Essays

Moseying: Exploring the Natural World

Doing nothing in Davis Mountains State Park
October 6, 2004

The birds and animals at the Davis Mountains State Park continue their life as if people were not present – they seem to ignore the campers in the park. The people are busy with picnicking, reading, talking, and other proper vacation behavior, and in return, ignore the critters to a large degree.

Canyon towhees are the least timid – they are constantly underfoot. Every vehicle that arrives is carefully inspected for mashed bugs. After every human meal the picnic tables and the ground around each are inspected for crumbs. That behavior is expected for a bird, so for other than an occasional comment, campers do not notice.

When two towhees begin a screaming, body-whomping, wing-bashing fight, even the busiest grillmaster and most unobservant bored teenager takes notice. One pair that I watched began a fight on the ground, then rose up to five feet flying and flailing away, then literally fell back to the ground awkwardly, one on top of the other. The one on the bottom finally turned the tide of battle by bringing his feet into play, pulling feathers out of the other’s breast. At the peak of the battle, a third towhee, an immature, came to kibbitz, landing within a foot, leaning forward in excitement, muttering comments.

With careful listening, a person can detect a pattern to bird vocalizations. In the hot afternoon two species perform. In the forefront, White-winged Doves perform their amplified jazz. Their “Who cooks for you” four note phrase is only the beginning. Single notes are strung between, in differing patterns. The final note of the refrain is often super-amplified, until feedback becomes the tonal structure, and becomes spontaneous free form manipulations of un-birdlike notes. When they fall silent, the phainopeplas issue soft sibilant flute sounds with no variation and no pattern. Their voices come from the heart of the oak trees, and only with careful observation can a person spot these “black cardinals” with red eyes.

Tarantula wasps and ground-dwelling wasps that bring small caterpillars to their underground larvae are busy in midafternoon. The little thread-waisted wasps light, first setting the paralyzed caterpillar to the side, then flick their wings as if to release stress, and then run back and forth on the gravel near the picnic tables, until they finally find their hidden nests. They quickly and daintily dig, their feet a dancing blur, stopping to lift the larger flecks of stone and stack them to the side. The large black-bodied tarantula wasps also flick their orange-red wings as they randomly scurry about on their search for spider holes.

As shadows begin to lengthen and the up canyon breezes stir, the doves come to ground, pretending to be city pigeons. Walking on pink feet, the doves meander aimlessly, occasionally issuing statements of evaluation like a retail inventory checker. As they walk, they nod approvingly. When one dove intrudes into another’s space, the rate of their feeding increases, their heads bobbing faster than their normal “pumpjack” rhythm. When a female nears a male, he turns on the feedback, with guttural electrical reverb.

At picnic tables closest to the brush just above the cobble stoned dry streambed, bandit packrats begin their evening’s work. They do search for food, but they are treasure hunters, as well. As many as three will visit a campsite vacated earlier in the day. At times, they stop and chew on broken potato chips or bread crusts. When one finds a crushed soda pop can, it cradles it like a running back with a football but goes bouncing away like a kangaroo. Shiny metallic objects are prized – even down to the tiniest balled gum wrapper.

At the same time, the Cassin’s Kingbirds cackle and chortle uproariously, flying up to catch insects rising on the afternoon’s soil-stored solar radiation and lifted by increasing humidity. Leaf rustle from the up canyon breezes becomes a background rhythm, succeeding waves whispering like distant breakers on an ocean shore. Canyon Wrens offer their descending trills when the wind stops briefly. The other birds fall silent when the wind does, politely affording the wrens a solo stage. When sunlight no longer hits the canyon floor, the doves return to the trees, and call until the only light is from the glow of the sunset reflect from the hills above. The Kingbirds talk until night’s darkness is complete.

In the light of the half-moon long after the last reflected sky glow has dimmed, Poorwills come to the roads that snake through the campground. They sit on the windward side of the road, facing leeward. Motionless, their only betrayal of life is the occasional blink of the whitish nictitating membrane than keeps their eyes moist and clean. A small katydid, steadily marching across the pavement, is unaware of the poorwills’ motionless presence until too late – all it takes is a quick twist of the head and a lightning snap! A nearby Poorwill comes to the lucky one, quivering its wings and bowing. Is it female to male bonding behavior or a fledgling still learning the choicer species of arthropod gastronomy?

Trashcan lid banging, foodbox rustling raccoons invade the camp after the humans are asleep. Their progress is easily monitored by the sounds of the containers and the fussy curses of awakened campers followed by child voices oohing and aahing in admiration of cuteness. An hour later, the skunk patrol comes along, sorting through the raccoon leftovers spread helter-skelter where humans did not awaken. In the cobble stone stream bed, clattering deer hooves indicate that the choicest and greenest grasses at the valley bottom have been remembered as postprandial delicacies.

Long ago, when only hunting societies existed, humans often sat alone for hours, observing the actions of the animals around them. Long stretches of observations, coupled with thoughtful and knowledgeable analyzing, led to improved success in the procurement of the daily life-sustaining and belly-filling blessings of life. In those “primitive” times, humans learned intuitively and receptively, filling their minds holistically. Learning was not linear and rote, nor the only duty of youth. Youth was appreciated for its supple grace, but was not the epitome of humanity’s capabilities. Old men, wise in the ways of animals throughout the seasons, were honored and respected. Old women, wise in the ways of the gifts of plants, were also honored and respected. Survival demanded everyone’s continual learning and adapting to the constant changes of the living landscape.