Oriole Brightens my Day

The bird I saw!

The bird I saw!

A better picture courtesy National Park Service

A better picture courtesy National Park Service

I saw an exciting bird this morning, a bright visitor who graciously allowed me a good look. He was foraging in the spindly top branches of a foothills palo verde tree, his breast washed in tequila sunrise orange, his long tail gleaming black. Here was someone uncommon, a hooded oriole.
I’ve seen other unusual birds lately, seasonal visitors and migrants. The white wing doves swept in overnight and suddenly a colony of them are mixing it up with the locals. A lesser goldfinch discovered my sunflowers. He picked vigorously through the flowers, dangling upside down and devouring the buds.
But a hooded oriole! His stabbing beak is like a tiny sword, gleaning insects from treetops and from the ground. He delights in ripe fruit, and sips nectar from blooms along his way. This oriole ignores my presence and continues to work methodically among the branches, plucking insects right and left, and making a chattering call.
In the wild, hooded orioles are found in open woods, or riparian areas. The birds thrive in urban habitats as well, in city parks or patches of suburban palms, much favored for nesting sites. The female hooded oriole is drabber in color than the male, but she has special talents. She weaves an extraordinary hanging pouch, with the entrance hole in the top. She stitches through sturdy leaves or palm fronds with her sharp beak, and in the shade underneath, suspends her 4 inch nest of grasses, fronds and fibers.
Hooded orioles arrive in the Southwest from Mexico in spring and will stay til September, courting, nesting and raising their young. The female lays three to five bluish grey eggs, and if the pair is fortunate they will not suffer a cowbird attack. Invasive cowbirds employ a nasty trick of laying eggs in orioles’ nests, where their assertive nestlings prevail over the oriole young for food brought to the nest by the original parents.
According to a recent article in National Wildlife Federation’s magazine, the nation’s cities and suburbs that are home to 82 % of our human population are also home to two thirds of all North American wildlife species. This includes birds such as the hooded oriole that are finding that with natural areas affected by habitat destruction and dropping water tables, native plantings in urban areas can provide a suitable substitute.

Promise to Maasaw

Clan Rock on the Salt Trail

Clan Rock on the Salt Trail

Turqoise waters of the Little Colorado (bottom right) photo from National Park Service

Turqoise waters of the Little Colorado (bottom right)
photo from National Park Service

In the Hopi creation story the people emerged into the Fourth World through a hole in a travertine mound near where the Colorado and Little Colorado Rivers converge. They encountered the ancient caretaker of the earth Maasaw, whose head was a raging ball of flame. The Hopi gathered their courage and asked if they could stay in this world. Maasaw extended a bag of seeds, a water gourd and a planting stick and offered welcome provided they forever honored the earth and cared for her. Thus the Hopi became farmers and thereafter have respected the land. Today the Hopi people live on a reservation of 1.5 million acres in northeast Arizona, in twelve villages atop three mesas.
Since ancient times the bravest Hopis have followed a trail marked by petroglyphs and offering places that leads from the mesas across the Painted Desert, then plunges into the Little Colorado canyon and winds down to the sacred congruence. Nearby Tapeats Sandstone cliffs hold deposits of salt that are 550 million year old remains of the Tapeats Sea. The precious substance is carried in heavy burdens back up the Salt Trail to the mesas for dietary and ceremonial use. These traditional pilgrimages are still important to the spiritual practice of the Hopi.
The Hopi Reservation lies inside the boundaries of the much larger Navajo Reservation. At the western edge of the Navajo Reservation is Marble Canyon, 61 miles of Colorado River frontage above the confluence with the Little Colorado River. About 8,000 Navajos have lived in the Marble Canyon area for generations. Unfortunately, from 1966 til 2009 a land dispute between the two tribes halted all development and improvements of homes and businesses. The stalemate, known as the Bennett Freeze, resulted in a profound lack of infrastructure. According the Peter Friederich writing in High Country News, just 3% of Navajo homes in the area currently have electricity and only 10% have running water. There is very little employment opportunity. Most Navajo children leave the reservation as soon as they can.
Shortly after a federally mediated agreement lifted the freeze, Navajo president Ben Shelly signed a memorandum of understanding with Scottsdale developer Confluence Partners LLC to investigate the possibility of building a billion dollar resort at the confluence of the two rivers. The project, called Grand Canyon Escalade is planned to include a complex of luxury hotels, restaurants, shops and a tram leading to the river. At the canyon floor developers propose a restaurant and riverwalk as well as an amphitheater and Navajo cultural center.
Tribal members learned of the project through full page ads that appeared in July 2012 in the Navajo-Hopi Observer. A visit to the Confluence Partners website reveals a heavy hitting team led by a local developer, Navajo legal experts with experience working on projects around National Park boundaries, Navajo consultants in the areas of tourism, marketing and development in Indian Country, and financial and resort experts.
Obviously some Navajo feel enthusiastic about the project and the 2,000 full time jobs that developers promise. Others feel the Navajo Nation should plan their own economic advancement. Both Navajo and Hopi tribes recognize the confluence site as sacred. The National Parks Service has not made a statement and there appears to be some dispute about park boundaries at Marble Canyon.
Navajo Don Yellowman wrote eloquently in a Navajo Times editorial, “We believe economic development on Navajo Nation is long overdue. Its about creating prosperity for the Dine, beginning by educating our people about the many alternative economic opportunities available that are aligned with preserving our way of life and traditional values…..”
The grassroots group Save the Confluence swears to defeat the developers’ plan and build a new Navajo economy based on the cultural strengths of the tribe. I guess we can all imagine what Maasaw would have to say.

Bear!

Black bears can also be brown cinnamon or blond.  Photo by National Geographic

Black bears can also be brown cinnamon or blond. Photo by National Geographic

A bear was reported hanging out in the grassy area behind Sousa Elementary School in Mesa on Tuesday evening. He was successfully captured by Arizona Game and Fish officials. Curious as a bear myself, I had to look up the address of the school to see exactly how far from the wild this black bear had wandered. If he came out of the Goldfield Mountains near Usery Park, the hungry youngster padded more than a mile along asphalt streets past the blank faces of many homes before reaching the school grounds.
Although black bears are bashful and secretive, a two year old such as this one has recently been nudged into independence, and is learning that finding food was a lot easier with mom’s help. As an omnivore, he eats a wide range of goodies, from berries to insects, cactus fruits, nuts and more. His keen sense of smell picks up the scent of even an empty food wrapper from a great distance. He was most probably drawn into this neighborhood by its smells.
Although suburbia must seem strange and scary, he doesn’t know it’s not bear territory until someone tells him so. Most humans react to the sight of a bear by going into their homes and watching out the window. The bear’s good with that – happy to have two legged humans out of the way while he noses around for some grub.
The Mesa bear was captured, checked for good health and tagged. The male was estimated to be two and a half years old and weighed about 120 pounds. He was released in the Tonto National Forest where it is hoped he will establish a territory and live out a natural bear life. If he ever turns up captured again he will be euthanized. It is believed habitual offenders will continue to risk contact with humans to get easy food.
According to Arizona Game and Fish urban wildlife specialists, the most common attractant for black bears is garbage. Number two is hummingbird feeders and seed feeders. BBQ grills and pet foods also smell amazing to bears. AZGF estimates the state black bear population to be around 2500 individuals, most rarely seen by humans.
Bear cubs are born in January and emerge from the den in April. They stay with momma through that year and den with her again for a second winter. Then they must make it on their own. Black bears can live more than 20 years in the wild and males may grow to stand 6 feet tall and weigh up to 400 pounds. Black bears are curious, intelligent animals that seek solitude.
People living on the urban fringes can help protect bears by securing garbage cans and bringing bird feeders in at night. Burning food residue off grills immediately after cooking and keeping pet food indoors are other bear-safe actions. Suburbanites encountering a bear should make every effort to scare it away by standing tall and making a lot of loud noise. Trying to attract bears with food treats is an invitation to tragedy. Even a bear out of school knows that.

Flashy Phainopepla

Phainopepla comes from Greek for shining robes.  Wish my picture was better.

Phainopepla comes from Greek for shining robes. Wish my picture was better.

Perched imperiously on the topmost branch of a mesquite tree, the male phainopepla tosses his shaggy crest like a rock star. Ruffling his shiny black feathers he casts his bright red eyes about the area for intruders. Phainopepla is ready to take on any who would threaten his food source. He is guarding his mistletoe.
Desert mistletoe has no leaves, but it does have chlorophyll in its stems, and so photosynthesizes. However like most parasites, it takes its water and nutrients from host plants, generally native trees such as mesquites and palo verdes. Mistletoe generally does not harm the host plant unless it is stressed, or unless the infestation becomes extreme. Female plants produce small red berries that are the major food source for phainopeplas in the winter. An individual bird can eat a prodigious number of berries.
The two species have a mutually dependent relationship, with the plant providing food, and the bird reciprocating with favors of propagation. After gorging on berries, the phainopepla flies to a distant tree where it hangs out for awhile, preening and cleaning the sticky berry residue, including seeds, from its beak by wiping it on the rough branches. Often the bird deposits droppings on the branch as well, including mistletoe seeds that have passed through its digestion system in a viable form. Every so often seeds deposited by either method stick in a crevice of the bark and begin to germinate. In this way the phainopepla “plants” new mistletoe seeds for a later crop of berries.
When there are no berries available the phainopepla eats other fruits and will nab insects from the air. Another name for the bird is silky-flycatcher. If the male phainopepla is a rock star, the female is his glamorous groupie. As opposed to his shiny black plumage, she wears dusky grey. Her black wing feathers are edged in white, like fine lace. Both males and females have square patchs of white on their wings that flash boldly in flight.
Phainopepla is a songbird with a large repertoire which you can sample at Allaboutbirds. When threatened by a predator the phainopepla will run through imitations of other birds, mimicking a dozen different calls. Want to say it out loud? fay-no-pep-la

Master Blister Beetle

Nearly 2 inch long beetle decimates brittle bush flower

Nearly 2 inch long beetle decimates brittle bush flower

P1010835The creepy appearance of some bugs makes me shudder – scorpions and centipedes come to mind. Then there are cool-looking bugs, like this master blister beetle (Lytta magister). I found a posse of these guys, and gals, chomping away on yellow brittle bush blossoms the other day. Their bright colors and voracious appetites were fascinating to observe. Couples joined in mating demonstrated an inspiring level of multi-tasking as they continued to clamber through the shrub and munch away while in the act. However! Some of you may remember the old adage: Orange and black, keep back Jack! And that would be wise if you are tempted to play with blister beetles.
Blister beetles are so named because when caught in the jaws of a bird or a lizard, or the fingers of a human, they deliberately pop blood vessels located in their leg joints. Out seep a few drops of yellow, nasty smelling blister blood that will indeed inflict a painful burn. The chemicals in the blood of blister beetles make up a compound called cantharidin. Cantharidin is a toxic poison that can be lethal if ingested. Hay eating animals such as horses, cattle and sheep are particularly vulnerable as some species of blister beetle feed on alfalfa. This virulent protection mechanism is why the ponderous beetles survive even while sporting their vivid colors.
After a marathon mating act which can last more than 24 hours, the female buzzes off to a far-flung location and lays her eggs in the soil. When master blister beetle grubs hatch they burrow through the ground in search of grasshopper eggs. Scientists believe blister beetles have a sense of smell that directs them to their prey. A mass of grasshopper eggs will provide nutrition for the beetle grub as it grows and develops through the winter. In April, just in time for the brittle bush bloom, the adult beetle digs out of the soil and flies in search of food and mates.
Thanks to John Alcock of ASU School of Life Sciences for the information on master blister beetles. His article and more pictures can be found at
http://askabiologist.asu.edu/explore/big-bad-beetle

Summer Comes Scurrying

Ornate tree lizard

Ornate tree lizard

Female Chuckwalla

Female Chuckwalla

Male Chuckwalla

Male Chuckwalla

Chuck's tailSpringtime in the desert is glorious, and becomes precious as the change of season looms. The green carpet of wildflowers is barely hanging on, and the creosote and brittle bush that grow everywhere are now covered in bright yellow blooms. Accents of magenta dot the landscape, as hedgehog cacti unfold brilliant patches of color. Birds flit from plant to plant, busy with breeding, nesting, even feeding youngsters. Sun shines bright from a blue sky and the air still holds a hint of cool.
Summer’s on its way though, and the heralds come scurrying and sunning and gobbling up bugs and blossoms. I walked later in the morning than usual and found that to be prime time for lizards. Ornate tree lizards, bold little insect hunters about four and a half inches long scampered up and down boulders along my way. I must’ve seen a dozen of them.
Near the top of Telegraph Trail a female chuckwalla hustled across the path. She paused in front of a hunk of rock and struck a regal pose. I pointed her out to a mom and her young son who were coming along the trail. They had a chance to admire her briefly before she dashed up the hill. I overheard the boy say to his mother, “That must’ve been Lizard Rushmore.” Funny how kids see things, but he had a point. The chuckwalla did look to be part of the rock for a moment.
I’m descending Kiwanis Trail when I see another chuckwalla, a male this time, as evidenced by his tail. Chuckwallas with bright orange tails such as his are endemic to South Mountain. The orange color is attributed to a diet rich in cartenoids. Chuckwallas are herbivores, and crevice dwellers. In fact they inflate themselves to wedge into crevices as a defense mechanism. These large lizards grow to be 16 inches long.
Seeing so many reptiles near well-used trails reminded me of a comment made by a docent at Desert Botanical Gardens. He claimed that lizards that overcome their fear of humans are able carve out territories in areas that others of their species may shun. It makes sense. In any case, the robust population of reptiles added considerable interest to what turned out to be a pretty warm hike.

Desert Disguise

Patina on Spaceship

Patina on Spaceship

IMG_1457I’d like to learn to identify the rocks I see when I’m hiking in the South Mountains. On the western end of the range the rock dates to the Precambrian Age, some as old as 1.6 billion years. The eastern and younger ridges (just 25 million years old) are gently rounded and the wide washes that drain the valleys are prominent features. This is visible from the I-10 freeway and accessed primarily at the Pima Wash trailhead.
Hiking west on the National Trail you encounter areas of rock carved by erosion into fantastical shapes. Colossal boulders stack one on another and it’s easy to imagine human profiles, animal shapes and space ships. At Fat Man’s Pass squeeze through a narrow gap between mansion-size boulders and slide over massive rock faces shiny with wear.
Telegraph Pass is roughly midpoint in the mountain range. To the west rugged cliffs and chiseled outcrops of schist, granite and gneiss resist the pull of time. Although the shapes differ dramatically, much of the South Mountains’ rock surface appears the same, mostly black and polished to a sheen.
This is because of a process that’s been called Nature’s smallest sedimentary formation. Thin as a piece of paper, a layer accumulates on exposed rock in arid locations creating a coating called desert varnish.
Materials that make up this varnish are composed of fine grain clay from surrounding rock and earth material carried in airborne dust. The colors themselves come from black manganese oxide and red iron oxide. The oxidation is accomplished by bacteria that thrive on rock surfaces in areas with low levels of organic material and high evaporation rates. These microorganisms facilitate the chemical reaction between the clay elements and heat. Wind abrasion hones the varnish to a patina. This thin layer can take thousands of years to form.
In ancient times Native Americans recorded events and messages with rock art images chipped through the desert varnish to the lighter rock below. Today thousands of these intriguing petroglyphs in the South Mountains depict people, animals, gods, celestial events and ways of life. Current day Pimas, descendents of the Akimel O’odham peoples of long ago, call the range Muhadag Du’ag or Greasy Mountain, an apt description for the effects of desert varnish.
Sources
Landscape of the Spirits by Todd Bostwick
Minerals.caltech.edu

A Desert Wash in Springtime

The wash was wide and gentle, at first.

The wash was wide and gentle, at first.

Cross cut reveals layers of soil and rock

Cross cut reveals layers of soil and rock

I leave the Pyramid Trail where it crosses a big wash, before it begins its tortuous ascent. At first the wash is wide and flat as it sweeps around the western edge of the mountain, sandy underfoot. The sides of the wash range from low mounds to steeply cut banks fifteen to twenty feet high. These cross cuts of exposed bank allow me to mentally lift the earth’s crust and see how the substratum varies. At this point the desert soil is deep and many critters have burrowed homes in the bank. Different sized rocks and boulders also jut out, fists punched through from the other side.
A rocky channel lines the lowest point of the wash and higher ground is claimed by wildflowers and grasses. These tiny plants are subtle yet the overall effect is powerful, giving the impression of Ireland instead of a desert. Bright yellow poppies sparkle. Blue lupine is shyer, but as rich in color. Finches trill as they peck for seeds in the shade of bankside palo verde trees. Cactus wrens call from the tops of saguaros and gnatcatchers sing and buzz while they forage among the branches of an ironwood tree. Desert lavender and brittle bush are wash migrants as entire plants may be swept downstream in a big rain, roots and all.
Voices float from high above on the Pyramid Trail and I see tiny stick figures outlined on the ridge. I have to stop to look because the footing is ever rockier. Stickery wolf berry and palo verde branches reach for my pants, my skin. In a glen where sunlight hangs visibly in the air I’m caught in a cross fire of bird song. A big snag of ancient ironwood hosts a flock of warbling finches.
The north side of the mountain reveals dizzying cliffs of ancient stone streaked with desert varnish. The wash falls into the shadow of the peak and changes mood. I’m soon pulling myself up over gigantic boulders and finding puddles of brown water, remnants of recent rain. Bees drone along the narrow channel and hover above the pools; buzzing with intensity.
I assess my route through the next boulder choked stretch and realize water has gradually washed layers of soil from this tumble of rocks, and deposited it in broad strokes downstream where my hike started. The dark cliffs tower to my right and a gentler ridge flexes its own muscular rock to my left. I arrive at the bottom of a dry waterfall. The white rock falls like a stone robe draped from the knees of a giant. Luckily for hikers little ledges form toeholds.
The wash winds on through the valley to the east, bristling with shrubby trees. I find a comfy boulder and sit for awhile. The air has a misty quality. Birds sing, bees drone and a green hummingbird comes briefly to the wolfberry at my elbow. A few minutes later I hear what sounds like a fairy clapping. I turn my head and a gnatcatcher flies away – her wing beats make that magical sound.
Next time I visit the wash most likely the puddles will be dry and the wildflowers gone to seed. There is something about washes, that attraction and dread of hidden places. Secrets lie not only beneath the crust of the earth but within our own ability to look and discover something new, something that nevertheless has been there all along.

Morning, Dove!

Mourning Dove

Mourning Dove

The sun beat me this morning, bouncing brilliance off every rock face. A mourning dove stood on a boulder, backlit by sunrise, with a sprawl of houses below. In each of those homes people were getting out of bed, having breakfast, reading the paper, but for me and the dove there was surprise at meeting one another. She was calm and unconcerned by my approach. Perhaps she knew I meant no harm. The soothing coo of doves is part of desert life, background music for us.
Our neighbor uses a coffee can to sling millet seed for the birds. Every morning a row of doves perches on our back fence waiting for her hand out. Our friend Jim said it looked like they were ready for target practice and that’s the first I knew people hunted doves. But they are among the most popular game birds.
Mourning doves are strong fliers. They erupt from the fence with resounding wing claps. They fly straight and fast, making a beeline over our house and neighborhood, towards the golf course where they find water. Unlike some desert birds doves need water and will fly ten miles each way to reach it.
These birds are often seen pecking diligently at the ground. What we can’t see is that they are stowing large quantities of seed in their crops. Later they retire to a shady place to digest. As the seeds reach the stomach or gizzard of the animal, gravel the birds have ingested works as internal teeth to grind the seeds to a pulp. Parents regurgitate crop milk for nestlings.
Mourning dove nests consist of just a few sticks that the male brings to the female and that she forms into a flimsy platform. We’ve had doves nest on the ledge above our front door and in a low branch over the sidewalk. I’ve read that sometimes babies drop right through the bottom of the haphazard nests. Slap dash nest building comes in handy later in the summer when breezes cool eggs and babies from below. While sitting on the nest the female absorbs heat from her eggs and dissipates it by panting. She also carefully turns the eggs several times a day.
Mourning doves are one of the most abundant birds in the U.S. with a population estimated at more than 350 million birds. The reason for this is twofold. When the babies from one brood leave the nest, the father continues to feed them and keep an eye on them while mother immediately lays the eggs for another brood. And, doves can live a very long time, as many as 19 years in the wild.

Red-tailed Hawk Rapture

Liberty Wildlife Education Ambassador strikes an aggessive pose

Liberty Wildlife Education Ambassador strikes an aggessive pose

The other afternoon I stepped outside and heard the piercing screams of a red-tailed hawk. Wheeling against the sky were three of the big birds. They cried out again and again as they circled; engaged in a three way aerial dance. Eventually one hawk flew away leaving the pair to themselves. I’ve read that red tails mate for life, but that in the spring a female may entertain the advances of an unattached male, requiring her mate to prove his mettle. This seems like an excellent way to keep your partner on his toes, or perhaps in this case, on his best flight feathers.
A few days later I pedaled my bike down a residential street past Palo Verde trees that shaded the sidewalk and shielded a row of homes. I glanced over and stopped in my tracks. Bulky and enormous in a skimpy tree hulked a red-tailed hawk. She glared at me belligerently, daring me to sit and stare another moment. Too soon she launched from her perch and climbed quickly into the blue sky. Thrilled to have seen her, I rode on. A block down the street perched her mate, only slightly better concealed, and staring over a block wall into the back yard below. Perhaps a nervous little dog or cat cowered there. His breast feathers were a gorgeous buff color, and I was reminded that these raptors are among the largest of the hawk family.
Perching and watching is the classic red tail hunting method, although they prefer a tall tree or a rocky outcropping, even a power pole to a spindly street tree. The hunter waits motionless but for the eyes, powerful as binoculars that scan for the tiniest movement from a rodent, a rabbit or even a snake or lizard. This predator was not tolerant of a gawker like me and flew off after his mate.
Yesterday I saw the pair again, cruising low along a rocky ridge behind our house, then soaring majestically in sweeping circles. I grabbed my binoculars and saw that one of the hawks clutched a good-sized stick that trailed behind as he flew. I believe this was the smaller of the two hawks, which would be the male. Perhaps he’s still working to prove he’s worthy of his demanding mate’s affections. Or perhaps in the hawk world, a forked stick is like a dozen red roses.

Red-tail photo courtesy Terry Stevens