Mike in the Wild

It's been a long time since I've seen a western screech owl: six years, by my rough record-keeping.  So I was delighted to recently witness one in my Phoenix backyard after only a few days back in town following my long summer stay in Prescott.   The last time I wrote about this small owl species, I had just seen one roosting during the day at the Desert Botanical Garden.  It was the second time I had seen one there, and the third time ever.  The first was actually in an adjacent community to mine in Phoenix, when I watched an owl over the course of several days as it basked in a winter's early morning light from a perch in the hollow of a saguaro cactus.   Over the next six years, I occasionally heard the western screech owl's bouncing-ball hoots during winter nights in the desert.  However I was much more apt to hear the deep calls of a great horned owl, which I was also more likely to see on my sunrise runs.  Last week for the first time since the spring, I had turne

There's no more enchanting sound in nature than the nighttime hooting of great horned owls.  And most of us living in North America are fortunate to hear them, as the birds dwell almost everywhere on the continent.  However I was recently surprised to discover that the shrieking skeeeets  I was hearing nightly this summer in Prescott were also the vocalizations of these beautiful birds.  In fact I met the two screamers early in the season, just as monsoon clouds started gathering for the first time on a humid evening shortly before sunset.  I had hiked to a neighborhood trailhead that leads into Prescott National Forest to get a better view of the menacing skies from a higher vantage point.   Intimidating flashes of lighting and bursts of thunder emanating from dark clouds eventually cut my walk short.  But just before I left the trail, two caterwauling birds drew my attention.   I quicky spotted them roosting atop adjacent juniper trees near homes lining the forest border.  The bi

Many, many years ago, when I was young, I spent countless summer days down the Jersey Shore.  Sand, sun, surf, and boardwalk arcades, all enjoyed with family and friends, were my carefree interests.  The numerous sea gulls, crabs, and, especially, the jelly fish were an irritating distraction.  Almost forty years later, I found myself a short distance across the Delaware Bay from New Jersey, in Rehoboth Beach for the very first time.  While the beach fun was still a big draw, I spent a lot of time focused on the coastal wildlife, including even the gulls and crabs I used to eschew.  My sister's favorite New Jersey beach story is the time a sea gull grabbed a bagel sandwich from her hand.  If she were to recount that tale today, I might ask here exactly what species of gull stole her breakfast.  In Delaware, the most common gull was a black-headed variety, very likely a laughing gull.  They teemed around the picnickers the day I visited Whiskey Beach in Cape Henlopen State Park, re

I've hiked into the Grand Canyon several times since I moved to Arizona in 1988.  The last two times were into the canyon proper but actually outside the National Park, on Havasupai Trail which lies within the adjacent Havasupai Indian Reservation.  And the first time was down Hermit Trail which does lie in the Park.  Those three hikes were memorable for the fact that I also backpacked so that I could camp overnight, thus avoiding an exhausting climb out the same day I descended.  They were also quite notable because they happened more than thirty years ago.  Last month I finally descended again, albeit on a much shorter and far easier trek. From the South Rim in Grand Canyon National Park there are four public trails that lead hikers into the canyon.  They all eventually reach the Colorado River, a force that started carving the majestic landscape over sixty million years ago.  Two of the trails, Hermit and Bright Angel, follow pathways originally tread by Native Americans long be

I recently visited for the first time the two National Parks near Moab, Utah: Canyonlands and Arches.  Maybe due to the heat - it was almost 100 degrees F - or possibly the long time it took driving there earlier that day from Durango, I was disappointed on my initial visit to Arches.   Undeniably, the namesake sandstone formations were beautiful.  And so was the isolated desert setting in view of snow-capped mountains.  But my first stop in the park was at a site described as Fallen Arches, where a drawing reimagined the vista.  Instead of gazing at the two distant red-rock mountains, the viewer was invited to imagine a time when the formations were connected via two towering arches.  My immediate thought was that the park was originally created because of this no-longer-existing Natural Wonder of the World.  Due to some unfortunate event since the park's founding one hundred years ago, like an earthquake, visitors would have to settle on witnessing the many yet smaller and less i

With enough time in Durango for only one short, late-afternoon hike, I decided on the Colorado Trail.  Of course I realized I wouldn't be hiking the entire 567 miles to Denver.  I wouldn't even be completing a segment, of which there are thirty-three.  In fact, I would only be traversing a short distance along Segment 28, the very last stretch of the Colorado Trail when you start in Denver.  The segment extends 21.5 miles from Kennebec Trailhead to Junction Creek Trailhead, my starting point.   I originally hoped to reach Gudy's Rest, a stop along the trail that offers a panoramic view of Durango and the surrounding San Juan Range of the Rocky Mountains.  However the four-and-a-half miles was a little longer than I had the time or energy for, so I turned around after three miles, at the bridge that crosses Junction Creek in an idyllic and restful setting.  In fact, that's the way I would describe most of the hike's peaceful landscape.   If my path wasn't in view