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!