Waiting for the Short-tails

A wait can be most engrossing. Today I returned to the Barfoot ridges in the Chiricahuas with Cathie Sandell, Christopher Rustay, and Noel and Helen Snyder, again watching for those two young Short-tailed Hawks and their parents. (Incorrigible, you say?)

At the very start of our vigil, Christopher spotted a fledgling Short-tail flying to a snag on a nearby ridge, prey clutched in its left talons. The buffy youngster perched for awhile, gazing around at the wide world, with no attempt to eat the prey it was carrying. Eventually the young hawk flew, and that was the last we saw of Short-tails for the day.

Pine Satyr, in the U.S. only found in the Chiricahua and Huachuca Mountains (Photos by Narca)

However, it was only the start of an interesting wait, high on the ridge. Hilltopping butterflies––Colorado Hairstreaks, Pine Satyrs, duskywings, cloudywings, sulphurs, blues, Weidemeyer's Admirals––lit in the Gambel's Oak and nectared at Penstemon.

In the U.S. Mexican Chickadees only inhabit Arizona's Chiricahua Mountains and New Mexico's Animas Mountains.

Eventually I wandered farther up the trail (although "trail" may be overstating it!) and found a good vantage point for a closer view of a ridge where the Short-tails like to perch. Several large, lichen-draped snags below my feet were home to a bustling family of Red-breasted Nuthatches, a pair of House Wrens, a family of Yellow-eyed Juncos, and the occasional Mexican Chickadee.

Red-breasted Nuthatch

Young Yellow-eyed Junco

As I hiked back, a sudden insect-like buzz announced the presence of a Twin-spotted Rattlesnake. The species is very rare in the US, and the Barfoot region is known for harboring one of the finest populations. Indeed, we hope that the Coronado National Forest plan will grant their habitat here some additional level of protection.

Twin-spotted Rattlesnake

And still we wait for the Short-tails...

Winter Walk in South Fork

The beauty of the South Fork of Cave Creek Canyon never fails to enchant those who stray into it. Most know it in spring when neotropical migrants pour through the canyon corridors, or in summer, when the croaks of Elegant Trogons echo off the burnt orange cliffs, overlain with lime-green lichens.

Arizona Sycamores in South Fork (Photo by Narca)

Now it's winter, and peacefulness lies as deep as the drifts of sycamore leaves.

I often hike up the South Fork road with friends, usually Peg or Rose Ann, but some days when the call of the canyon is especially strong, I go alone, quietly. That's when a Black Bear is more likely to amble across the dirt road, oblivious to a hiker. That's when I'm more likely to tune into the small flocks of confiding Yellow-eyed Juncos that forage unobtrusively at the road's edge.

Today sparkles, after last night's mix of rain and light snow. The luminous cliffs glow intensely orange against the skyblue. Flocks of ubiquitous Mexican Jays probe into crevices and under leaves. An Arizona Woodpecker taps softly in the oaks.

The cliffs of South Fork (Photo by Narca)

Today a troop of Coatis cavorts in the creek bed and noses through the drifts of fallen, rusty-gold leaves. Females and young gather in troops like this one. The males (like this big guy who visited our house last month) are solitary. In Costa Rica, people used to think that there were two species of Coatimundi––those that lived in groups, and those who were solitary, the "Lonely Coati."

A lone male Coati (Photo by Narca)

When our own quiet matches the forest's quiet, we find its life.