In Praise of Shade

The city of Tucson, Arizona could use many things, like mid-level jobs to fill that void between rocket science and “Do you want fries with that?” Another crying need for people and wildlife alike is a Shade Initiative. During the searing heat of late spring and summer, there is nary a place to escape to. Sunscreen only does so much for Homo sapiens, and other animals take refuge where they can find it.

Many desert animals have simply become nocturnal, hiding in burrows or crevices in rocks by day. Even creatures that don’t actively dig will use the abandoned burrows of animals that do. Rattlesnakes will hole up in an old ground squirrel tunnel. Sometimes occupant and interloper will grudgingly share space, such as the many mammals, birds, other reptiles, and invertebrates that are frequently found cozying up to desert tortoises in their dens.

My own experience has showed that even insects will seek respite from the midday heat. One recent excursion to an artificial riparian area in Fort Lowell Park revealed an amazing spectrum of sheltering insects among the dense stands of cattails along the edge of the lower pond. Even butterflies like the Leda Ministreak, Great Purple Hairstreak, Empress Leilia, and Fiery Skipper work their way into the cool heart of the emergent vegetation.

Other insects present include an abundance of bees, wasps, and flies. You have to look closely. The wasps and bees are often tiny. On this day, June 21, 2010, I tallied wasps in the families Bethylidae, Chalcididae, Braconidae, Ichneumonidae, and Sphecidae. Sweat bees, especially males in the genus Lasioglossum (family Halictidae) were also common.

In the past I have observed fair numbers of “tarantula hawk” wasps, and even cicada killers in the ranks of roosting Hymenoptera.

The habit of seeking midday shelter does not escape the predators of these insects. Robber flies (family Asilidae) weave their way in and out of the cattails and pounce on unsuspecting prey of all kinds. Meanwhile, jumping spiders prowl each leaf and lynx spiders (Oxyopidae) lie in ambush to catch unsuspecting flies and other insects.

As I leave the park, I try and stay in the shade, but the mesquite, cottonwood, and ornamental pecan and eucalyptus trees are planted sparsely in the landscaped lawns. Once out of the park altogether, shade is even harder to find. There is no mandate to plant shade trees here, though Tucson Clean and Beautiful is perhaps slowly changing that through its ”Trees for Tucson” and Home Shade Tree programs.

The hot sidewalk, where there is a sidewalk, nearly melts the soles of my shoes. I grow hot and thirsty quickly. I pass by a sign in the flowerbeds warning not to drink the “reclaimed” water from the drip irrigation system. Fine, but then give me a public drinking fountain every few blocks. The bus stop is one of the few that do offer meager shelter. Most have no shelters, or the shelters are oriented such that “shelter” is rendered meaningless. I make a note to myself to consider leaving Tucson and relocating to a place with both shade and water.

Resaca de la Palma State Park

The first stop on Bugguide’s “Texas Mini-Gathering” in early June was Resaca de la Palma State Park in Brownsville, Cameron County. The park is only three years old, but at 1200 acres it is the largest park in the World Birding Center contingent of south Texas parks.

Resaca is Spanish for an “oxbow lake,” a wetland cut off from a river that now takes a different path. The wetlands are being restored at Resaca de la Palma, but during the hot, dry season of late spring and summer, water is still scarce. What little water remains does attract a number of water birds such as the Least Grebe shown below.

Our party of three was given the royal treatment from naturalist Katherine Miller and her interns Cynthia and Ryan. We were taken on a tram ride (visualize an electric golf cart built for 8-10 passengers and no clubs) that covers 3.2 miles within the park, stopping anytime we spied something interesting. Cynthia found this spectacular, albeit deceased Beautiful Mesquite Borer, Callona rimosa as we went whizzing by at…about 2 mph.

The visitor center is surrounded by a garden that attracts a dazzling array of butterflies and other insects. One could easily just relax and stake out the bird feeders, too. In the heat and humidity it is a tempting option. Those who do wander the trails will find shade in most places, and be treated to wildlife such as armadillo, lizards, and toads. The trails are certainly used by nocturnal mammals, too, and they leave their, um, calling cards along the way. A pile of scat can be as attractive as a bouquet of flowers, though, as this pair of Mexican Bluewing butterflies attests.

Despite our arrival during the “off season,” the park had no shortage of things to offer and I encourage folks to pay a visit whenever they can. Amenities include eight miles of walking trails, and four wood platforms that each overlook a section of the four-mile Resaca. Watch for active oriole nests (in June at least). Keep an eye out for the large but shy Plain Chachalaca.

You’re likely to hear them more often than you see them. You might also be treated to a display from a Yellow-Crowned Night-Heron.

Many thanks again to Katherine for going out of her way for us (she even escorted us on a night hike). You will never get so much out of a $4.00 admission to anything. Note that your comfort will hinge a great deal on keeping well hydrated, tolerating annoying insects like eye gnats, and repelling chiggers with sulphur or another treatment.

Save the Scenic Santa Ritas

While enduring delays at the Houston airport on my way back to Tucson from south Texas on June 8, I had the good fortune to strike up a conversation with Joan Williams, who lives near Sonoita, Arizona. She is a mover and shaker in a grassroots effort to prevent a new mine from sprouting up in the very scenic Santa Rita Mountains. She convinced me to take action, and I urge you to do the same.

Southern Arizona is already studded with mines, and/or the scars left in their aftermath, and this one, proposed by Augusta Resource Corporation (a Canadian entity) and its subsidiary Rosemont Copper Company, would be a real eyesore and an environmental mess. It is certainly not an industry compatible with the ranching lifestyle currently enjoyed by residents of Santa Cruz County, or the eco-tourism industry. I can just imagine the next tour operator pointing out a bird sitting “right over there on that pile of tailings.”

The root of this current mess of public hearings, environmental impact statements, and other bureaucratic appeasement is the antiquated General Mining Law of 1872. As unimaginable as it seems, the price of staking a claim has not changed one cent since that date. You can still stake a claim for $2.50 to $5.00 an acre. Our current federal officials are loathe to impede corporate mining interests and have not acted to even reflect current prices for metals extracted from claims.

So, we are left to fight mining claims on a case-by-case basis, with little help from government. Enter Save the Scenic Santa Ritas and the Hilton Ranch Road Community Organization, both devoted to blocking the proposed mine. The groups have succeeded in mobilizing a large contingent of local residents, citizen activists, scientists, and other stakeholders. Victories have thus far amounted to delaying the endorsement of the mine through normal bureaucratic channels. This is a pretty mean feat considering the tactics of the opposition, which have included buying up domain names likely to be used by groups opposing the mine. Such “greenwashing” has become the norm for public relations by the natural resource extraction industry. Fortunately, you can’t fool all the people all of the time, and more and more citizens are waking up every day.

Please consider making a difference through public comments, support of Save the Scenic Santa Ritas, and other approaches. Paraphrasing a popular legal quote, “A threat to the natural environment anywhere is a threat to the natural environment everywhere.” It is true. How can we expect other nations to clean up their act when we refuse to clean up our own? Thank you.

Bentsen Rio Grande Valley State Park

I recently returned from a vacation (being currently unemployed the term “vacation” seems inappropriate, but…) to the southern tip of Texas where I met up with two other amateur entomologists (the quality of their studies makes “amateur” seem inappropriate, too). One of our destinations was the Bentsen Rio Grande Valley State Park in Mission, Texas. I will now indulge you in a rave review of this amazing piece of real estate.

Be advised, our party was there in the first week of June, clearly the “off season” for park visitors. Expect heavy crowds during the “wet season” and fall migrations in September and October.

There is plenty to see in late spring and early summer, however, including lots of birds like this Groove-billed Ani, Crotophaga sulcirostris, one of a pair that was nesting right at the visitor’s center. After imaging the bird, I noticed a sand wasp in the genus Bicyrtes that was digging a burrow at my feet. I hardly knew where to point my camera the whole time I was there.

The visitor’s center is just the tip of the iceberg. The bulk of the park is located across a canal. The road is closed at the canal and Border Patrol habitually stakes a vehicle at this post. A tram, towed behind a pick-up truck, transports park visitors through the park, which is otherwise closed to vehicular traffic. One may then hike on trails that start at the various tram stops.

Wildlife feeding stations are placed at various points, equipped in some cases with “blinds” consisting of walls with holes for your camera or binoculars. While birds were not particularly abundant when I looked, the oriole feeders with orange halves were overwhelmed with emperor butterflies, genus Asterocampa.

Bentsen Rio Grande Valley State Park is named after the Bentsen brothers of political fame who donated the 760 acre parcel to the state, largely in exchange for lands they developed elsewhere. The park, which opened in 1965, is also the headquarters of the World Birding Center.

Expect to see an abundance and diversity of butterflies, dragonflies, and damselflies as well as birds when you visit the park. There are also reptiles, like this Great Plains Rat Snake, Elaphe guttata emoryi that I encountered one night near the visitor center. Western diamondback rattlesnakes, Crotalus atrox, also occur in the park, so do pay attention to where you are walking.

The highlight of my recent visit (and there will be many more if I have my way) was, without a doubt, spying this bobcat sitting on the wall at the entrance to the park after an afternoon thunderstorm had subsided. Do visit yourself and make your own memories at this jewel in the Texas state park system.

Sweetwater Wetlands

One of the most reliable places in Tucson to find wildlife is Sweetwater Wetlands. Indeed, it is a very popular spot for “birders,” and a destination for countless school groups who come to learn about the ecology of wetlands in an otherwise very arid environment.

Besides being a Mecca for birds, mammals, reptiles and insects, Sweetwater Wetlands is an integral part of the nearby sewage treatment facility. Effluent from the traditional treatment facility is channeled into a series of ponds where the treated water then percolates back into the underlying aquifer. This natural filtration further cleanses the water and it is then “reclaimed” when it is withdrawn again for use in irrigation, mostly of golf courses and the landscaping of business parks.

I have to admit I am ambivalent about the extensive signage warning not to drink the reclaimed water (presumably aimed at our homeless population) while there is nary a public drinking fountain to be found in the city of Tucson. “Irony” does not do justice to this situation. Maybe I just got spoiled growing up in Portland, Oregon where there is a public fountain on nearly every corner downtown.

Back to the wetlands. There is plenty of interpretive signage along the several trails that course between the ponds; and also at the wildlife viewing areas that take the form of small peninsulas extending into some of the ponds. Benches offer places to rest, drink, and snack as well as wait for birds to come to you. An average visit may yield such birds as the Common Moorhen, or a blue-billed male Ruddy Duck.

Lizards, mostly Desert Spiny lizards and whiptails, scatter in every direction at your approach, one seemingly every couple of feet. There are Greater Roadrunners in the area, but they seem to hardly make a dent in the herp populations. One can only wish for some predator to eat the non-native Bullfrogs that have come to call this place home. You can hear the “Jug-a-rum” call of the males at nearly any time of day.

I come here for insects and spiders, too, of course, and am rarely disappointed. Though this year has been sparse for most insects, I can always count on seeing Blue-eyed Darners, Rhionaeschna multicolor, like the female above that I found on my last visit. Also present in abundance are the Blue Dasher, Pachydiplax longipennis, and the Mexican Amberwing, Perithemis intense. I have also seen the Flame Skimmer, Libellula saturata, and a Roseate Skimmer, Orthemis ferruginea, this year.

The wetlands are torched nearly every year, a prescribed burn charring some parts of the area annually. It does not seem to adversely impact the animals, and in fact the scorching of the willows and cottonwoods sometimes makes them more of an attraction to insects and nesting and feeding birds. I recently found a giant crab spider (genus Olios) under a burnt strip of bark on a willow.

Do make a point of visiting this little gem the next time you are in Tucson. It is especially spectacular during waterfowl migrations, but any time of year is likely to reward you with a great “urban nature” experience.

Agua Caliente

One of my favorite parks in the greater Tucson area of Arizona is Roy P. Drachman Agua Caliente Regional Park, located at 12325 E. Roger Road. It is a Pima County park with a unique history and diverse, surprising habitats full of wildlife.

The park is not accessible by public transportation, but I’ve been fortunate enough to visit on several occasions, courtesy of friends who also enjoy the place. The Tucson chapter of the National Audubon Society operates a small nature store there, and there is a visitor center with an art gallery, too. The Rose Cottage serves as a classroom for nature programs and environmental education. Always open are the restrooms and outdoor picnic tables (with grills) on a large lawn studded with palm and eucalyptus trees.

The main feature of the park is a series of three ponds, linked by an artificial stream fed by a natural warm spring. The scarcity of permanent water elsewhere has made this a Mecca for people, and the human history of the park goes back over 5,000 years, including a Hohokam village, circa 1150 AD, that extended into the property now included in the park. A cattle ranch and orchard sprung up around the spring in 1875. Some historical buildings have been preserved and interpreted in the park, including a bunkhouse from the 1920s, when various owners ran ranches and resort spas at the site, touting the health benefits of the mineral-rich waters. The 101 acre park as it is known today opened in January, 1985, after a donation of $200,000 by local businessman Roy P. Drachman allowed for purchase of the property by the County.

Wildlife benefits from protection here, too, and birdwatchers flock to see such winged wonders as the green heron (shown above) and fledgling great horned owls.

A network of well-groomed trails meanders through a mesquite bosque and other Sonoran Desert habitats. There are interpretive signs and benches along several stretches of the trails, and all the paths are relatively short and easily walked.

Be on the lookout for herps and mammals underfoot. Reptiles such as this horned lizard (Phrynosoma sp.) are quite cryptic, and hard to spot until they move. Stand quietly along the shore of the main pond and you might be surprised by a Botta’s Pocket Gopher, Thomomys bottae, poking its head above ground.

The emergent vegetation in the ponds themselves provides perches for a wide variety of damselflies, and dragonflies like the Red Saddlebags, Tramea onusta, shown at the bottom of this page.

The park’s official website is here, and an outstanding photographic portrait of the park is presented here by Dan Conway. I highly recommend making a point of seeing the place for yourself, though, next time you are in Tucson.

Remembering Mount St. Helens

Today (okay, yesterday, I’m always behind in this kind of thing) marks the 30th anniversary of the major eruption of Mount St. Helens in Washington state. I remember May 18, 1980 vividly, and I recall the mountain before and after that day, too.

It was a Saturday, and I woke up late at my fraternity house in Corvallis, Oregon. As I approached the breakfast table a fellow Delta Chi asked if I’d heard that “Mount St. Helens has been going [off] all day.” A major eruption had been expected for some time, since flurries of minor earthquakes and steam and ash plumes had riveted the attention of geologists, politicians, and emergency personnel months earlier.

Everyone in the frat house was gathered in the television room of our house mom, with their jaws on the floor. No wonder. The aerial footage of the ongoing cataclysm was mind-boggling. What I recall most is seeing an entire forest, or what used to be a forest, barreling downstream on the Tuttle River, which had become a wall of water, mud, and volcanic ash. It looked like the Devil had thrown everything into the Blender From Hell.

Later, we learned of just how immense the event was, and how widespread the damage. The ash cloud had blown east, plunging Spokane, Washington into total darkness at midday, and threatening to suffocate anyone who ventured outside. The “blast zone” was marked by trees mowed over like….well, it defies words.

Seventy-one people perished in this nature-gone-nuclear event, most still officially “missing” because recovery was just impossible. One individual, reporter Dave Crockett of KOMO TV in Seattle, miraculously escaped death, but he couldn’t believe it himself. “At this moment,” he huffed and puffed from the ash-thickened air, “I honest to God believe I’m dead.” The images from his video camera actually seemed to verify that conclusion. A dim, distant light in an otherwise totally black screen suggested that characteristic “tunnel” that those who have near-death experiences report on the other side of their ordeal.

The aftermath of the eruption was felt throughout the Pacific Northwest. Volcanic ash, which amounts to pulverized glass, fell everywhere; and prompted outdoor workers to don filter masks throughout the summer when diminished rainfall let the dust become airborne once again. I had to do that myself, working the summer installing office furniture.

The show was not over, either. The mountain spouted off again in the late afternoon of July 22, 1980. While the May 18 event had been shrouded in the usual overcast skies, the July display was visible for miles. Rush hour traffic came to a standstill as motorists gawked in amazement at the mushroom cloud over the summit (now nearly 2,000 feet lower in elevation than before the May 18 eruption). Indeed, I was in the car with my mother and stepfather, and we decided we’d dash up I-5 for a better look (Mt. St. Helens is roughly fifty miles North-Northeast of Portland).

Beyond the horrors of the natural disaster, the chronicling of the story introduced us all to a myriad of human characters, like the cantankerous Harry Truman, resident of Spirit Lake, who refused to obey evacuation orders prior to the eruption. The story educated us by explaining terms like “pyroclastic flow” and “lava dome.” To this day the mountain landscape demonstrates the resilience of nature, even after it is quite literally paved over. It also inspired artists and writers. I wrote this poem sometime after May 18, 1980:

The Last Day of Mount St. Helens

Peaceful sloping hill in May
With somber tones of brown and gray
That do not fortell
Of disaster yet to come this day.
Eight twenty-nine and all is well,
Then gentle, sleeping mountainside
Comes unglued in massive slide.
A giant terrestrial tidal wave
Lays seventy-one in an ashen grave.
Sandy taste and sulfur smell
Hands each of us a piece of Hell.

I sometimes still prefer to remember Mount St. Helens from a trip to the “Ape Caves” led by my high school biology teacher, Karen Wallace, one Saturday in 1978(?). It was still the familiar “ice cream cone” summit back then, still a forested wilderness. There is no going back now, of course, and I have to wonder how many people get to witness a volcanic eruption in their lifetime. Geologic events generally happen on a geologic time scale, and one has to appreciate the natural and historical elements of such phenomena.

I am very interested to hear about your memories of that monumental day, or your memories of the mountain in general. Please share them here.