SLITHERING SNAKE SKY ISLAND SNAKES - A SURPRISING SLITHER OF SPECIES

OK, so this is not Ethnobotany...but I do see plenty of incredible Sky Island Snakes while collecting and exploring for wild plants!

Despite the plethora of wildlife encounters we are collectively graced with in our hyper-diverse Sky Islands Region those involving snakes tend to hold a special place in our realm of Nature experiences. If asked to recount the last run-in with a White-winged Dove, we would be forgiven a large pregnant pause or even a total lapse of memory. A similar query about our last snake encounter may well result in a more vivid recall of the event. It seems that our relationship with snakes - venomous and benign species alike - strikes a chord so primal that we have little trouble reliving the experience.

 This makes sense when you consider that for the vast majority of human existence we were at a much greater risk of death due to a bite from a venomous snake. This, combined with the relative paucity of snake encounters - owing to their stealthy nature aimed at securing food and avoiding becoming food - may well explain why we remember our tete’s with them so vividly.

Perhaps the last ingredient in this semi-Sonoran saurian psyche saga is the great diversity of snake species that we are blessed to have in the Sky Islands. [On a quick side note, if you found yourself questioning my use of the word “blessed”, then you may have just sorted yourself out as a “snake -phobic” person rather then a “Snake-o-phile” the latter of which I am one.] We have more snake species than any other area in North America north of Mexico. About 45 species reside within the Sky Islands Region out of a total of 52 in all of Arizona. Compared to the 44 species native to all of Florida - a state that dips into the subtropics - and you start to get the idea that we are indeed “snake central”. In fact, our 45 species represent approximately 36% of all of the snake species found in the U.S.!

Not surprisingly these statistics pall in comparison to the 2500 to 3000 snake species that inhabit the entire planet. None-the-less, our Sky Island species span a wide range of sizes, shapes, and fascinating life histories well worth exploring. As with our more renowned diversity of birds, a relatively high percentage of our snake species barely enter into the U.S. and do so mostly or only in the Sky Islands. Thus, we harbor a snake fauna more typical of Mexico- Mexican Specialties if you will. Much of this diversity is owing to the same factors that render the entire region such a biodiversity hot-spot in general.

 Namely, the Sky Islands include wide range of elevations (from about 1800’ to over 10,000’) at a relatively low latitude (approximately 32 degrees North) where a stepping-stone arrangement of tall, isolated mountains spans the temperate (Rocky Mountains) and tropical (Sierra Madres) zones, as well as 2 deserts (the Sonoran and the Chihuahuan). As you climb any of the mountain “islands’ - isolated from one another by foreboding expanses dry and searing deserts and grasslands - temperatures plummet, while precipitation increases. This results in a sort of “plant community ladder” that accommodates our various snake species. Accordingly, each snake species inhabits only those plant communities with which it has co-evolved. Some species are generalists and can lurk within a wide range of habitats, while others are confined to only a narrow zone or area where they can meet all of their daily needs.

Now to the cast of characters that collectively comprises our crawling colubrids, reclusive rattlers, and beyond.

Our Mexican Specialty snakes include a very strange one indeed and one which I have yet to encounter. The surreal-looking Brown Vine Snake (Oxybelis aenus) lives up to its moniker, as it mimics a generic vine strewn in a tree. Inhabiting mainly Madrean Evergreen Woodland, this species only enters the U.S. in a few ranges - the Atascosas, Pajaritos, and Patagonia Mountains. There it glides through trees and shrubs in search of its main prey, lizards. These it subdues with a venom delivered with grooved rear teeth. Despite its long length - up to 60” - and potent reptilian venom this species is one of a number of rear-fanged snakes that is harmless to humans. In fact, given its superb camouflage, you would indeed be fortunate to encounter this species during an entire lifetime wandering the wilds of the Sky Islands!

Another other-worldly snake might well be mistaken for a large Earthworm. The New Mexico Threadsnake (Leptotyphlops dissectus) indeed appears like a large segmented worm, as it grows up to nearly 12” in length. It hunts invertebrates, primarily ants and termites, in Chihuahuan Desertscrub, Grasslands, and Madrean Evergreen Woodland. This is another species that you would be lucky to encounter since it is distinctly fossorial. In other words, it lives underground and beneath surface objects. All of this is unique enough, but what truly sets the New Mexico Threadsnake and its close relatives apart is that small owls capture them unharmed, later releasing them in their nests to apparently dine upon troublesome ectoparasites (think lice...)! How this behavior evolved and why the owls don’t simply dine upon these hapless, diminutive snakes is indeed a perplexing mystery.

The final entry in our borderlands snake oddities is the more familiar, yet no less bizarre, Sonoran Coralsnake (Micruroides euryxanthus). Many people seem to know the somewhat familiar phrase “red on yella’ can kill a fella, red on black good for jack” or some variation thereof. This saying sadly falls short in describing some Coralsnake mimics unfortunately. The Sonoran Shovel-nosed Snake (Chionactis palarostris), which barely enters into the U.S. at Organ Pipe Cactus National Monument, has red bands surrounded by yellowish-white ones. So too does the wider spread Western Shovel-nosed Snake (C occipitalis). The saying does help when sorting out Coralsnakes from the various Kingsnakes (Lampropeltis spp.) who indeed sport red bands bordered by black.

 Got all that? No worries if you fail a field test for Coralsnakes are rarely encountered - I’ve seen two in my life - and are so small that you would likely have to pick one up in order for their tiny heads to deliver any venom - though they rarely attempt to bite. Even then, they would probably have to gnaw on you a bit because unlike Rattlesnakes they lack hypodermic-like fangs with which to deliver their toxins. Instead they chew on you much in the fashion of a Gila Monster. If you feel that you would like a Darwin award (“out of the gene pool!”) then indeed pick one up, as their venom contains potent neurotoxins which potentially could be fatal.

One of my more memorable Sky Islands snake encounters occurred several years ago. While meandering along the trails of our Nature Sanctuary it suddenly began pour rain. It was, after all, Monsoon season. Enjoying the coolness and keeping a sharp eye out for wildlife, I was arrested in my tracks by a small, but brilliantly colored snake which lay directly in my path. It too seemed to be lured out by the moisture. Quickly it sensed my presence and began a strange defensive behavior - namely forcing its cloaca (the common vent for bodily waste and reproduction) out in order to effect a popping sound. Although I had previously read about this behavior, it non-the-less produced the desired effect and startled me - enough time for the snake to disappear into the thick grass where I had first run across it.

Time and space are by far too short for me to expound upon our reptilian brethren as much as I would like to, though I will leave you with a few parting thoughts to ponder. First of all, if you are at least partially snake phobic and live in southeast Arizona, then you live in the wrong area! Given our snake diversity and the presence of about 10 highly venomous species (the aforementioned Coralsnake, as well as 9 species of Rattlesnakes) your chances of having a interlude with these slithering saurians is indeed higher than any other place in the U.S. Further, many people fail to distinguish various species of snakes, classing them all as undesirable vermin. Nothing could be further from the truth.

Consider a world without snakes, and you must then imagine one overrun with rodents and other common snake prey. Cliche as it is, snakes along with a host of other predators, help to keep Nature in a sort of fluid and ever-changing balance. My advice, then, is to get over the fact that they lack legs (snakes are essentially lizards who have evolved to have no legs) as well as the bad rap that they carry from the Garden of Eden myth. Instead, revel in their diversity, praise them for their ecological services, and (as one of our first U.S. flags entreated) “Don’t Tread on Me”!

RAVEN: CREATOR, TRICKSTER, BIG-BLACK BIRD

Chances are that if I say “Raven” you will conjure up some sort of coherent images of this iconic bird. Be it evil omen, portend of good luck, battle bird, poetic messenger (think Poe), or symbol of wilderness, the Raven rarely lurks in the background of the human imagination or in our beliefs. Instead it inspires, reviles, and even defiles us in ways that render it impossible to ignore or dismiss.

 Think of our language and how this bird has infiltrated the very way in which we communicate. Someone who we construe to be crazy can be said to be “stark raving mad’. Conversely, an attractive person may be ravishing. When we strongly desire something, we crave it, perhaps at a wild party commonly referred to as a rave, where we meet a striking lady with raven hair. Try to think of another species that has so colored our words and you may be hard-pressed. True, something strange can be fishy, but as with so many other animal-inspired words the allusion is a generic one. Of course, turnabout is fair play, so more than a few Ravens have been taught to speak some human words.

 Just so it’s clear, I’m specifically referring to the Common or Northern Raven (Corvus Corax) in this article. Though the world is endowed with a variety of beautiful species in the genus Corvus that are referred to as “Ravens”, the Raven that is familiar to most people in northern cultures is this species. It has a vast range that extends from the Arctic Circle down to the Jungles of Nicaragua and from the west coast of the U.S. to our eastern seaboard - being mostly absent from the prairie and southeastern states. It is also a Holactic species that lives in the Old World from Britain, throughout much of Europe and well into Asia, including northern Japan. Within this vast range the Raven occupies an astounding varieties of habitats, including tundra, grasslands, woodlands, deciduous forest, coniferous forest, tropical forest and chaparral. Lacking human persecution, it is the ultimate in adaptable birds

You can easily distinguish Ravens from superficially similar American Crows (also in the genus Corvus) by a number of anatomical and aural differences. Starting with the latter, a standard Raven contact call is a throaty “croak” (their specific latin epithet is a case of them uttering their own name, as they croak “coraaax”) while the equivalent American Crow vocalization is a harsh “caaaw”. Many other sounds help to identify and separate each species, making it relatively easy to tell them apart by vocalizations alone.

 Additionally, American Crows are much smaller than Common Ravens. They average around a pound in weight, depending upon the geographic population in question, while Ravens can surpass two pounds and even weigh as much as a Red-tailed Hawk! Crows have large beaks, while those of Ravens are relatively massive. Ravens sport a shag of feathers at the throat referred to as a beard that Crows lack. Ravens possess proportionately longer wings that allow them to glide and soar much more than their smaller, shorter-winged cousins. Also, the tail of a flying Crow appears squared off at the end while that of Ravens is wedge-shaped. If all of this sounds a bit confusing, simply remember that American Crows are not a normal component of our Sky Islands avifauna. They are mere vagrants in southeast Arizona, where Common Ravens are year-round residents. If you want to see a Crow in Arizona, then you have to travel up to Flagstaff, Prescott and other points North.

 The real corvid confusion arises when you realize that the Sky Islands harbor not one, but two species of Ravens! In addition to Corvus corax, Corvus cryptoleucus (the specific epithet meaning “hidden white”, referring to their light-colored feathers at the base of the neck that normally remain unseen, and which account for their former common name - White-necked Raven) the Chihuahuan Raven, is a relatively common bird in our area. Though there are a number of palpable differences between them, telling these two species apart is not always an mundane task.

 Common Ravens are quite a bit larger than their Chihuahuan cousins, averaging about a third again as heavy. The feathers covering the nasal area on the beak of a Chihuahuan Raven extend out further and their calls tend to be higher pitched. Further, they tend to nest in lower elevation sites in Arizona, especially in Mesquites and Soaptree Yuccas, whereas Common Ravens prefer higher nesting sites - often in cliffs or tall trees in forested areas. Finally, Chihuahuans can congregate in very large flocks - sometimes in the thousands - particularly at roosts. Commons tend to be, well, less common.

 All this said, if you see a lone bird - obviously a Raven - flying close overhead you may still be at odds as to which species you’re seeing. I try to judge size and calls, as well as habitat differences, but I’d be kidding you if I claimed that I could identify every Raven I see in the Sky Islands! Adding to the conundrum is the fact that the two species sometimes form communal roost sites during the non-breeding season. Keeping this identification puzzle in mind, I had a wonderful encounter with both species about a decade ago.

 While slowly driving along the eastern edge of the lofty Chiricahua Mountains I happened to spy a congregation of perhaps five Turkey Vultures at a road-killed Black-tailed Jackrabbit. Accompanying them were perhaps eight Ravens. Since both species would be relatively dwarfed by the Vultures, this provided no great clue as to their identity. As the Vultures easily dominated their fellow scavengers, who occasionally tried to sneak closer to the meal or to pull at a tempting tail feather, a new arrival swiftly solved the mystery. Flying just overhead of the melee was a Raven much larger than those below - a Common Raven. Juxtaposed next to each other, it was very easy indeed to separate the two species.

Beyond the “big, black bird” part, I would be remiss not to mention some of the roles that Common Ravens have played in human cultures across the enormous expanse where the two species overlap. Edgar Allen Poe could not have chosen a more fitting symbol of Nature to deliver a mournful message in his poem named after this ominous bird. Tracing back the thread of connectivity, it seems obvious that the English settlers of America brought over their dread of Ravens from Britain. This in turn was spawned by the fact that the Vikings - their often enemy - carried a Raven standard as their battle bird into often successful frays with the Brits. Thus, one man’s battle bird is another’s harbinger of death. 

Odin, the equivalent of Zues among the Vikings, had two special Ravens, Thought and Memory, that each day would set forth to discover the secrets of the world which they later would whisper only to him. This helped to account for his omnipotence. In fact, had the Viking’s original settlements on the eastern coast of Canada panned out, perhaps our national symbol would be a Raven, not a Bald Eagle. Going a step further, maybe the White House would instead be black! If these musings stir some sort of visceral and indignant patriotic thought, then ponder just how much hatred of Ravens has biased our culture against the color black!

 Leaving you that to consider, also keep in mind some of the numerous other roles the Raven has been cast into via its Homo sapiens consorts. In the Old Testament of the Bible, the first bird that Noah entrusted to find land was not a Dove, but a Raven. True to form, it simply flew off, never to return. The presumption is that it indeed located terra firma, but decided that telling humans was of no great consequence! Still, Ceylonese mariners often entrusted Ravens to find land while sailing in the briny deep of the Indian Ocean. Likewise, Ravens purportedly helped the Vikings to first locate Iceland. 

Some Native American cultures of the Pacific Northwest cast Raven into the dual roles of Creator and Trickster. As the former, Raven helped to bring humans into the world, sometimes placing the Sun in the Sky and bringing light to an otherwise perpetually black world. Indeed, the Bella Bella identified Raven as “One Whose Voice Is to Be Obeyed”. Conversely, the same Raven might well temporarily lose his beak while up to some crafty tomfoolery or sexual exploits in a different story by the same culture. The Koyukon people of Alaska historically entreated a passing Raven to “drop them a basket” as it passed overhead. Should the bird in question turn over while in flight, then the man or woman might expect some good fortune in the near future. It seems that the diametrically opposed roles of Creator and Trickster were easily shouldered by Raven!

 Closer to home, Athabaskan-speaking Apache - likely having migrated to the Southwest from Canada where even more “Raven-identifying” cultures prevailed - credited the Raven as having brought game animals into the world. This, no small feat given the supreme importance of hunting among these people. These few examples are but the proverbial tip of the iceberg when it comes to the myriad of associations between people and Ravens. For further reading, peruse In the Company of Crows and Ravens by Marzluff and Angell for an excellent overview of the topic.

 Truly, the Raven always seems to play a key role for humans, regardless of what it specifically represents. Given an intriguing hypothesis that Raven biologist Bernd Heinrich poses in his excellent books, Ravens in Winter and Mind of the Raven, one is left to ponder just how these charismatic birds see humans. Namely, Heinrich poses that Ravens, being the quintessential scavenger and a strong flier, often encounter large carcasses (say, a Deer) before other partakers of dead bodies. This poses a dilemma, as aside from the anus and the eyes, Ravens are normally unable to make any significant intrusions into the would-be meal.

Their notable vocal repertoire comes to the rescue, however! Using a very specific type of “recruitment call” that is apparently recognized by fellow, larger scavengers, Ravens attract Coyotes, Wolves, Bear, Wolverines, or even humans to the potential banquet. “Better to share in a feast than starve alone” seems to be their maxim. Heinrich even ponders the possibility that Ravens will alert predators to a living potential meal if the two are in close proximity. So, the next time a Raven makes riotous calls near you, please consider the following: is it trying to share a carcass with you, hoping that you kill something so that it can scavenge, or aspiring - via a more potent predator - to make you the meal?!

The Wild Turkey: An American Original

As Autumn progresses inexorably towards Winter many turn their thoughts to Turkeys. Savoring a warm Thanksgiving or holiday meal centered around a big bird cooked to perfection is certainly a tradition in many households in the U.S. and beyond. But how is it that a gangly, bald-headed bird managed to take center stage in a land full of other wildlife and how are the wild versions now faring in the Sky Islands?

In order to understand the august place that Wild Turkeys command in the American imagination, as well as stomachs, we have to travel back to the ancient Southwest. There (actually here!) around 1100 a.d. evidence suggests that Turkeys were imported from Mexico. and perhaps re-domesticated ca. 300 a.d. A very innovative and enterprising person or people reckoned that a relatively slow-flying and rotund bird might better serve their caloric and ceremonial needs as a domesticated animal. Thus, the vagaries of hunting Wild Turkeys were, perhaps, somewhat dispensed with among some cultural groups and the rest is the stuff(ing) of culinary legend! To this day this New World addition to animal husbandry helps keep the limelight upon their unbridled kin in a fashion that very few other birds enjoy.

Couple domestication and the resulting familiarity with the not-so-insignificant fact that Wild Turkeys - our species and a related one (the Oscillated Turkey) in Mexico and adjacent Central America - are true American originals. Unlike many other groups of birds, mammals, and other animal taxa that are found over broader geographic areas - such as parrots, which are found in many continents - Wild Turkeys evoke a strictly American set of images. Famously, no less than Ben Franklin lobbied to make the Wild Turkey our national symbol. This would have been more fitting perhaps than the Bald Eagle, as it has close relatives in other parts of the world.

Wild Turkeys now occupy more areas than when Columbus landed, as they’ve been introduced into new, previously unoccupied areas of the U.S., particularly in the northern states. Over this vast range they utilize a diversity of habitats, including Eastern Deciduous Forest, the edges of Grasslands, Chaparral, Riparian Forests, and Coniferous Forest. In Arizona they range throughout much of the non-desert regions of the state, particularly thriving in mountainous areas that afford a range of habitats.

I was witness to this broad use of habitats when I was a Wild Turkey Researcher for New Mexico State University back in 1987. At that time I was conscripted to detail the habitat use, population numbers, and human impacts upon the Gould’s subspecies of Wild Turkey that had a precarious foothold in the Peloncillo Mountains straddling Arizona, New Mexico, and Mexico. My research confirmed the importance of large roosting trees, such as Apache Pine, and the key role of Riparian areas in their ecology. After an intense Summer of chronicling the habitat use and distribution of Wild Turkeys, I came to the conclusion that the entire Southern Peloncillo Mountains contained approximately 50 birds - a very low number indeed! I arrived at this number using only “hands-off” research techniques, such as track and scat surveys, roost surveys, and Gobbler counts via voice prints - unique to each male.

Gould’s Turkey is the largest subspecies and the likely progenitor of our barnyard birds. Within the past decade it has been reintroduced throughout a number of Sky Islands mountain ranges, including the Chiricahuas, Huachucas, Santa Catalinas, Pinalenos, and our own Santa Ritas. This last area saw the release of 38 Gould’s Turkeys in 2006 - an effort made possible with the help of the National Turkey Federation and Arizona Game and Fish, as well as the U.S. Forest Service and the Mexican Government, which supplied wild birds for relocation. The Sierra Madre Mountains of Mexico continue to be a stronghold of the Gould’s subspecies.

These reintroductions appear to be a resounding success due to a number of factors. One is that hunting pressure is low-to-non-existent on these protected populations - certainly not the case in the past when humans decimated the birds for food. Another is that previous, mostly unsuccessful releases of Wild Turkeys in the Sky Islands - begun in the 1930‘s - had employed the Merriam’s subspecies, which is more suited to Arizona’s high country, rather than the isolated ranges of that characterize southeast Arizona. Finally, the rampant misuse of public lands (e.g. overgrazing), while still a problem in some area’s has greatly diminished since the 20th century. The result is that Gould’s Turkeys are thriving in our area and even expanding to mountains that did not have releases, such as the Patagonia mountains.

All of the required Wild Turkey habitat needs are present in abundance in most of the higher Sky Islands Mountains. Most ranges have adequate water for drinking, which is key. Food sources include acorns, other plant seeds, and -especially in Summer - insects - that are also also abundant. Adequate roosting sites in the form of dense, tall trees that provide protection from predators and the elements alike is another vital habitat component. With a continual improvement in Wild Turkey habitat in the Sky Islands we should see a gradual resurrection of this emblematic and inspiring species for many years to come!

Mountain Lion: Sky Islands Shadow

Sometimes you can gauge how much a particular species of wildlife haunts our collective psyche by the number of names we’ve assigned to it. Such is the case with the Mountain Lion. Variously monikered as Cougar, Catamount, Panther, Painter, Nittany Lion, Puma, Cat-a-mountain, American Lion, and (in scientific nomenclature) Puma concolor, this often-pondered, yet rarely encountered cat seems like an ephemeral shadow amidst the complex jumble of Sky Island plant communities that it frequents.

My own encounters with Mountain Lions, though few, have been memorable and even life-altering. Back in the late 90’s, as I lay fast asleep in another realm of shadows I was bolted awake in the middle of the night by what I construed to be a woman screaming. My half lucid mind concocted a woman giving birth in the Desert Scrub near where I was camping! Soon, however, it dawned upon me that the “screams” were too regular in both frequency and character to be a human. This was a Cougar calling in the night for reasons that will forever be cloaked in mystery to me.

Several years passed until I once again crossed paths with a Puma. While out gathering data for a tracking workshop I paused to take a photo of a deer print. As I recorded some pertinent data under the canopy of a dense canyon riparian forest, I half caught the movement of an animal about 50 yards upstream from me. Feeling a strong impulse to have a close wildlife encounter, I began to “fish” for the unknown mammal by imitating the sound of a wounded rabbit. This high-pitched squeal is the lagomorph equivalent of you or I screaming while being eaten by some large predator. As such, it must sound like a dinner bell to all suitable carnivores.

Thus, within minutes of casting my auditory bait to the four winds I had a large, male Coati ( a mostly tropical member of the Raccoon family) doing a mamba of sorts at my feet! It shuffled back and forth trying to rectify the incongruous meeting of a crying Cottontail with a hulking human here in its sylvan retreat. After contemplating the personal meaning of seeing my own reflection in the eyes of the Coati (yes, it was that close) I began to jot a series of self-satisfied notes on this amazing wild rendezvous. While thus engaged I suddenly felt eyes upon me in the sort of intuitive way that one can only comprehend once its happened to you. Faster than a flash of lightning my eyes locked with those of a smallish Lion!

Knowing that this might indeed be a once-in-a-lifetime encounter, I anxiously fiddled with the controls of the camera - its now very inconvenient automatic shut-off feature prompting a few silent curses. Our eyes had met, however, and in classic cat style it slowly turned and slunk away from where it had been crouching at the base of some Willows edging a fetching mountain stream. It soon was gracefully navigating its way across the watercourse and melting into the secret confines of the forest. Hungry for more views of this fabulous feline, I correctly guessed where it might emerge from the woods, and watched it recross the creek - now downstream from me. A few deft rock hops and it was gone for good.

This close encounter of the cat kind rocked my world. Up to this point Mountain Lions had merely roamed the landscape of my imagination and, once, woken me to with a curdling cry in the dark. They were more mythic than real. David Quammen eloquently writes in his book Monster of God that top predators like the Mountain Lion hold an esteemed place in our minds as gods, spirits, sources of inspiration, as well as of fear and loathing. Such was the case with the American Lion for me. Even the relatively small size of this lion (90 pounds?) and its nonthreatening demeanor did nothing to take away from the reverence and awe that infused my body and soul upon finally seeing a Cougar in the wild!

Prior to this clandestine canyon-cat meeting I had read much about Mountain Lions in an effort to understand this majestic creature. Like most wild felids they are generally solitary, except when a mother has young or when a male consorts with a female for breeding, which can happen year-round. She alone raises the young. Male territories are larger than that of females and tend to overlap several of the latter, allowing for an effective breeding system. Males are generally much larger than females and can weigh up to 200 pounds, particularly in more northernly climes and where prey is abundant. Their diet includes small game up to large ungulates, including elk. A deer would be a typical meal for a Lion, which might kill about one per week on average.

My next and only other direct encounter with the shadow was less personal, but no less compelling. While leading a small group on a Naturalist’s saunter, I suddenly registered a Lion placidly drinking from another canyon stream. Perched upon all fours, it quickly realized that potential danger in the form of humans was slowly creeping its way. Accordingly and prudently it quickly slunk away as I, losing all of my normal composure as a Nature Guide, yelled “Mountain Lion” several times. Luckily the first few people in the cue caught a glimpse of the slinking feline, aided by the cacophony of Mexican Jays that were heralding the presence of the retreating big cat with their raucous cries.

My final Lion’s tale took place at Raven’s Nest, our 42-acre Nature Sanctuary, just this past July in the sweltering heat of the Monsoon. Several of my students reported that there was a loud clashing of hooves up a small draw near their campsite during the previous dusk. As the two were teenagers, I pondered if they were prone to inadvertent exaggeration. Never-the-less I suggested that we investigate the scene. Soon one of them was calling my attention to a deer carcass that lay a few feet above the bottom of the brushy arroyo. Clearly a large predator or predators had come this way last night.

I was soon thinking Lion as I closely inspected the Deer. It was a Mule Deer doe in her prime. She had been fat with the largess of the monsoon and, judging by her dentition, was perhaps 4 - 5 years old. Apparently this was no culling of the weak or sick, unless the doe took the evidence of some unknown ailment to her would-be grave. There were two tell-tale canine marks indicting where this cat had employed a suffocating throat hold to subdue her rather large prey. The kill site itself was clean and lacking the disorder that I felt a pack of Coyotes would leave. Further, it would be a helluva an ambitious predation by those somewhat meager canines. Finally, the removal of the meat indicated one cat, as opposed to several wild canids, as told by the surgical precision with which it had been eaten rather than scattered.

What a thrilling event and in our own backyard more or less! Gazing at those deer bones still infuses me with a surge of inspiration, much the same as our hunter-gatherer ancestors must have felt while in reverence of this majestic cat.


Sure enough our neighbors, though few and far between, reported seeing a lion in the vicinity during that same time period. A few months later I serendipitously encountered someone who had recently experienced a run-in with a Mountain Lion. As I had an urgent engagement, I quickly listened to how she discovered the Lion looming over her dead cat. How she felt the lion “menacing” her at close range near the dead tabby and of her reporting the encounter to some local “wildlife officials” Here’s where it occurred to me - and not for the first time - that people can be very intelligent in general, yet be rather daft and naive when it comes to Nature, if not predators themselves. I say this for her follow-up comment was how surprised she was that those “wildlife officials” were going to try to track the cat with dogs with the aim of killing it.

Call me a cynic, a stoic, or simply a wildlife biologist with a much softer spot for wildlife than for most humans or pets, but this whole scenario made me literally bite my tongue as I reluctantly listened to it. First of all - welcome to the Sky Islands, as yes, we thankfully still have a few large predators here! Secondly, the lion did all of the birds, small mammals, and reptiles in the area a service by eliminating an unnatural predator in the form of a marauding house cat (best to keep them inside for everyone’s sake). They are not native and the havoc that they wreak upon various ecosystems is well-documented.

Further, I will defend to my last breath the inherent right of an alpha predator to behave like an alpha predator! What does “the Lion menaced me” mean anyway? Apparently in this case it referred to the fact that this cat did not turn tail and flee like a frightened rabbit. Good for it. We need some bad-ass cats and other predators out there, if only as a not-so-subtle reminder that we are not the most powerful or most beautiful, or even the most mystical creatures roaming this planet. In all of these realms Cougars trump us in my mind.

Nor are they particularly dangerous in the scheme of things. Take note of the fact that only 23 known fatalities from Mountain Lions were documented for the entire U.S. and Canada between 1890 and 2011! Compare this to 5500 recorded dog bites in Maricopa County, AZ just in 2010 and to 32 dog induced fatalities in the U.S. in 2009. Yet despite the obvious implication - among others that you should fear you neighbor’s mutt a lot more that any imagined encounter with Mountain Lion - people sometimes seem deathly afraid of these cats

If you do happen upon one, then it will likely melt away as both of mine did. If it were to appear threatening or “menacing”, then you should assume the role of alpha predator. Look big, yell, scream, throw things, but do not run. This last, albeit foolish, option may well trigger an attack due to the natural predatory instincts of all cats. If actually attacked, then fight like hell, as your life now depends upon it. “Playing dead” would soon net you the result of “being dead” - a result that will come soon enough!

To put all of this in context, preparing for a Mountain Lion attack, however wise that may seem is nearly on a par with preparing for an invasion by the tiny country of San Marino - a well-known military power....

Mountain Lions are not only the least of our worries to life and limb, they are more oft than not the recipients of the highest form of disrespect there is to life in my opinion. Namely, they wind up as a trophy on the wall of some inane hunter who thinks that his (for its almost always “men” doing this) manhood depends on his conquest of wildlife with a gun. Thus, according to AZ Game & Fish yearly kills of Mountain Lions have lately averaged 250 - 350 animals. They list it as a “harvest”, as if people were gathering wheat. The total population of the state they reckon to be around 2500 to 3000 Lions - hardly a crush of crouching cats poised to do us harm!

In light of this alarming cat carnage consider the world that Quammen poses to us, again in The Monster of God. Given the alarming decline of alpha predators not only in North America, but on the planet at large what will our world look like in 10, 50, 100 years? What would it feel like to inhabit and explore a landscape devoid of Mountain Lions, Bear, Jaguars, Tigers, Crocodiles, sharks and other toothy terrors? I believe that it would be a very depauperate one indeed, lacking the beauty, inspiration, and reality checks that these potentially lethal predators provide to us, just by knowing that they are there.
So, as I contemplate the future of Mountain Lions in the Sky Islands and beyond, I find myself envisioning our region repopulated by not only more Mountain Lions, but by our full complement of alpha and not-so-alpha predators. Instead of roaming a land devoid of anything more threatening or inspiring than a Raccoon (no offense, I love them too!) I see one where I have at least a chance of encountering Mexican Wolves, Jaguars, Grizzly Bear, Ocelots, Coyotes, Mountain Lions, Bobcats, Grey Foxes, American Badgers, Black Bear, and an assortment of other predators that make me feel like I’m in a truly wild and thrilling place. Life is not safe and I, for one, am content to share the Sky Islands with the Cat-a-Mountain - even if to most people it remains an elusive and potentially malevolent shadow!

Sky Islands Fire: Flames of Fury/ Ashes of Afterlife

Few things in Nature completely polarize people as do wildfires. At once destroyer and sacker of the land, as well as life-giver and divine intervener, wildfires are indeed a complex issue well worth closer inspection. To anyone interested in the health of our incredible Sky Islands region fire certainly must be recognized as a key player, regardless of personal prejudices.

My own understanding of wildfires has evolved greatly over the years. My introduction was in 1984 in the Coast Range of Oregon - an area not noted for many fires. The Bureau of Land Management (or mismanagement, as the case may be) had set ablaze some “brush” after first devastating the area with a clearcut. As a young and enthusiastic wildlife biologist there to study Spotted Owls, I was deeply appalled at the flagrant abuse of the land. Several years later when I set out on a 2-month, solo wilderness trek in the Ocala National Forest in Florida I was deeply incensed at a wildfire left to smolder in a supposedly protected area. Back then I simplistically viewed all fires as destroyers, unaware of their role in various ecosystems.

Fast forward to the spate of wildfires in southeast Arizona this year. Concern over our Spring blazes poured in from our friends and family around the country and beyond. Were Claudia and I alright? Were there any fires near us? Had our land burned? What had started the fires? We were touched by the interest in our well-being and in that of the land as well.

Unlike my early stance towards fire, I now found myself greatly relieved in a sense that much of the Sky Islands had finally had a “makeover” courtesy of Nature. Thanks to years of unenlightened land management that discouraged wildfires, vilified them, and which strove to quickly squelch them, many plant communities within the Sky Islands had transformed into veritable tinderboxes! Anyone with an experienced eye could see that we were due to “pay the piper”.

Over the past 2 decades I have extensively hiked and wandered through both burned and unburned landscapes in our region. I gradually came to the conclusion that we were indeed due for a massive series of burns. As I journeyed through dense Semi-desert Grasslands and nearly impenetrable Interior Chaparral - 2 plant communities that are particularly prone to fire and which rely upon them for renewal - I pondered not if, but when they would be engulfed by flames. Even less fire-prone habitats seemed so stoked with dry fuel of every size and shape that I marveled at how they had survived intact for so long given the ubiquitousness of lightning during the Monsoon. Madrean Evergreen Woodland infused with tall grass seemed ripe for flames. Even the stately conifer-laden forests topping many of our taller ranges felt similarly decadent and ready for renewal. Fortunately or unfortunately, this year proved me to be unequivocally correct.

During the multitude of small-to-immense fires in the Sky Islands I found myself torn with many conflicting emotions. My scientific background and experience reassured me that fire is indeed a natural component of many, if not most, of our plant communities. While I was distressed that all of the fires were human-caused, some likely intentionally, overall I was confident that good things would literally and figuratively emerge from the ashes.

Reaffirming this were many previous travels by foot through burned areas that were recovering wonderfully. The 25,000 acre 1994 Rattlesnake Burn (as with hurricanes, fires are often named) high in the coniferous forests of the Chiricahuas was now lush with young Pine trees, Aspens, Elderberries, and a blizzard of seasonal wildflowers. That same burn, as well as others in the Chiricahuas had actually “re-wilded” large tracts of federal wilderness. Instead of relatively open hiking trails, many areas now had a plethora of trees blocking passage in all directions. I recall traversing just such a landscape in October of 2004. Each mile transformed into what seemed like 3 miles in this grand obstacle course - admission granted only to the most hardy. After many miles of such travel, I was overcome by the feeling of having truly experienced wildness.

So too with even older burned areas that had grown back to dense chaparral, nearly erasing all traces of trails that were deceivingly clear on my topographic maps. Though greatly challenged by these landscapes, I felt that the fires had added to their value as wilderness, not subtracted from it. How few truly wild areas are left and how grateful I was to those now distant fires for helping to protect those that remain. Further, I had delved deeply into the science of Fire Ecology, learning about how periodic fires renew the landscape. Fire burns dry plant material to ashes, thus liberating nutrients for plant regrowth. This influx of nutrients often results in a short-term boost in plant growth following rains. Light and moisture are now also able to reach seeds which then can germinate to begin afresh the cycle of renewal. Some seeds, in fact, normally require fire to assist in the germination process, such as Ponderosa Pine seeds whose cones need heat to open.

Evidence of the antiquity of fire in our plant communities and, indeed, throughout most of the terrestrial habitats on Earth is readily apparent to the discerning eye. Witness how grasses, those most fire-adapted plants, burn to the ground only to be renewed by their subterranean crowns. If grass had a voice, it would clamor for fire. Fire clears away woody vegetation that would otherwise outcompete the grasses in the long haul. Thus, the nearly wholesale conversion of our grasslands into woody desert scrub via overgrazing and the subsequent lack of fire. The thick bark of many conifers (e.g. Douglas Fir and Ponderosa Pine) also are testimony of how many plants evolve over time to adapt to and even benefit from fire. When left to their own devices, wildfires often sculpt a diverse mosaic of habitats over a broad region. The much mentioned, yet under-analyzed maxim of “graze, don’t blaze” is a misguided and uninformed attempt to justify overgrazing at the expense of a healthy fire regime in habitats that depend upon burning periodically.

Further, research over the past few decades has confirmed that human-caused fires via Native Americans prior to European contact were frequent and, likely, often intentionally set in order to transform one plant community into a more useful one. For example, a dense, coniferous forest, topping a Sky Islands range held few usable resources, while the same area post burn would harbor medicinal herbs, would-be basketry materials, wild edible plants, shelter materials, and be more attractive to Deer and Bear - 2 common quarry among most cultural groups. The Southwest now experiences about 2,600 wildfires per year, though modern fire suppression generally limits these to 3 to 18 acres.


Perhaps balancing our personal attitudes towards wildfires, Claudia and I felt the inevitable fear of having fire raze our 2 incredible tracts of land in the Sky Islands, including the many land conservation, as well as educational and recreational projects that we had worked so hard to establish and maintain. As we feverishly and diligently redistributed the would-be fuel at our 42-acre Nature Sanctuary, Raven’s Nest, near Patagonia Lake, (where we also reside) we envisioned ourselves as the fire. We too consumed dead plant material, opening up the understory of our Mesquite Woodlands. Instead of burning the wood and other fuel, we piled it where fire would likely only create isolated burns. Other fuel went into stabilizing arroyo banks against the fury of monsoonal floods. Each time we cleared around a tree, we felt as if we had “saved” it from a would-be fire. Progress was made by inches and at the end of each day we were exhausted and left to ponder when we would ever receive rain again.

Simultaneously, we followed the reports of the Horseshoe 2 fire in the Chiricahuas, where we have over 50 acres in the foothills below Portal Peak - Raven’s Mountain. I knew that we had a good chance of having a wildfire there, as the grassland habitat was very dense and included tall grass, as well as thick areas of shrubs and trees. Having purchased the land in 1993 I had “set my teeth” against the chance of a wildfire. The area was so lush and diverse that I feared witnessing all of this gone in the proverbial blink of an eye.

Finally, we had a brief chance to venture to the Raven’s Mountain and soon discovered that indeed we were part of the Horseshoe 2 fire! Instead of the usual lineup of diverse plants, we saw skeletons of what used to be. The grass, serving as the main fuel, was entirely gone. All of the cacti (about 9 species in all) were a complete loss, save perhaps a handful in a few unburned islands of vegetation. This was likely the fate of our other succulents as well, including: Palmer Agave, Sotol, and Beargrass. Our 30 or so 1-seed Juniper trees appeared intact, but a closer inspection proved them to be mere “shadows”, scorched and killed with a life-like appearance. The list went on. We were speechless and deeply moved.

We spent the day on Raven’s Mountain closely delving into as many nuances as we could and documenting all. In addition to the copious photographs that we took, we also recorded detailed notes on the plant and animal life that we encountered. Far from the moonscape that it appeared to be, Raven’s Mountain still pulsed with life - even after a scant 2 weeks post blaze.

We were very fortunate to be right at the edge of the fire, where it burned most of our foothill, yet spared the more luxuriant vegetation of the arroyo. Thus, birds, mammals, reptiles, amphibians, and countless invertebrates had a conduit through witch they could recolonize the land. Gambel’s Quail, Ash-throated Flycatchers, Verdins, and Black-throated Sparrows were some of the more visible denizens using this interface of burned and unburned habitats. Meanwhile we were stunned and ecstatic to encounter a lone Grey Fox high amidst the boulders of Raven’s Mountain. It appeared to be lively and strong. Did it weather the fire in a den, walk off and return after the fire, or move into a now vacant territory? So Many questions...

A herd of 4 Collared Peccaries seemed a bit more ragged, but still able to fend for themselves. They seemed to speak for us, as we too felt wrung out, but compelled to continue our fire-prompted odyssey. But perhaps the prize-winner of surprises came when we saw plants of several species poking up through the ashes - 2 weeks after the fire and with no rain in the interim! We were pleasantly stunned. Here was confirmation that life is resilient and that it will return. After all, our stay upon our fragile planet is but the blink of an eye to the Earth and fire only a brief sunburn which time inevitably heals.

Still, questions linger... What are the long and short-term effects of this year’s fires given years of misguided fire management? Will non-native grasses continue to introduce destructive fires into Sonoran Desert Succulent communities to their detriment? How will the affected plant communities recover, considering that our warming climate and droughts may well push the higher elevation habitats right off the top of the mountains! Envision no more cool coniferous forests in which to recreate and revive your soul. We may be seeing the vanguard of an ecological process fueled by our excesses, which have resulted in climate change and a disturbed fire regime. Only time will tell what will emerge from the ashes. Perhaps at he very least Smokey the Bear may trade in his shovel for a match!

Notes from a Student: A Solo Survival Experience (by Jeff Blend)

I arrived in Tucson completely tired of the Montana winter. The weather report called for sandstorms down in southern Arizona, and sure enough there was a brown haze over Tucson as we made a choppy landing. I saw Vince Pinto, my guide, frantically looking for me just outside the baggage area, and we warmly said hello. I was getting reading for another primitive outdoor camping trip with minimal gear. I had not gone on one of these trips for several years, but I had been practicing certain skills up in Montana with my friend Melvin who had been doing these skills his whole adult life. These trips always rejuvenate me, and I was desperately in need of one.

Despite being windy, the weather was warm and sunny in Tucson as we headed to Vince's car. I loved the warmth and sunshine I had been missing for the last several months. A broken collarbone and two minor fender-benders had really soured my taste for the current winter season.

Vince and I hit it off right away, and I instantly knew I had made the right choice to spend a week with him at his property south of Tucson and also in the Chiricahua Mountians in the extreme southeast corner of Arizona. We drove south towards the town of Patagonia to his property which is called Raven's Nest. Vince and his wife Claudia (who was born in Columbia) run the Ravens Way school for wilderness skills and Nature Education. Vince started this business back in 1993 and is one of the best Naturalists/outdoor skills people I have ever met. His ethic for the land and living sustainably is something I have only seen in a few individuals.

We reached Raven's Nest and I was dazzled with the property. The desert landscape was a virtual wildlife sanctuary with scrubby trees (e.g. Mesquite, Juniper, Netleaf Hackberry...), cacti, grasses, and tons of wildlife. Aside from the many bird species on the property, there are also coyotes wildcat, javalina, etc. Vince and Claudia's house sits up on a hill at the top of the property with expansive views of several mountain ranges, and some interesting plants right around their place. At the bottom of the property is a nice bottomland habitat complete with a large former horse barn converted to their school, camping sites, an outdoor primitive skills village, shade structures called Ramadas, and other nice surprises. A system of trails and an arroyo make getting around the place fairly easy, although one has to be aware of things that can prick, bite or otherwise hurt a person.

I spent the rest of the first day exploring the property and taking in the virtual museum of natural information within his school. I slept under the stars that night with blankets and a sleeping pad and was woken up several times by coyotes, two low flying planes following one another (??), and finally by the cold ground. I spent the last two hours of darkness shivering back in the unheated school, reading some books. The next day was spent packing for the primitive trip, exploring the property further (with Vince’s guidance), reading books, and doing a few skills. I made a jute, webbed bag for my water bottle, which was a lot of fun. Claudia made me dinner the first two nights, including gourmet burritos and a delicious chicken dish. We also sorted out our food that we had purchased at Trader Joes for the trip ahead. We were taking a balanced diet with simple foods like nuts, trail mix, meusli, dried fruit, beef jerky and dulse (a type of seaweed). We

agree to wake up the next morning early, drive to the Chiricahua Mountains, and hit the trail early.

The next morning, we headed out talking and planning a bit for the trip. We would each have all the clothing we wanted to bring, a blanket, our food, a water container, and primitive tools. I also brought a water filter so as not to get sick. We arrive at a trailhead on the western side of the Chiricahuas and took off. At the trailhead, Vince read a nice spiritual passage and pointed out that the area is amazing for wildlife, birds and butterflies. He also pointed out that four ecological zones meet right at the Chiricahuas, making them one of the most diverse mountain ranges in North America.

We started up the trail with about 20 pounds on our backs. I deliberately did not bring a camera along, although I took pictures before and after the camping outing for posterity. My pack was made from my blanket Vince had loaned me, some rope and all the stuff packed inside. It was definitely not very comfortable, but we kept adjusting my pack until it was. Vince was wearing some buckskins, and his packs and pouches were either buckskin or cloth. He also had a coon skin cap, and made a striking image as if an early Spanish explorer to the area. Our plan was to be out five days and four nights total. The hike started out steep, and Vince tore off an Agave stalk for future use.

The mountains were very forested and looked a lot like the rest of the Rocky Mountains except that the trees included large oaks, manzanitas, and other more southern species. Also, in the middle of the forest, you would suddenly see a spiky desert plant among the pines, firs and junipers such as agave, sotol, and yucca. This strange sight was very weird and wonderful. Also, one would come up to open meadows that looked a bit like grasslands you might see in Africa. In fact, many of the valley areas that we drove through to get to this mountain range looked like picture of Africa with endless yellow grasses, and scrubby trees. This is not far off, as the climates are similar between southern Arizona and the African Serengeti. Like Africa, Arizona has a dry season and monsoon season. This particular year was fairly dry, so we had to be careful with fire.

The weather was perfect, in the 80s, and as we walked on to our eventual campsite, we went through several habitats as our elevation increased. At one point, we came to some pools encased by beautiful rocks in what would be a cascading waterfall during monsoon season. We unsuccessfully hunted some lizards to eat (we didn't try that hard) and also picked some wild onions for later. It is hard to be motivated to hunt small critters for food, when you bring lots of good food along!

We continued on over a pass, expecting to be the only ones up there in that area of the mountains. In fact, Vince was happy of the fact that we would be alone out there away from everyone in an isolated valley. As we went over the last pass, we heard one voice and then many human voices. As Murphy's Law would have it, there was a huge trail crew camped right in the spot Vince had planned for us to camp. Vince was kind of upset, but I told him it was okay. So, we carried on mostly unnoticed past the trail crew and up a side stream. We hiked another half a mile, and cut up off the side trail up the valley side until we found an area we could use as a campsite. We were mostly out of range of the trail crew or any of their noise, and we were off the valley floor, which would allow us to be warmer at night. Right where we left the side trail, there were pools of water in rock that could sustain our supply for weeks.

The spot Vince picked was fairly flat, with a lot of oaks for shelter and holding in the heat from a campfire. It was getting dark, so I filtered water while Vince cleared out an area for us. He cleared the vegetation off the soil in the area we would sleep and then we both gathered rocks for a fire pit. We both collected as much wood as we could for the fire (there were tons of dead oak branches around as a result of no recent fires, so we were set for wood), and Vince mentioned that breaking off dead branches would be like a small and beneficial fire coming through the area. He really knows what he is doing and is very comfortable in the outdoors. However, it was getting dark and Vince's first attempts at a hand drill fire did not work very well. We had a few emergency matches, but wanted to get the fire going by handdrill. Finally, Vince grabbed the set he had given me and started a fire as I heaped small branches and grass on the coal to get the fire going. Once we had a fire going, it got completely dark. The nights were getting down to 25 degrees on Vince's previous scouting trip, but our nights were much warmer at around 35 or even 40 degrees. Nevertheless, fire was going to be essential to keeping us warm without a sleeping bag.

A thin moon was still up for a few more hours, and I was having the same uneasy feeling that I always have at the beginning of these trips. The feeling is generally that I would rather be elsewhere in comfort or at home curled up with a book. I kept asking myself why I do these hard things on my vacation--why not go to California on the beach or just stay at home and be a slug? I guess the main answer is that I slow my mind down and obtain internal strength from these trips, and over all I let go. I get out of my usual thinking patterns out in the woods because I have no distractions out here and no place to escape to. The only choice is to deal with myself and everything that I am.

We stayed up a bit the first night and then both went to bed with grass and fir bough bedding to keep the cold of the ground away from our bodies. I curled up in a blanket and feel asleep with all the clothes on that I had (two winter hats, thermal underwear, five layers on top,etc). Vince stayed up keeping the fire going, and then I woke up to take over as he slept. After a while I fell asleep, and Vince and I traded off keeping the fire going. Before you know it, it was morning and we had survived the first night. We continually ate some food and practiced a few skills. The agave stalk Vince cut off became a potential container for storing whatever, and the bees that had partially hollowed out the stalk had long since left.

We built up the fire hearth from nearby rocks so as to help channel the warmth more to our bodies the next night. The rocks served to lower fire danger, retain heat and thermal mass, and channel the heat to the two spots we were sleeping. Before we took off to hike for the day, we gathered some Mountain Yucca caudex to use as a coal extended and put those on the coals of the morning fire. Then we put some rocks on top of the coal extender to keep the coals going throughout the day without the risk of fire danger.

As it turned out, the trail crew came right up our side canyon and continued on for trail work. So much for isolation! Vince and I followed their tracks, and looked for a way up a steep mountain across the valley from us. We scouted out a potential trail to hike for the following day, and then headed back down to the original camp of the trail crew.

After walking quietly through their empty camp, we went downstream and found a place with water pools where we could bathe in the cold water and rest up. Not having soap or toilet paper, I needed some cleaning! Vince also mentioned that cleaning ourselves would fluff up the microhairs on our skin and allow us to be warmer at night while sleeping, not to mention the psychological benefits of being clean. We found some pools of water and each took one for ourselves. I bathed in a cold pool and laundered a few pieces of nasty clothing. I then dried out naked in the hot sun and found some ‘toilet paper plant’ (mullen). I considered burning my underwear. After bathing, I drew some artistic lines on a tree fungus with an agave quill that Vince had given me. The art looked kind of African or aboriginal. I had a blast, and some of the uneasy feeling being out in the woods went away.

Out in the desert and even up in these desert ranges there are lots of things that can get a person if they are not careful. Dangers in Arizona include rattle snakes, scorpions, and lots of prickly plants (including Palmer Agave that can mess up one's joints) with a single puncture, heat, dehydration, venomous spiders, bears, etc. I did not feel at danger, but we had to be aware. As Vince said, the most dangerous part of our trip was driving in the car to get to these places.

I was honest the whole time with Vince about how I resist these trips--especially in the first 48 hours out in the bush. He was extremely supportive. After the bath and artwork, I felt better but still wished to be elsewhere. Thankfully, Vince was great company and had a great attitude that kept lifting me up. We went back to camp and ate some food and then dark came quickly. The night was fine and we woke the next morning to climb the mountain across the valley. Instead of taking a roundabout trail up towards the peak, we bushwhacked straight up the side of the mountain through dense brush after soaking our hats. Getting to the top was challenging as we met manzaneta thickets, cacti, and slippery rocks. After much trail and error we got to the summit ridge and sat upon a nice rock. The actual summit was too hard to get to with all the vegetation in the way. As we sat on the ridge rock, I pulled out some rock I was working on for tools and Vince taught me how to pressure flake the rock to make a rock saw and an arrowhead. I used Vince’s deer antler as the pressure flaking tool. On the ridge, we could see the crest of the Chiricahuas and the National Monument to the north and a rock formation called Cochise Head. It was nice up there, but our water supply was limited so we headed down after a bit. We came down mostly the way we came up with a Rock Rattlesnake as the only exciting moment. We gave him a large berth and got back down.

At camp, we practiced more skills including handdrill on sotol, more flint knapping, making a container out of the agave stalk, and setting up a deadfall trap to kill a mouse or bird for food. I was having fun and was finally feeling at ease. The 48 hour mark into our trip had come and I was feeling good. We had decided to cut the camping trip short a day to see more of the Chiricahua Mountains. So, we slept that night at our camp eating some of our onions and listening to a distant owl, and mostly got a full night's sleep due to the warmer weather. We also shared some personal challenges with society and with growing up in it. It was nice to be out there with a kindred soul. We also did a bit of astronomy pointing out some compass directions by certain stars. The stars and Milky Way are amazing out there.

The next day we woke up, broke camp, tried to erase all signs of camp, and headed back out on the trail. We met a few of the trail crew who were Americorps members by our camp. We continued out hiking taking some rests. Now that I was much calmer and relaxed, I was really seeing the different ecosystems as we went down in elevation hiking back towards the car. The perfect weather was holding-about 80 degrees-and the trail was winding through great stuff. We would be in forest and then in a small grassland park with trees at the edge. Around one corner, Vince stopped suddenly and whispered, “Bobcat”. The cat quickly took off and I never saw it but heard it. We continue down to the car, tired and thirsty and took a while to rest.

Driving out, we had decided to go north in the range to the Chiricahua National Monument. Vince called his wife and we heard for the first time of the horror happening in Japan. I couldn’t believe it. We kept driving and hit the national monument which was amazing. A paved road took us past a visitors center up to an amazing lookout with 360 degree views. I was stunned. We hiked a bit from the lookout area among rock hoodoos that looked like stuff you would see in Utah. We got to one area called The Grotto with some cool passages and other rock formations. The rock was slightly pale pink colored and was called rhyolite—the remains of an ancient eruption. I looked out from my high perch to the valley west of the mountains and tried to imagine all the huge animals that used to be in southern Arizona before humans arrived—animals such as the huge sloth, a camel, an indigenous horse, and apparently cheetahs, and mammoths! Arizona really did used to be a Serengeti! We took a short nap in the rock formations and I felt the timelessness of the wind blowing over me and looking up at clouds passing over the sun.

After hiking a bit in the rock formations, we left the mountains and went north to I-10 in order to get to the east side of the Chiricahuas and to Vince’s other piece of property. We passed several gas stations that were mysteriously out of gas, and finally found a place that sold it. We also had a Quizno’s sandwich which was great after several days of cold meals. We arrived at his other property at nightfall. His property is in the vicinity of the tiny town of Portal and is undeveloped except for some primitive shelters including a stone pit house, a structure of rock walls, a wickiup, and some other wooden shelters.

I bundled up in my blanket in one of those structures with a nice fire and stone walls as a heat reflector and mostly had a warm and complete sleep. Rather than hear a lot of wildlife at night it was mostly quiet. The night sky was unreal again and a layer of clouds kept us relatively warm. The next morning, we explored his property by climbing a steep hill up to some cliffs and looking out over the valley to the east of the Chiricahuas and across the valley at the next mountain range. Basically, we were looking into New Mexico since we were very close to the state line. To our right was a distant mountain range that was located in Mexico. We hiked around looking at the structures and great plants in Vince’s property. This was more of a desert-like ecosystem with agave stalks that reached 20 feet high and huge Prickly Pear Cacti. Some of it looked like another planet to me.

We hopped in the car and visited the nearby sleepy town of Portal tucked into the mountains, and then we drove a few miles up Cave Creek Canyon which looked like Yosemite and Zion National Parks with its huge cliff walls. The road between the cliffs was beautiful and we ended up at a biological research station that mostly gets traffic from bird watchers and biologists. It was beautiful and funny to see so much civilization tucked back in the mountains.

After taking in the beauty of the site, we drove out of there for several hours south to the town of Bisbee, Arizona. On the drive, I fell asleep, and woke up for a bit in the town of Rodeo to take some pictures of desolate playground equipment (in the middle of nowhere). Bisbee is a mining town with a funky art community and a few funny tourist traps. We spent the better part of the afternoon there, buying a couple of books and looking at the art. We kept talking the whole time joking and building up more rapport. Again, I knew that our friendship would be a long-term one.

Driving again towards Patagonia and Ravens nest, we kept talking and he surprised me by sharing the music he grew up on. Being a music junkie myself, I was interested. He ended up playing early Bruce Springsteen and pointing out how it affected him. We played that until we got back to his home and school. I showered up at their house, ate some more gourmet burritos that Claudia made at the house, and watched the continuing horror on TV from Japan of nuclear catastrophe, etc. We shook our heads at the world and the bad luck those Japanese were going through. Vince had on a Japanese robe after he showered in honor of the tragedy. I thought he looked funny. I went back down to the school, read a book, and slept with lots of blankets to keep warm.

The next morning I packed up, and Vince and I headed for the airport in Tucson. On the way, we had a Japanese meal (best ever) and stopped at a great bookstore. I picked up some nonfiction works, a book called Call of the Kalahari, and for an indulgence, a Rolling Stone magazine. I had not brought any books along in order to get out of my head, but wanted some reading for the return trip. Vince dropped me off, we said goodbye and had someone actually take a picture of the two of us at the airport. Then, I made it home with little interruption.

Here in Montana, I sit here with a box of new primitive skills projects to work on and I look forward to it.