A Few Snake Photos (Aug. 14)
Month: August 2022
From Florida Creek to Madera Canyon (Aug. 13)
I’ve told myself I had to go back up Florida Creek and see if I could find full grown Canyon tree frogs, and who knows what else. It was about a year ago when I got all banged up following that creek up a canyon and ultimately getting temporarily lost. I was so scratched up from spines and thorns, and I was riddled with spots of poison ivy—but I had found a stream with canyon tree frogs and I had caught my first ever specie of black necked garter. Yes! That was a very successful excursion despite all the injuries I took from getting torn up by wild vegetation and taking a fall that re-injured my rotator cuff and meniscus. But, my days’s success offered good compensation.
Being a year older and wiser, I did not try to do the same route I had taken last Sept. I got so far up the creek and saw where the passage became too much for me a year ago and there, called it a day. I did not find any canyon tree frogs this time. However, I did find various calm spots in the stream that had tadpoles. So I am thinking, I am maybe a month early. These tadpoles need to mature and turn to immature adults. Unlike Chino stream at the base of Elephant Head, these tadpoles were not quite as mature. Maybe I will still be around mid Sept and I will find young frogs.
But the good news is, I caught another black necked garter snake, albeit a young one. It made my morning. The only negative that came out of all this was that the little bastard bit me. Not only did he bite me, but he bit me hard enough and deep enough that his little teeth drew blood! That was the first time in my 70 years that a garter snake—never mind that it was small and young—-bit me hard enough to draw blood. Ow! You learn something everyday. (I always think of garter snakes as basically non biters, and never has one drawn blood!)
I left Florida Creek and went into Madera Canyon. By then, it was about to cut loose with rain. I beat my way down to the stream. It was flowing enough that I had to be cautious. And the brush was dense. I was not wearing my heavy boots because I wanted to get in the stream and explore meticulously, so I wore my cheap, old, thin tennis shoes. I thought to myself how those dense weeds were a great place to run across a rattler. I would much rather get bitten wearing heavy boots than wearing something skin thin. But because I had never encountered one in that creek bed before, what were the odds? Then I thought of my favorite saying, “disaster will always find a new way to take you by surprise”.
I finally climbed out of the weeds and around a 7 foot waterfall, looking, prodding, thinking, “man, this looks like a great place to find something!” Then suddenly, wang! By god, it was a nice fat snake! Again, my first thought was a Sonoran Gopher! I don’t know why I keep thinking every snake I see is a Sonoran Gopher. But I proceeded cautiously. It didn’t rattle. It was kinda passive. I got up close and looked very carefully. By god, it was a beautiful black tailed rattle snake!
They can be so passive. I could get right in its face and it didn’t even rattle except once for about 1 1/2 seconds, it gently buzzed. Then it went back to what it was doing, crawling, poking around gently, tasting the air. Cool. I wish they weren’t venomous. Their colors are so outstanding and their natures so easy going.
Whenever I find something special, my whole day lights up. After that kind of a find, it’s easy to be philosophic about the day…all is well in my world (-;
Tarantulas & Western Diamondbacks—Keeping Busy (Aug. 11)
Most people are bbq’ing with family or friends, vacationing up at the lake, or visiting with the kids (so they can babysit the grandkids). Something happened to me; I am missing a gene and find myself maintaining relationships via the phone or email (AND) that that is more or less enough! In the meantime, I just do what I do: travel now and then, hike, poke around looking to satisfy that side of me that finds (the odd side of) nature so interesting.
Even insects catch my attention. I have some odd thing in my behavior that has me stepping around ants on a trail. I notice all these little “insignificant” forms of life and really try to be respectful toward them. Strange, for sure. Yet I eat meat. Just another of those contradictions in my peculiar human nature.
I found myself out on the road again the other night, looking for things that were unusual. I saw a good sized tarantula moseying across the road, a perfect target for a car. There happened to be a guy out near by, excited about seeing and photographing night hawks. It’s funny; I run into other nuts like myself, looking for the little forms of life that intrigue them. I am really amazed by the countless forms of life that catch people’s attention. I left early this morning and passed a guy on the side of the Madera Canyon road vigorously swinging a net—no doubt trying to capture insects or maybe butterflies. There is something for everybody.
Two or three nights back I was out looking for other critters and sure enough, there were SO many rattlesnakes out, warming on the night asphalt. I came across what I have finally concluded is a western diamondback. He was as fat and as content as they come; didn’t want to give way one millimeter. I positioned myself so any cars coming by would have to swing wide (forcing them to miss him or her) and I could get a few photos. It did not want to budge! Finally, I got my pictures, then needed to go. I poked and prodded him off the road which he did not like. He was pissed. But I made sure he got into high gear and headed deep into the brush.
I drove a few more miles and somebody was stopped. Then they left. There was another diamondback so I stopped to get a few more pictures. He had just been killed and was still writhing about! Too late to save him. I set its body off the road. Then I drove to my favorite little back road and caught what I believe was another diamondback. A young one. I took my pictures, then harassed him off the road. All these snakes absorbing the evening heat but unknowingly just waiting to get run over. A typical monsoon evening.
The Muddy Santa Cruz along the DeAnza Trail (Aug. 10)
Russ promised me if I did the flatland Tucumcari hike maybe 15 miles south of Green Valley along the Santa Cruz River, I would see as many toads as I have ever seen. He did say they were “little” so my expectations were not high. He described the area in rather favorable terms: wooded, lots of moving “stream” water, and cooler than most of the flatlands. I was down that way not terribly long ago so I had an idea of what I was getting into. At the least I would see unprecedented numbers of some kind of toad so that would give me something to look into. I was thinking if there were all these toads, surely there had to be something else as well.
It was a pleasant diversion from the Madera Canyon hikes I like to do—something different. The day had the look of potential early, hard rains. What the heck—let’s go for it. Sure enough, we had scarcely started hiking when we began seeing little toads hopping as abundantly as hail in a storm across the trail. But they were so little, and so hopping-quick, I could not find the motivation to even bother trying to figure out what specie they were. I did find the woodlands appealing; it was a different look.
We had not been on the trail very long when we were startled by the presence of a western box turtle. If you live in the central or eastern part of the US it was no big deal, but out west, it’s a little bit of a treat, like sugar in a land without candy. Russ had been telling me about a turtle he had come across a year ago. It was a terrestrial specie. It sounded like maybe a desert tortoise: not near water, and high carapace. That would have been special. When we snagged this box turtle, he immediately said, “that’s it, that’s what I caught a year ago!”
I had no idea they were one of the more common turtles in the region—though by no means, an everyday catch. They are distinct: high carapace (just like a tortoise), bright orange eyes, lines, though opaque, radiating on the carapace, and a plastron that could lift up like a drawbridge and conceal the head. It pretty much made my day. I learned they were omnivorous, ate carrion (!), and rummaged through animal dung in search of seeds. undigested tidbits, and grubs. They are very versatile eaters and can handle the heat of summers here by hiding out in burrows and deep, thick brush.
We proceeded a couple of miles until we got to where the trail was just too muddy and too criss-crossed with flood waters. At one time, the inimitable Spanish explorer DeAnza used this route from northern Mexico and actually took a party of 300 to San Francisco, California, (twice in fact) around 1775, which I find amazing. He only lost one member of the party in all his travels! It’s a very interesting area and much of the trail from Nogales to Green Valley is preserved and has become a favorite trail of birders.
Post Elephant Head Hike (Aug. 9)
For two days I have lain around licking my wounds from that Elephant Head, semi-death defying hike. It was too close for my comfort. Normally I will confess when it is a tough hike, then I rest a day before getting on with the next hike. This was a humbling hike/climb, I am almost too ashamed to admit. So now I am very aware: I need to be more careful and more wisely acknowledge my limitations. It’s more than just getting back to the car exhausted; there really is a limit! At some point, something could go too wrong and me being the over confident sort that I am, might genuinely miscalculate.
Today, I told myself to do a maintenance hike, so I did: less than 3 1/2 miles of the Bog Springs loop. But I had scarcely gone 3/4 of a mile up the trail when I started feeling faint—like I might get dizzy and collapse even though my legs were fine. That was a first.
I slowed down, but kept going. I finally worked through that faint state of being. Hmmm…all of this makes me wonder. Cousin Mike called just as I reached Bog’s Spring, where I sat on my rock and chatted with him.
I had planned on getting back with time to spare that I could still explore Madera Creek for canyon tree frogs, but we talked a little longer than I expected and the monsoons built up unexpectedly quick. I drank cold water and snacked and listened to some of Mike’s thoughts on the book he is working on before the conversation drew to an end and I pushed on, into the unmarked ravine on the unmarked trail, where I always hope to find something unique or unusual—maybe a snake specie I have never seen or caught before; you never know, but that is a good place to get lucky being it is in a semi damp, heavily wooded, seldom traveled ravine.
It was a very pleasant meander. The mushrooms, fungi, and mosses were out in force just as they were a year ago when it rained so hard. Grasses and shrubs were a deep, wet green. It’s nice to be able to take my time, meander from the trail, poke around here and there, hearing no one. My next goal was getting back to where my car was parked and explore the main creek a little. But just as I made my car, big rain drops began plopping about. Good timing. Maybe I can do the streams tomorrow.
A Few Images from the Elephant Head Near-Debacle (Aug 7)
Elephant Head, Man, O Man (Aug. 6)
It was only a 7.1 mile hike, but it was up, then down, up, then down, then up again. That is no exaggeration. That’s called crossing ravines, topping it off at Chino Ravine. Of all the hikes I have done since moving to southern Arizona almost two years ago, primarily because of the heat, that was as close as I have come to not quite making it! And I fell twice—one good time, face down, hard on my shoulder. I was sure I broke something, like maybe some ribs. I lay there for a minute or three, baking in the blaring sun, feeling around for at least a semi serious injury. But nothing! Unbelievable! (Now a few hours later I feel bruised upper ribs).
Russ and I know our limits and his is greater than mine. I push and I push, but I always make it back to the vehicle. Sometimes it is just barely, and I am in a semi state of paralysis, but I make it. Today, the only reason I made it was because in the depths of a canyon, there was a cold, gently flowing stream; I believe Chino. I told myself just make it to the canyon crease (where I happened to fall 20 feet from the stream). I had twenty feet more to go. Thank God, only 20 feet to go! There, I met up with Russ, stripped myself of socks and boots and climbed into it fully clad and soaked in that cold water (for what turned out to be 20 minutes), lowering my body temperature.
And I hydrated. That is what saved my ass because I was whipped, and I could not have made it out of the canyon without chilling in the cold water. We still had a precipitous canyon wall to climb out of, plus at least two more miles of steeply undulating trail through nearly 90 degree heat. I was concerned, but maybe not as fearful as I should have been. I just can’t quite imagine myself fainting in the heat though I know everyone has a limit.
I can be really stupid. And definitely a big chance-taker. I should have packed my empty drinking bottles with creek water, but after chilling in the stream I thought I would be okay, thinking 1 1/2 bottles left to drink was enough. It turned out to be really borderline. I shared my last bottle with Russ and that might have cut things a little thin. Russ hung with me and was encouraging. He just goes and goes and no matter what he says regarding aches, pains, fatigue, or challenges, he’s a tough, persistent hiker. I suppose it is better that he is a stronger hiker than myself rather than a weaker one because otherwise, that could pose a real problem. I am sure he did not want to try and get help for me if I did pass out (-; Getting a helicopter back into that country for a rescue would not have been a pretty sight, though it would have made for a good story. The best he could probably do was drag me to a stunted oak tree for a tittle of shade, or maybe a mesquite tree where I would do what I could to keep from perishing from heat exhaustion as he hiked out for help. And there was no way I was going to succumb to that scenario.
But here’s the good thing. When I was chilling in the creek water, I couldn’t believe my eyes; how many canyon tree frog tadpoles were swimming about! They were everywhere—happy as little purple finch in a Green Valley bottle brush treelet. They mixed with the hair on my legs, looking for air bubbles or possibly “tasting” for salt from my body, who knows? I told Doron about them scouring my legs and he suggested the obvious—they were probably nibbling at infinitesimally tiny flakes of dead skin, like so many minnow-sized species of fish I’ve encountered traveling abroad.
Yes, now I know another place to find them besides Florida Creek on the far side of Madera Canyon. They made a soup, and they were SO close to losing their tails and becoming little canyon tree frogs! And the stream was going to be around for quite a while with monsoons letting loose every other evening.
Once out of the ravine, hiking initially downward on the Quantrell Mine trail, I saw dozens of big, brightly colored whiptails, though I wasn’t going to push my luck nor test Russ’s patience trying to zero in on one of those. I would conserve my energy for something really special, after I had determined I was going to make it. Even in a death thrall, if the right herp came along, I could, I would muster an iota of energy more, for the photo.
Then in the last half mile, a gently downward trail, a lesser earless leaped across the trail. Okay, I’ll consider it. Russ passed me. He went 100 yards ahead of me while I wrestled with getting a decent photo, until I finally gave up on the lizard being too whipped to flush him into a good photo position. Then Russ started shouting—-told me to hurry. I knew that was something good because he is not going to shout for just anything! I jogged to the best of my ability—he wanted me to hurry to where he was. I couldn’t wait. Yes! Sure enough, it was something special! He had a beautiful, 4 foot Sonora gopher snake frozen in its track. He asked if I wanted him to herd it back onto the trail. I had more confidence in my own abilities. But I went to press it with my bent hiking pole and it scooted underneath it. I lunged for it and almost had it—felt its skin slip through my hand, but again it eluded me and made it into thorny mimosa scrub. It got away! It was beautiful. Freshly shed, kind of a golden brown, rattle snake pattern. (Russ was afraid it was a rattler). My heart sank. They can actually get a tad larger than a coachwhip—according to the books up to 9 feet long. (I remember seeing a dead one when I was just a kid, stretched all the way across a paved side street, literally from dirt to dirt across the road! Biggest snake I ever saw firsthand in the US. There’s 3 snakes I remember for their size: that gopher snake and the coachwhip I chased down a burrow 30 years ago were two of them). I have been wanting so badly to catch a Sonoran gopher, big, colorful and wild enough to vigorously bite until they trust you or you get control of their head. Unlike a coachwhip, they will settle down. Oh, well, it’ll have to come on another day.
Finally, the Crest Trail…(Aug. 2)
Since I have moved to southern Arizona, and taken up hiking, I finally got the balls to try the Crest Trail. I have wondered about that trail since time immemorial. The truth is, it is still a bit of a mystery, but today I moved within a mile or a mile and a half of better understanding just exactly what the “Crest Trail” is all about.
For one thing, it is right at my limit. In the past, when I have dared to do the Florida Saddle Trail, about 10 miles of rather steep hiking, through a number of eco zones, all the way to the Saddle, I have wondered how tough it would be to continue up the trail (god knows how much farther up to the Florida Trail to the Crest Trail), then proceed at least two more ragged miles to the peak of Wrightson. It’s very intimidating since my hiking limit seems to be about 11 miles. And just to make it a little more challenging, I would have to hike down the Old Baldy Trail (5.5 miles) to finish the hike off. But my car would then be at least 10 or 15 miles away from my point of origin. It’s a mess. I have not had the confidence to do at least 14 miles of steep trails round trip. I wonder, I guess, I think to myself if it is not a little much for me.
Today, we started on the Crest Trail from almost the top of Wrightson—9/10 of a mile and 600 vertical feet from the top—-and went down the Crest Trail. It was beautiful, though we went from a blue sky 68 degree day, to a semi stormy day into the unknown. Russ swore we were on the right trail, the only trail according to him. But it is not unusual for him to make a navigating error. I would never tell him that, but no telling what miscalculation he might have been making.
The thought that was going through my mind was maybe we got off on an old trail that was no longer maintained and quite possibly, we ended up going down the wrong side of the mountain. In places, the trail just vanished. It was all overgrown. I was so glad I was traveling in company even if it was the oft misguided, curious and enthusiastic Russ. He wouldn’t care; he’s got the energy to quickly undo a miscalculation. I always say, it is better to die with someone than to die alone, though I suspect I would perish like the canary in a mine before he did, and ultimately he would find his way out and tell the story of how he tried to help his overweight, scared friend, but to no avail. If I had been alone, I would have really wondered where I was, and dying without someone comforting me in a death thrall would not be fun. I suspect I would be a real baby in a true death situation.
About a mile or mile and a half farther down the trail, through the dense woods, we came to what I would guess was “shovel pass”. Russ said, no, we had another “notch” to go. I silently scoffed, thinking no way. It turned out we were both right. It was the right place to head down the mountain but not via the “Crest Trail”. Once Russ put the geography into perspective, he realized we were right above what we call “Shovel Pass”. Here, there was a very feeble, no-name-trail buried in the overgrown, bunch grass that might have shaved as much as a mile off the “Crest Trail”. It was a very legitimate short cut, rough as it was. Ah, relief! I could see a quarter mile down the mountain slope we were going to hook up with where we had hiked to (10 days ago).
If we had continued on the Crest Trail, that dismal, weedy, overgrown trail, maybe we would eventually hook up with the Florida Saddle. What a god awful hike that would prove to be. Thank god we could discern short cuts. So, I am still left mystified by the actual Crest Trail.
Halfway down the steep, death defying Shovel Pass slope, we ran into a fellow we saw almost in the same spot 10 days ago. And he was a true, inveterate hiker, training for the John Muir Trail in the Sierras. He also was a volunteer who scouted and/or maintained all these trails in southern AZ. How he was going up that “trail”, i.e. steadily, in that unsettled weather, I’ll never know. Amazing what some people can do! We talked for 10 minutes—what were the odds that two hiking parties, Russ and I, and him, Chris, would meet in such an untamed place, off the beaten path during the monsoons.
We parted ways under gloomy skies, and Russ and I took a snack break five minutes later on the lower “saddle”. I looked back up the slope we had just descended, and I couldn’t believe it, two more hikers were descending that weed choked “trail”. What the hell! What are the odds?
They caught up to us and we chatted. They were from the Green Valley Hiking Club, leaders, poking around, just doing what professional hikers do. According to the one guy, he estimated he had hiked down that “shovel pass” (short cut) trail at least 20 times over the years! I was shocked, but I had no doubt, he probably did that hike all the time along with hundreds of other hikes just as remote and challenging. Russ and I run into guys like this all the time—just very serious hikers who have a passion for this kind of (pain)—-they love it. It’s beyond my imagining. I feel like such an amateur, but then, who cares. I’m gonna have to be content being a mediocre,”ten mile” hiker. Besides, in my own mind, I’m really up there hiking about looking for reptiles and amphibians, stealing photos of interesting critters, from insects to trogans, here and there.
This reminds me, almost all the major stream beds are flowing with crystal clear creeks now. Last year, it took much longer to get the water flowing, but that was because it had been nearly two years since there had been any water in the ground and the first three weeks of hard rain were devoted to sinking deeply into the parched earth. This year, the water level was much closer to the surface. That’s what I am guessing. I’m bracing for canyon tree frogs, now that I know where they can be found.
So we started our five mile, relatively steep hike back down to the parking lot, taking short cuts here and there, to end up back where the car was and shaving off at least a mile or two of hiking. The whole hike was under 11 miles, but I must confess, my knees were aching. I felt a bit like I was close to hitting the wall again. Hmm…not good, though it was a good and interesting new hike.
Poking Around at Night, the Mediterranean Gecko (July 30)
To me, the gecko is a special lizard. I always associate it with travel and the tropics. But ever since I began visiting my parents in southern AZ, back in the 1980’s, I discovered there was a type of gecko I could find here on a hot, muggy monsoon night. That was a treat to a northern latitudes kinda reptile guy where the gecko represented the tropics, foreign language, alien cultures, exotic women, adventure—everything that was outside my box of familiarity. Danger was like a fast car—just slow down when the curves became too sharp and too unpredictable. I was too dumb to really be cautious and my state of hubris kept me naive enough to think there wasn’t really anything out there to fear.
The gecko was the perfect symbol for the exotic. It was unique. To begin with, it was a night lizard. That in itself was special. But it could crawl on walls, ceilings, and even windows! Who had ever seen a lizard that could run upside down on a pane of glass? And it was translucent. How many reptiles or amphibians had skin so thin you could see its heart beating? And it made sound! It was a lizard that chirped! It seemed everything about the gecko was kinda holy. How fitting that the closer one became to the equator in travel, the more abundant geckos seemed to become.
It wasn’t until I became older and started seeing geckos in pet shops that I realized there was a multitude of gecko species that existed: some were large, some bit (aggressively), many were colorful, they thrived in vast numbers (once the sun went down), but always, they could be found in the tropics.
When I accidentally stumbled on them one muggy summer night on the washroom walls of my parent’s villa, here in Green Valley in my thirties, needless to say, I was delighted. It became a constant source of satisfaction over the years, whenever I would come to visit in the heat of the summer. They have never been easy for me to photograph, especially now that I rely on my cell phone. They are cautious and quick. If I were in southeast Asia, no problem, they are the most common lizard, but here in the US, they are the temperate opposite. Last night I was curious and took a spin by the old wash room. Sure enough, they were there. Not only were they there, but they were out in abundance so I did what I could to capture their image on my cell phone. After visiting with Suzie and Bob, drinking a beer or two and chasing them with a Suzarita (Suzie’s version of a Margarita),how much more fun could I have than chasing geckos in a little diversionary drive home…unless maybe it was chasing rattlers on lone, wet roads.
A Little Jaunt into the Rainy Night (July 29)
Russ invited me over to his place for a BBQ dinner last night. Thursday night is our “Alone” night where we can watch survivors starve themselves to death in the Labrador wilderness in a competition to be the last survivor in a $500,000 competition. I don’t know about Russ, but it makes me feel better, almost like a survivalist, watching hardcore people of the wilderness living off of grubs and gooseberries (until late Fall is upon them, and even those things disappear). The winner is usually the one person out of ten who manages to kill one big game item, a deer or musk ox, and then can outlast the others. And that is if they can prevent grizzly or black bear, or wolverine from stealing the meat. We sit and eat our bbq’ed steaks and feel good about ourselves.
By 9 PM our shows were over and I was headed home into the dark, wet night. I thought about how a year ago, I would have driven off into the moist night looking for monsoon critters. The roads were good and wet, and the air was most humid. I thought to myself, where is my old spirit? I hadn’t driven three blocks when I encountered a Sonoran Desert Toad. That was it! I had to drive out into the countryside, to one of my favorite dark haunts, and slowly scan the road.
Toads were everywhere. Definitely Sonoran Desert toads. And probably Couch’s Spadefoot toads—in great abundance. So much so, that I wouldn’t even stop unless it was a fine specimen. I had scarcely driven down my dark road when lo and behold, there was a young snake bathing itself in a light drizzle on warm, blackened pavement. Oh, yes, that had to be a Sonoran gopher snake. I got out of my car and was about to snatch it up for some good photos when I hesitated, thinking, “hmmm…are those rattles?” They blended so well with the asphalt. And the head looked triangular. “Hmm…” I was barefooted and feeling somewhat vulnerable, though impatient. The snake suddenly proceeded off the road. “Nope!” This was a Mojave rattler, the number one most venomous rattler in the US, or was it a western diamondback? Small though it was, if it was a Mojave, one bite and my new nick name might end up being, “One-handed Leo”. I snapped a few quick shots, shoed it off the road, then proceeded a little farther into the night.
I got out here and there, took a few shots of what I am sure were Couch’s spadefoots, and went on home. Not bad for just a quick run to my nearby favorite road (when wet). Love these monsoons. Makes me want to make another run tonight. We’ll see.
rubberboa 