Mike in the Wild

A year ago I only saw dry riverbed when I peered over the walkway from the bridge on the east side of McClintock Drive in Tempe.  Quite a few camps of homeless people littered a dry landscape peppered with mesquite trees.  A coyote meandered from the shoreline of Tempe Town Lake fifty feet behind me, where the man-made lake began at a concrete barrier spanning most of the width of the waterway.   However last week, at the end of an exceptionally wet winter across the state, only treetops remained visible as the Salt River ran unimpeded.  It was as free and wild as the coyotes and the campers who had escaped the deluge.  Only birds were on the scene, but not the winter-visiting species I observed on my last visit.  Gone were the northern shovelers and gadwalls that skimmed the shallow ponds edging the exposed river bottom as it feebly fed the lake.  Of course, the ponds were now obliterated, merged into one wide, raging river.  Amidst the eddies and low rapids were instead numerous corm

After three long years, cedar waxwings returned to my Phoenix neighborhood, this time giving me plenty of time to photograph them.  Exactly like the last time, I spotted the flock of birds in a tree on my street, a couple of houses away from my own.  Except on this joyful occasion, they lingered nearby long enough for me to capture some memorable shots. In mid-February 2020, I noticed the waxwings in a palo verde tree as I approached it in my car.  Since the tree hadn't yet burst into its spring blooms, the eight or nine individual birds clearly stood out against the green, spindly branches.  And even better, my sunroof was open, affording me an unobstructed view of these gorgeous birds right above my head.  Rather than pause and enjoy the first-time sighting for longer than a moment, forgoing even snapping some shots in zoom mode with my cell phone, I sped the hundred feet down the street to retrieve my camera from inside my house.  Seconds later with the heavy Canon swinging from

Strapped to 170cm-long skis racing down packed snow seven-feet deep at an elevation over 10,000 feet in the Colorado Rockies is usually not the safest time to observe birds.  But before hitting the slopes, on languorous rides up the chair lift when it's not too cold, there are moments when birdwatching is all there is to do.  Hawks may soar overhead and ravens might gather in pairs while mountain chickadees flit between pine tree branches.  I've also watched Canada jays foraging on the trails below in two southwest Colorado ski resorts, the only places I've ever witnessed the birds. Most recently was the first weekend of March while I skied Purgatory Resort north of Durango.  Also known as the gray jay, a Canada jay was at the resort's mountaintop restaurant, Dante's, taking food from a skier.  The skier told me that the jays used to wait for handouts from passengers on the lifts but ever since high-speed chairs were installed, the birds started begging at the resta

My recent visit to Cozumel was focused mostly on the reef life: the fish, the rays, the turtles - anything that swam in the water.  In addition, my trip to the tropical island included seeking out the native bird life, notably wintering warblers and resident hummingbirds.  However I was pleasantly surprised to also encounter some unique land fauna, both mammal and reptile.   On my first visit to the Mexican island over a dozen years ago, I barely paid much attention to any wildlife - I hadn't yet caught the natural history bug.  I recall my ship's snorkel excursion was cancelled due to strong winds and high seas.  As a result I visited Paradise Beach, a resort where I spent most of my time lazing on the beach and swimming in the sea.   On my return three years later off of another cruise ship I was more interested in exploring the island in a car, checking out the many scenic beaches, and visiting San Gervasio, an ancient Mayan archeological complex.  I do remember a stop at a

Map and notes by my side, I drove my rental car out of Mahogany Bay Cruise Center, eager to explore Roatan's reefs from a number of beaches.  My goal was ambitious: write the definitive guide to snorkeling on the island.  However since I was visiting from a cruise ship, the Sky Princess, I had only a few precious hours.  And I was sick, suffering from the start of a respiratory infection that had left me with laryngitis that morning.  Nonetheless I was determined to get a start on my research and savor my first taste of the local coral reef.  The Mesoamerican Barrier Reef, the world's second largest, surrounds the island of Roatan.  The biggest of Honduras's Bay Islands, Roatan is over thirty miles long, lying in the Caribbean Sea north of the mainland.  I had targeted half a dozen sites, mostly focused on the western half of the skinny island.  Fortunately the roads were in good condition with a minimum amount of construction underway on the booming tourist destination.  D

Belize is the quintessential destination for anyone eager to explore the Mesoamerican Reef, the world's second largest coral reef system.  The country's entire Caribbean Sea coastline, more than one hundred miles in length, is edged by segments of the reef usually only a short boat ride to the east from local ports.   On my seven-day cruise's stop in Belize, at Belize City, I headed to Caye Caulker, part of the string of barrier islands to the north of the capital city.  The sandy cay lies to the west of a section of the reef that's part of a network of pristine marine preserves.  Nearby was another unbelievable site - or maybe un-Belize-able as the locals liked to advertise - a sandbar petting zoo of sorts populated by timid sharks and gentle stingrays.   I had turned my back on the reef, quite literally, on my last cruise to Belize over a year ago, when I headed west and inland to Lamanai.  While I was in awe of the site's ancient Mayan pyramids and the surroundin