Some of you may think my chosen handle is just a bit of enigmatic cleverness. But the truth is, I'm a bona fide Tibetan Buddhist monk. How does my obsession with birding square with the Buddha's teaching on non-attachment? Well, yes, er...*ahem*...anyway...
I find there are many advantages to my chosen path. One of them is that on Easter Sunday I basically had the whole of Northern Arizona's wilderness to myself while other dutiful citizens were carving ham at Grandma's.
I decided to bird the slopes of Mingus Mountain, including a first-time visit to the ominously named Black Canyon because this little migrant trap is reputed to be a favored location of my spring nemesis, the Greater Pewee.
Heading west from Sedona to Cottonwood, I dropped in on the Verde Santa Fe golf course ponds. Seeing an expected flock of Ring-neck Ducks, I was about to head to the car when a flash of white caught my attention on the far bank. Up went the bins, and dang if it wasn't the Ross' Goose reported from there a few days earlier, just munching along the fairway. The last record of this bird in our county was four years ago. An auspicious beginning.
So. I cut north toward Camp Verde to bird along Salt Mine and Rodeo Flat Rds. on the lower slopes by the Verde River. Slow going at first, with only Bell's Vireos piquing interest. But as I got deeper along, the high desert scrub rang with the songs of several Scott's Orioles, my first for the year (and the mascot for this year's Verde Valley Birding and Nature Festival.)
On the way to Gap Creek, I decided to climb a craggy hill I'd been admiring on previous trips. Here the most ambitious yuccas were pushing up their amazing chandeliers of eggshell flowers, a few claret-cup hedgehog cacti were blooming, as were what I call the plain and fancy ocotillos. All were clearly taking advantage of the generous spring rainfall.
Climbing was steep and arduous, with the rocky soil being quite loose. Navigating the rock summit, I hauled myself within six feet of the top when the rock in my left hand dislodged completely. Down I went, ass over teakettle, miraculously missing all that lovely cactus. Upon inspection, I had collected several very impressive gashes and bruises on both legs, but nothing mortal. As a point of honor, I found an easier way to the summit, rewarded by a panoramic view of the Verde Valley, the tight, bouncy song of Black-chinned Sparrows and the carefree twitter of White-throated Swifts.
Back to the car and a short drive (disturbing, along the way, a flock of about 500 Chipping Sparrows) to the end of the line, Gap Creek. Alone on the trail I was delighted to find a first-of-spring Green-tailed Towhee, a Common Black-hawk in nesting mode and to hear the call of an unusually north White-winged Dove.
Early lunch followed with plans to get to Black Canyon via the hamlet of Cherry. A gorgeous, 11 winding miles through the Mingus foothills brings you to Cherry, one of Arizona's odder communities (As odd as the one called Why? I dunno. Third b...). Hugging the Prescott National Forest, it's at the far end of nowhere, present, I suppose, due to a spring nearby (the houses were nestled among mature riparian trees). My thought was, "Well, this is the perfect place to indulge your misanthropy." Needless to say, I jotted down the numbers on real estate signs.
Beyond Cherry, I found myself way on the west side of Mingus before I realized how completely I had overshot my turnoff (these are dirt Forest Service roads, not exactly well marked). It took so long to figure out my mistake because I was awestruck by the extent of the fire damage on that side, wondering when it had happened. Let me tell you, there's nothing so forlorn as a burnt prickly pear cactus in the middle of a fire-ravaged field.
I turned around and found FR132, happily whizzing through old ponderosa pine forest. Soon thereafter, nature urgently called, in the sense of...well, let's just say I had to make like a bear. Being a modest sort, I tromped into the forest, found the largest pine and settled in behind it.
Relief instantly gave way to alarm with my brain registering fiery prickles on my rear end. After a spastic, half-naked, butt-slapping dance truly unworthy of my order, I inspected the tree trunk to find millions (OK, several dozen) angry little ants running about, glaring at me and gnashing their bloody fangs. Life lesson learned.
The universe chose to balance this experience with the best look I've ever had at a singing Grace's Warbler.
And off down 132 (at this point less a road than, say, a goat track). The guidebook I was using neglected to mention that 132 may just be the most atrocious excuse for a road in Northern Arizona, testing my little Corolla to the absolute limit for what has to be the dictionary definition of "ten miles of bad road". After what seemed like hours, the road finally flattened out and I arrived at a "T" that seemed distubingly familiar. A quick check showed that yes, I'd missed my turn by 2 1/2 miles in my white-knuckled preoccupation with personal survival.
Turning around being out of the question, I parked and hiked up to Elks Well, enjoying the ponderosa nuthatches, Steller's Jays, Western Bluebirds etc., while learning something of the spring song of the Mountain Chickadee, with which I was unfamiliar.
Down the mountain through Jerome, the abandoned mining town turned funky artist enclave (motto? "The World's Most Vertical City". Local wags declare there's a constant drip of Viagra in the water supply), and back toward Sedona.
A twirl around the wastewater plant didn't turn up anything new, but showed that the Viagra may well be in there too. A Mallard led a parade of seven little ducklings and a pair of Coots fussed over six little...cootlings? (Don't like "cootlets" cuz it sounds like something you deep fry for dinner.) At any rate, I'd never seen these little fuzzballs with their red heads and beaks before and found them to be about the cutest (cootest? OK, I'll stop) things I've ever laid eyes on.
Happy Easter, indeed. Now excuse me while I go buy some discounted Cadbury eggs.
Posted by MadMonk at April 13, 2004 12:03 AM