are very busy keeping their youngsters well fed. A nice abundance of wildflowers is coloring the upland slopes.
The gopher snake mentioned above. We always welcome these harmless and beautiful reptiles. They play an effective role in controlling rodent populations.
This was a slender male, close to 3 1/2 feet in length. Sonoran gopher snakes can attain lengths approaching eight feet, making them one of the nation’s longest native ophidians.A closer look reveals the large, curved, robust rostral scale at the forward tip of the snake’s head. This kind of scalation evolved to shield and protect the heads of gopher snakes as they push their way through soil and pursue rodents deep into their burrows.
Every year in this valley seems to bring its own explosion of certain insects. Earlier this month, incredible numbers of crane flies could be seen. I recall walks where every step flushed 20 or more from the surface of the ground. Crane flies belong to the family Tipulidae, with over 15,000 species worldwide. They are a successful and adaptable group of insects, for their presence in the fossil record dates back over 70,000,000 million years.
A pair of crane flies, busy assuring that their kind has a future. These innocuous insects are sometimes called “mosquito hawks,” for the mistaken belief that they prey on mosquitoes. On a recent walk in the valley with a friend, we paused to admire this rare cristate saguaro, made even rarer by its unusual paired, symmetrical shape.
Incredibly, on the very same day, another friend was roaming the valley when he discovered this huge, cristate specimen. Photo by Gilbert Urias. April brings the return of turkey vultures. Here, one has landed to scrutinize one of our bird watering dishes. Among several unique aspects of these vultures is the fact that they have no syrinx – the organ that allows birds to vocalize. Turkey vultures can hiss by expelling air rapidly, but they cannot call to one another nor utter any sort of song.A close look at the vulture’s head reveals a large perforation in the bird’s beak. When viewed at just the right angle, one can see that the large hole goes all the way through the beak to the other side. Turkey vultures locate the majority of their food via a keen sense of smell, an unusual trait among most other birds. The perforated beak likely helps these birds to smell with great facility, channeling airflow into their nasal scent receptors. (The quality of this enlarged image is poor due to limits that my blog hosting service places on image resolution.)
Shallow watering dishes can do wonders for attracting bird life and many other desert animals as well.
A wonderful and always reassuring sight! The riparian forest that is so deeply important to the valley’s wildlife glows with a verdant spring canopy of cottonwood and willow leaves. The color contrast between the riverside forest and the surrounding uplands is strong in April. The forest – a true hallmark of this valley – is completely dependent upon the San Pedro River and its subterranean aquifers.
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.
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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.
This year’s monsoon got off to an early start in mid-June, but thus far, we have received just 2.98 inches of rainfall. Many storms have passed by, missing us by only a few miles. Hope for more rain is justified, however, because the summer monsoon season still has a couple of months to go. Summer rain always brings a wonderful blooming of life to this arid landscape, most of which cannot be witnessed at any other times of year. Here is a brief gallery of some of those recent gifts…
The floor of the local mesquite bosque has been bereft of greenery throughout the autumn, winter, and spring. One of the first substantial monsoon storms brought color to the woodland floor – an effusion of fresh, young plants erupting from the soil. Also visible in this image are mesquite pods. Millions of these highly nutritious pods have fallen from velvet mesquites in the valley during the past couple of weeks, providing a keystone food source for a tremendous variety of pod-eating wildlife. Rain cleans and wets the ground surface, providing a crisp, fresh record of the presence of local wildlife, like this mule deer buck’s trackway. As is the case with most quadripedal mammals, these tracks show substantial dimorphism: the larger track represents a front foot, the smaller a hind foot. The remains of a well-chewed mesquite pod reveal the place where a rodent fed the night before. This one was most likely the work of an Ord’s kangaroo rat. Tarantulas remain hidden and mostly inactive during much of the year. Summer rains bring them out of their burrows. This is a full-grown (palm-spanning) male Arizona blond tarantula, Aphonopelma chalcodes. If I am not mistaken, these are western subterranean termites, Reticulitermes hesperus. After the first strong summer rain storm, these insects emerge in spectacular swarms to embark on their aerial, one-day-per-year mating flights. Termites are among the most essential of all insects in the desert southwest, for they are primary decomposers of plant materials, recycling essential nutrients back into the soil. A western diamondback feeding on a lesser goldfinch at our bird pond. Some people may find this image disturbing, but such a viewpoint implies an abiological bias…the cute little bird and the horrible, scary snake. Both are native residents of this ecosystem, both are equally welcome on our property, and both must eat to survive. An ornate box turtle, Terrapene ornata, stationed itself under a suet feeder one day and revealed something new – box turtles love to eat suet! Bits and pieces fall to the ground as woodpeckers and other birds feed on the suet block; these high-calorie morsels are eagerly consumed by other creatures, including ravens and nocturnally foraging mice. A heavy rain brought several Couch’s spadefoot toads to our bird pond. Females are typically colored with dark reticulations like this individual. Male Couch’s spadefoots are usually much more plainly colored. A first! This morning, our “bird pond” was wriggling with new life, a batch of spadefoot tadpoles! If these tadpoles survive to grow into adult toads, they will carry the memory of their natal pond’s geographic location, and will return to it to breed in future years. Another first for our bosque – a Gould’s turkey with young in tow. I had seen turkeys here before, but never a hen with her offspring. At dawn’s first soft light after a nighttime storm, there were a dozen or more white-lined sphinx moths (Hyles lineata) circling the small pool of water that constitutes our bird pond. The moths were alighting to drink – they disappeared soon after, as daylight strengthened. These are large insects with three-inch wingspans, equipped with powerful musculature that enables strong, rapid flight. This species ranges from Central American northward to Canada.
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.
For many living things, effective camouflage often means the difference between life and death. I have witnessed camouflage acts that left me amazed – snowshoe hares in winter, whose fur matched the color and reflectivity of snow perfectly, or the disappearing act of a snipe crouched in grass…but lately, I witnessed a larval insect whose camouflage made my jaw drop.
One of the strangest caterpillars I had ever seen…
The creature had brashly exposed itself by falling from its perch in a velvet mesquite tree to land on a hand railing that had been painted white. It had gone from near invisibility to “How could you possibly not see me?” in the blink of an eye. Clinging to the railing was a slow-moving, two-inch caterpillar cryptically colored with dull greenish-gray skin. Hair-like filaments extended from its prolegs to form a peripheral fringe around the caterpillar’s body. The filaments served to effectively break up its outline. As if that were not sufficient, the crypsis of this larval moth went a step further, for the caterpillar’s body was quite flattened. In cross section, most caterpillars are round or somewhat ovoid, but this one had a cross-sectional shape more like a thin, gently curved crescent. This unusual shape meant that the dull-green, fringed caterpillar could literally melt into a twig or a branch to cloak itself in obscurity like a ghost in a fog bank.
Later, some research revealed that the creature in question was a lappet moth caterpillar, possibly of the genus Gastropacha. The word “lappet” is used to describe a fold or flap in a garment or headdress. Thus, lappet moths (family: Lasiocampidae) get their name from the hair-like fringes that project from their larvaes’ prolegs.
A lappet moth caterpillar that had fallen out of its element – transformed from profound obscurity to blatant visibility.
During the autumn of 2021, discoveries here in the surrounding mesquite bosque included this banded gecko that had dropped into an old bucket. These velvet-skinned reptiles are common here, but remain well hidden and inactive during daylight hours. Geckos are among the few truly nocturnal constituents of Arizona’s rich saurian fauna. I found this young glossy snake hidden beneath an old piece of plywood on the ground. Glossy snakes are often mistaken for gopher snakes. These beautiful, innocuous reptiles can reach lengths of nearly five feet. They are among this area’s most common serpents. Their scientific name is a gem: Arizona elegans.
The 2021 monsoon brought a cavalcade of change to the Middle San Pedro Valley. Late in autumn, large numbers of Empress Leilia butterflies (Asterocampa leilia) could be seen adorning the landscape. Abundant rainfall spurring rapid growth of their food plants likely played a major role in the eruption of these insects. Their caterpillars feed on desert hackberry, Celtis ehrenbergia (formerly pallida).
Take a walk in a local bosque late in late autumn and you are likely to see what look like little clumps of snow in the distance, gleaming white patches that really stand out on the dark-colored floor of the woodland. A closer look reveals a surprise; a mass of seeds from an unusual member of the dogbane family known as climbing milkweed, Funastrum (formerly Sarcostemma) cynanchoides. Unlike most other types of milkweed plants, climbing milkweed is a true vine, ascending to heights of 10-12 feet in tall shrubs and trees.
It is hard to miss the contrast between a clump of climbing milkweed seeds and the floor of the bosque.
After pollination, the flowers of climbing milkweed form pods that eventually fall to the forest floor, where desiccation causes them to split open and unfurl a beautiful array of seeds embedded in a mass of gleaming, silvery-white filaments.
A closer view reveals numerous seeds, the future of the species encapsulated within each one. Climbing milkweed is a host plant for the larvae of both queen and monarch butterflies.
Individual seeds can be carried long distances by wind currents, effectively distributing the plant’s progeny across the landscape. Wide distribution of seeds enhances the probability for successful germination and the continued success of the species.
