The metronome of chirping crickets are a close second to an owl's hoots as the most calming notes in an Arizona night's soundscape. But every once in a while, this dreamy peace is broken by the din of coyotes in a seemingly frantic pursuit of prey.
This noise is not the long and mournful howl we associate with wolves and westerns, but a cacophony of yips and yowls that make you think a pack of ten canines are terrifying their unlucky prey. But experts say this vocalization is often just one or two coyotes fooling their victim into thinking he's greatly outnumbered.
So it's not surprising that in the folktales of some Native Americans, especially in the southwestern United States, the coyote often portrays a trickster or some other kind of deceiver. In the canine's historic range of what is now mainly Mexico and the deserts and plains of the United States and Canada, he is the most common predator for herds of cattle and other livestock. The dramatic reduction in the range of his closest relative and competitor, the wolf, has given the coyote a chance to expand this mischief all over the North American continent.
Even with hunting and trapping that reduces predation, the coyote is still quite common throughout the towns and countryside of Arizona. I've seen three or four in a pack while on my morning jogs through Phoenix golf courses and I've observed lone individuals sauntering along the same roads I drive. Since they travel man-made thoroughfares so regularly, they frequently join javelinas, raccoons and skunks as roadkill.
So you'd think I'd have quite the library of coyote photographs since I've spent so many days outdoors and on popular birding trails across Arizona. Well I got close when I saw one last winter in Prescott, along a quiet road in my neighborhood as I was driving home from town. A large, furry individual looking impressively wolf-like crossed safely in front of my car. Since I had my camera on the back seat, I followed the canine's path up a lonely drive.
Unfortunately as soon as I turned on to this unfamiliar road I lost sight of him. And since the owners of this clearly-marked private property might have their gun as handy as I had my zoom lens, I decided to quickly back out. I immediately clipped my rear bumper on a steel gate that materialized out of nowhere, leaving me with a thousand dollar repair bill instead of my first photograph of a coyote. So this is what the Indians meant by a trickster.
More recently, while I sipped a morning cup of coffee and checked news headlines on my iPad, a coyote walked right down my street in full view from the deck where I was sitting. He looked so comfortably at home in my neighborhood that at first I thought he was a local dog enjoying his own morning rituals. As he crossed my driveway's entry and proceeded up the street, I expected to see his owner following behind, likewise tethered to the end of a leash. But no one followed and the master of illusion vanished into the wooded landscape.
But just this past weekend luck was finally on my side. I like to regularly check out a small bridge over Willow Creek, where the waterway feeds a high canopy of deciduous trees, creating ideal habitat for lots of migratory songbirds. Recently I saw a male blue grosbeak in a tall treetop and that very individual was on my mind when I returned to this corner of my Prescott neighborhood on Sunday morning.
As the creek gurgled I spotted a pair of black phoebes, the ever-present flycatchers that call the area a year-round home. But in addition to the sound of the water, I heard the rustle of grass and reeds just in front of me. I've seen squirrels in that exact area, but a quick glance down showed it was actually a lone coyote, nonchalantly walking downstream and under the bridge.
Thinking it must have seen me and would probably hide fearfully until I was gone, I thought for a second about spying my lens back on the flycatchers. But then I decided to walk over to the other railing and see if the coyote would reappear on its happy way down river. In fact it did soon exit the wet underpass right where I predicted, giving me a chance to snap my first coyote photographs from a remarkably close distance.
I don't think it immediately saw or sensed me. Only after a brief pause and sniff in the sunlight did he glance at me, an alert that triggered him to spring a few feet to a more secure distance downstream. Maybe I had actually surprised him.
He then trotted a few dozen feet further away, deeper into some grass and bushes, and turned around to look at me for a short moment. Were his golden eyes showing respect, embarrassingly acknowledging my catching him in my own deceitful moment? That just might be the very thing a trickster would want a fool to believe.
This noise is not the long and mournful howl we associate with wolves and westerns, but a cacophony of yips and yowls that make you think a pack of ten canines are terrifying their unlucky prey. But experts say this vocalization is often just one or two coyotes fooling their victim into thinking he's greatly outnumbered.
So it's not surprising that in the folktales of some Native Americans, especially in the southwestern United States, the coyote often portrays a trickster or some other kind of deceiver. In the canine's historic range of what is now mainly Mexico and the deserts and plains of the United States and Canada, he is the most common predator for herds of cattle and other livestock. The dramatic reduction in the range of his closest relative and competitor, the wolf, has given the coyote a chance to expand this mischief all over the North American continent.
Even with hunting and trapping that reduces predation, the coyote is still quite common throughout the towns and countryside of Arizona. I've seen three or four in a pack while on my morning jogs through Phoenix golf courses and I've observed lone individuals sauntering along the same roads I drive. Since they travel man-made thoroughfares so regularly, they frequently join javelinas, raccoons and skunks as roadkill.
So you'd think I'd have quite the library of coyote photographs since I've spent so many days outdoors and on popular birding trails across Arizona. Well I got close when I saw one last winter in Prescott, along a quiet road in my neighborhood as I was driving home from town. A large, furry individual looking impressively wolf-like crossed safely in front of my car. Since I had my camera on the back seat, I followed the canine's path up a lonely drive.
Unfortunately as soon as I turned on to this unfamiliar road I lost sight of him. And since the owners of this clearly-marked private property might have their gun as handy as I had my zoom lens, I decided to quickly back out. I immediately clipped my rear bumper on a steel gate that materialized out of nowhere, leaving me with a thousand dollar repair bill instead of my first photograph of a coyote. So this is what the Indians meant by a trickster.
More recently, while I sipped a morning cup of coffee and checked news headlines on my iPad, a coyote walked right down my street in full view from the deck where I was sitting. He looked so comfortably at home in my neighborhood that at first I thought he was a local dog enjoying his own morning rituals. As he crossed my driveway's entry and proceeded up the street, I expected to see his owner following behind, likewise tethered to the end of a leash. But no one followed and the master of illusion vanished into the wooded landscape.
But just this past weekend luck was finally on my side. I like to regularly check out a small bridge over Willow Creek, where the waterway feeds a high canopy of deciduous trees, creating ideal habitat for lots of migratory songbirds. Recently I saw a male blue grosbeak in a tall treetop and that very individual was on my mind when I returned to this corner of my Prescott neighborhood on Sunday morning.
As the creek gurgled I spotted a pair of black phoebes, the ever-present flycatchers that call the area a year-round home. But in addition to the sound of the water, I heard the rustle of grass and reeds just in front of me. I've seen squirrels in that exact area, but a quick glance down showed it was actually a lone coyote, nonchalantly walking downstream and under the bridge.
Thinking it must have seen me and would probably hide fearfully until I was gone, I thought for a second about spying my lens back on the flycatchers. But then I decided to walk over to the other railing and see if the coyote would reappear on its happy way down river. In fact it did soon exit the wet underpass right where I predicted, giving me a chance to snap my first coyote photographs from a remarkably close distance.
I don't think it immediately saw or sensed me. Only after a brief pause and sniff in the sunlight did he glance at me, an alert that triggered him to spring a few feet to a more secure distance downstream. Maybe I had actually surprised him.
He then trotted a few dozen feet further away, deeper into some grass and bushes, and turned around to look at me for a short moment. Were his golden eyes showing respect, embarrassingly acknowledging my catching him in my own deceitful moment? That just might be the very thing a trickster would want a fool to believe.
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| One of my first shots of a coyote, leaving a bridge's underpass. |
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| The coyote might be smelling me. |
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| The coyote looking back warily after it sprung ahead after seeing me. |
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| The coyote trotting to a safer distance away from me. |
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| The coyote looking back at me from further downstream. |
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| Another and wider view of the coyote looking back at me. Or the trickster eyeing me, the fool. |
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