My World: Flagstaff, AZ

Gandy Dancer Sculpture by Clyde "Ross" Morgan October 21, 2000

Photo by Kathie Brown 12-14-08 Nikon D80 18-70mm lens.

(Click on any photo to enlarge for the best view.)

As the train pulled out of the station on December 14th, taking mom back to New England the cold light of a snowy dawn illuminates the sky. The Amtrak train rumbles past the sculpture of "The Gandy Dancer," a tribute to the men who built these tracks so long ago. Beneath the sculpture a plaque tells me that these men were called Gandy Dancers because they sang songs to keep the rhythm as they worked the rails and built the tracks with tools manufactured by the Gandy Tool Company. Beside being a stop on the railroad line, Flagstaff is also home to Northern Arizona Universty, as well as being the gateway to the Grand Canyon, one of America's most popular National Parks. I have yet to visit there myself, though I have driven past numerous times and we are so close now...but the day is cold and the drive home is long.

So, we pull out of the train station to head back to the La Quinta Inn where we hope to catch a few more winks of sleep before the long ride back to Tucson and warmth. As we head south on South Milton Road, the main road towards our hotel, Gus and I are looking around us at the snow covered town. We are lost in conversation and before we know it, we miss the turn. Normally, this would not be a big deal, but in Flagstaff the main road becomes interstate 17 as you head south. We soon find ourselves on a divided highway with all of our stuff and our poor little dog back at the hotel and no way to turn around! I start to panic as the roads are bad and the snow too deep to cross the median. I have no idea how far south we will have to travel before we finally find an exit but, just a few miles down the road we spot one.

We get off the highway and cross over the interstate to the north-bound on-ramp. As we do, the panorama of the San Francisco Peaks comes into view bathed in the soft light of dawn. My panic subsides with the beauty before me. We would have missed this if we had not missed our turn. A soft gray cloud hovers over snow-capped Humphrey's Peak, the highest point in Arizona with an elevation of 12,633 feet.

We are soon back at our hotel as the morning clouds blush in the first light of day. We grab some breakfast in the lobby and head up to our room. I read for a bit as Gus drifts off to sleep. All the while the birding itch grows more intense. Finally, I can stand it no longer. I bundle up and head outside to see what birds I can find around the parking lot.

The sun brightened sky does nothing for the temperature, which hovers around 20 degrees F. Though I walk the perimeter of the parking lot, all I find are crows and ravens trying to find some warmth in the sun. Though crows are common across most of the United States, we don't have them down in Tucson. These are the first crows I have counted in Arizona. I count 12 in the immediate area.



Later on when Gus is up we pack up the car and check out. Gus promised me we could spend a little time birding while we are here, so, he humors me by driving around town as I try to find more birds to count. It appears the birds are smarter than I am, for I can't find anything other than crows and ravens. Finally, we stop at Thorpe Park on the west side of town, where I find this lone white-breasted nuthatch scooting down the bark of a pine tree. It's nearly noon now and I admit defeat. There will be no more bird watching in Flagstaff today for me.

Standing in the snow amongst the towering pines these tree bones laugh at me in their nakedness while I am bundled in coat, hat, and gloves...

...And Gus calls his folks in Maine and tries to convince them he really is standing in snow. Then, it's into the car as we head south back down the same highway that has now melted off with the peaks of the San Francisco Range in our rear view mirror and the hope of warm temperatures ahead.



Other Flagstaff Attractions:

Lowell Observatory

Riordan Mansion

Coconino National Forest

Sunset Crater National Monument

Wupatki National Monument

Grand Canyon National Park

My World: Agua Caliente Park

Agua Caliente Park in Tucson, AZ

It’s the middle of November and I have the day to myself. I drop Gus at the airport for a business trip in the morning, then do a few errands before buying myself a subway sandwich and heading to Agua Caliente Park on the northeast side of town. A warm lazy sunshine greets me as I enter the park off Roger’s road.

I immediately start scanning the area for birds, wondering who has arrived here for the winter. As the road curves around the perimeter of the park I look towards a certain corner where I always see a road runner. Sure enough it is there. I put on the brakes and roll down my window to get a better view of this desert dinosaur-like bird. The prehistoric looking creature cocks its tail and lifts its head to get a better look at me. We stare at each other for unspoken moments, then it turns, drops its tail and head while elongating its body and slinks away into the brush.

I continue on my way past the row of palm trees on my left and the scrubby desert on the right to the parking lot. After parking the car I grab all my birding gear and my lunch and head for a picnic table in the shade of the palms that grow along the stream. The shallow stream flows from the original spring for which Agua Caliente is named. It flows slow and lazily out to a reservoir providing a home to waterfowl, turtles and fish. Soras and blackbirds seek shelter in the reeds. Ducks and turtles live in the water and on the tiny island near the eastern edge. Agua Caliente is a true desert oasis providing shelter for body and spirit.

In the cool, dark shade of the palm trees I gaze through the frame of palm fronds to the sunny desert beyond. I can see the spot where the roadrunner was, but the bird itself has vanished. In the slow and shallow nearby creek a few mallards and a widgeon paddle and wade, ruffling their feathers, or drifting lazily with the slow current. Palm trees and palm leaves are still so foreign to me. The shade they cast is different and darker than the shade of a maple tree or a mesquite. I always feel like I am in some exotic place when I come here. While I eat my sandwich I search the surrounding area for birds, but I only see the ducks at this time of day. All the smaller birds are hiding from the afternoon sun. I walk back to my vehicle to return the remnants of my lunch. Now it’s time to get down to some serious birding.

Along the paved path a tiny bird flits about from tree to tree. When I see its lemony rump I know I am seeing a yellow-rumped warbler, my first for this fall. Overhead the towering date palms are loaded with their apricot-colored fruit. Gila woodpeckers squawk nosily in their branches as they compete for it. I wander across the open lawn area of the park and cross a little bridge to the south side of the pond near the reeds. I’m looking for something beside the numerous widgeons and mallards floating in the water. Far across the pond I see a ring-necked duck, but here near the shore I only see turtles bobbing.

I gaze across the sky-blue water at one of my favorite views. Here in bold colors I see the incongruity of palms and mountains reflected in the water’s mirror. Then, from the cattails the whinny of a sora fills the air.

A little song sparrows hops out of the reeds to investigate me and the sound. Its eyes are wide with curiosity. We watch each other for a bit, then I head on my way.

My path takes me along the edge of the water where ducks are settling down for their afternoon nap. A few of the numerous turtles decide to join them and I laugh at these odd companions snoozing on the island’s shore. I wander past the old ranch house that is now a museum and Audubon gift shop.

At the eastern edge of the house stands an old mesquite, rumored to be the oldest one in the Tucson area. Its many heavy branches are supported by brick columns and steel poles to preserve the tree for as long as possible. Frequently I can find warblers, wrens, or Verdin here, but today all I see is a rock squirrel scurrying for its hole. It freezes at the underground opening, hoping I do not see it, but I do, and I snap it’s portrait, before moving on. When I look away, it disappears.

Today only a few people are here in the park. I relish the solitude as I meander at will. I find a verdin busy in the branches of a nearby tree, and watch as it searches for insects among the tiny leaves.

A familiar silhouette on the bare branch of a Eucalyptus tree catches my eye. I walk ever closer to confirm its identity as a Cooper’s hawk. The towering tree elevates the bird far above my head. It has no fear of me as I walk slowly beneath it, then wander off towards the mesquite bosque.

A bosque is a Spanish term for a thicket or wooded area. Here the paved trail squeezes between the north end of the pond with its palm trees, willows and reeds, and the cottonwoods, eucalyptus trees and mesquite on the other side. In this narrow wooded fringe I have found brown creepers before. And this is where I have seen towhees, vireos, warblers and other woodland birds. Though the area is small in size it is rich with birds at times. The path before me is a tunnel through the mesquite. I have seen a hermit thrush in here before, but today the thicket is quiet and empty.

Most of the trees are shedding their tiny leaves for the winter, but scattered among them are cholla cacti and even a few barrel cactus. Then I spot a baby saguaro beneath a nurse tree. At only 12-15 inches high it’s already 15 years old. Saguaros have to grow in the shade of a nurse tree to be protected from sunlight and from being trampled. It takes a long time for them to get established and even longer to gain height. By the time you see the many armed saguaros that are the familiar backdrop of westerns, you are looking at a “tree” that is over 100 years old!

Bright white sunlight blasts my eyes as I emerge for the bosque into the desert beyond. The cacti are more numerous here along with other typical desert scrub. Desert grasses have turned gold and brown in this dry season. Agua Caliente Lake is white and empty, its surface cracked and baked, its shadows blue and long. Along the circular path the blue-black males and gray female Phainopeplas call from the surrounding trees and bushes, their eyes red as the berries they eat.

A rufous-winged sparrow flies up on a stag-horn cholla to check me out. I spot its two dark whisker marks and its rufous epaulets, for which it is named. This tiny sparrow is a fragile resident of this area. Southeast Arizona is the only place in the United States to see this little sparrow. Even over the border into Mexico it does not inhabit a large area. Loss of habitat here could doom it to extinction.

The path around the dry lake is a silver thread of compressed caliche. Though I have never seen this area flooded with water, apparently sometimes it is. The few palm trees that dot the lake look like island women in grass skirts ready to dance in the slightest breeze. It is mostly still today as I round the bend and head back towards the desert oasis. I have wondered aimlessly for well over 2 hours. In that amount of time the sun has sunk casting longer and bluer shadows.

Alongside the trail this heap of earth is carved by rain into a sculptured mound. I find it pleasing to look at. I’m intrigued by its geography and topography. What are you made of? Why are you here? What forces shaped you into this silvery beauty. Are you something dying, or growing? Or are you a reflection of my soul?

The cackling of cactus wrens shakes me from my reverie. I put my feet on the silvery path until I reach the pavement once again. Passing through the mesquite tunnel, along the water’s edge the turtles sunning on an emerged log act bored with my existence. They tilt their serpentine heads upwards to soak in the last warm rays of sun.

The croaking call of a common raven catches my ear as I leave the cool tunnel of trees and enter the open area of the ranch lawn. I turn to see the Cooper’s hawk still sitting on its bare branch silhouetted against the late afternoon desert sky. Below it on another branch the large black raven croaks and calls and twists and turns its head, taunting the bird above him.



Irritated, the Cooper’s tries to ignore the rascal beneath,

but suddenly another raven flies in to join the fun and when I look again, the Cooper’s Hawk is gone and only ravens laugh in the waning light.


Visit MY WORLD Tuesday to continue your tour around the globe.

Birds seen Today at Agua Caliente Park:

Location: Agua Caliente Park, Tucson
Observation date: 11/19/08
Notes: Sunny, warm, bright day. The Cooper's hawk was sitting on the branch of a Eucalyptus tree for at least an hour until 2 ravens came along and chased it away. The blackbirds were seen at the end of the day as I was leaving. They were diving in and out of the reeds and rushes.
Number of species: 25

1. American Wigeon 49
2. Mallard 73
3. Ring-necked Duck 2
4. Cooper's Hawk 1
5. Sora 1
6. American Coot 5
7. Mourning Dove 1
8. Greater Roadrunner 1
9. Anna's Hummingbird 1
10. Gila Woodpecker 12
11. Black Phoebe 1
12. Common Raven 4
13. Verdin 10
14. Cactus Wren 4
15. Northern Mockingbird 1
16. Curve-billed Thrasher 2
17. Phainopepla 11
18. Yellow-rumped Warbler 5
19. Rufous-winged Sparrow 6
20. Chipping Sparrow 1
21. Song Sparrow 3
22. Yellow-headed Blackbird 2
23. Great-tailed Grackle 12
24. House Finch 3
25. Lesser Goldfinch 2

Photographer's Notes: All of today's photos are by Kathie taken with the Nikon D80 and the 70-300mm lens set either in Sports Mode or Programmed Auto for landscapes.

Skywatch Friday: Raven Chasing Redtail Hawk

A Raven chases a Red-tailed Hawk in the sky over Rio Rico, AZ on September 14, 2008.

(click on photos to enlarge for best view)

Notice the relative size of the two birds. The Raven is almost as large as the Red-tailed hawk.

Notice the dark leading edge to the wings of the red-tail. While Red-tailed hawks can have many different color morphs, only red-tails have this. It is known as a "field mark." It is one of the first things I look for when I see a hawk soaring above. Notice how the flight feathers look like "fingers" on the raven.

Look how the birds mirror each other in flight.

Red-tail Hawk: Length 19" wingspan 50" and Common Raven: Length 24" wingspan 53" or Chihuahuan Raven: Length 19.5" wingspan 44"

Common Ravens are usually in mountainous areas and Chihuahuan Ravens in more arid grasslands and brushlands. We were in the San Cayentano Mountains near the Mexican border. The terrain is arid brushlands and grasslands. There were other ravens perched on the utility lines, but only this one raven decided to harass the hawk.

I like this shot of the raven diving feet first at the hawk.

So, what do you think: A Common Raven or a Chihuahuan Raven? I don't think the hawk cares which species it is, it just wants to be left alone!


Click on the link to view more Skywatch Friday photos.

Visit Kathie's Poet Tree to see Idaho Autumn

Photographer's note: All of today's photos were taken by Kathie using the Nikon D80 with the 70-300mm lens set in sports mode. The photos were cropped and enlarged. Most of them were sharpened slightly. One or two were automatically enhanced.

Black Death on the Wing

The hot, sunny days of dry summer are upon us here in Arizona. It reached 100 degrees yesterday and we are going for it again today. A steady light and dry wind is blowing outside while I am sitting at my computer working on a new Blogpost about a drive Gus and I took this weekend through Box Canyon. Suddenly I hear a noise out the window. I look up through the still closed plantation shutters to see a hug dark bird perched on the block wall near my birdbath and feeders. I stand up to get a better view and I am amazed to see a common raven pinning a just killed mourning dove to the top of the wall. The Raven stands over the bird, his huge black beak gaping, and proceeds to rip soft gray feathers from the hopefully dead bird.

I stand here agog, my own mouth gaping, for I have never seen a raven kill any live animal before. I suppose I could have read about this somewhere, but to witness it first hand is amazing and startling. I look to my desk where my Nikon D80 lies. I carefully pick it up, turn it on, and then stop. How will I focus on the bird through the shutters. I now curse myself for not folding them back earlier as I usually do. I know if I creep closer to the blinds and try to insert my lens through the slats, the bird will see me and flee. I start to focus between the slats from a distance and just as I get the bird in focus, it sees me and flies off.

I’m berating myself for a lost opportunity, when I realize it may have just flown to a nearby rooftop to finish its meal. A quick glance out the front window reveals the raven devouring the mourning dove atop my neighbor’s roof. Quietly I open the front door. I have my camera set on sports mode and I fully extend the zoom before raising the camera to snap off a photo. Click. I get this shot. Can you see the feathers hanging from the beak and drifting down off the corner of the building?

I take a step closer and click again. The raven continues to rip apart the dove.

Finally, I get even closer and it spies me. The black killer grabs what’s left of the mourning dove and flies to a more private location to finish its meal with sunlight glinting off the poor bird’s dead feet.