Sunday I surveyed another area east of my neighborhood with my friend Kirk. This area butts up close to the Rincons along the TV wash, and has some amazing habitat from the additional rainfall in the foothills. Almost immediately we heard a Summer Tanager calling, and as we approached the running wash we spotted two White-tailed Deer standing in the water upstream, with fresh velvet-covered antlers adorning their heads as they enjoyed an early morning drink.
Tiny desert toads were so numerous we had to walk slowly to allow them time to scamper from our path, and pools of water were teeming with tadpoles. A bobcat traversed a tributary to our left and found safe haven in the thick vegetation. This is the magic of the monsoon, Arizona's fifth and most precious season. The desert is now just beginning its second and most substantial growing season, cherished by new baby birds, and early migrants. Some nestlings, especially raptors, have even left to explore new territories, something called "post monsoon dispersal."
The startling call had a loon-like quality to it as it pushed through the cottonwoods to our ears. We recognized this piercing call as belonging to a Gray Hawk, and we rushed for a view of this elusive hunter. "There, in some open branches!? I set up the scope, turned on the camera, and managed one back shot before it took flight. It was a juvenile molting into adult plumage, as seen by the tail section in this photo. 
We heard infrequent calls but couldn't relocate it for a bit. Then Kirk pointed,"There!" as we watched it fly across the wash, getting great views of its white rump, a distinctive field mark. We thought that was the end of our sightings, yet the hawk would give us one more show, allowing me to capture a few more images as it peered through the branches of a dead tree. 
Even as we watched, I couldn't help being distracted by a male Blue Grosbeak in the brush before us. Then a Great Horned Owl flew through the mesquites, disappearing again against the similar looking mesquite trunks. I thought I heard the loud trill of a Tropical Kingbird, but never got a second chance to hear the call. A Harris's Hawk stood tall against an exposed branch. I heard a "ZZZZZZ," call from the vegetation, recognizing it as a bunting. I watched as a drab brown female Lazuli Bunting flew from the cover to a open branch. Then a brilliant male followed, staying just long enough for a couple haphazard shots. 
Before leaving the wash we managed to plant some Sycamore seeds I'd been holding, and I was referenced as, "Johnny Appleseed." for the second time in a week. I'd actually hope for a better name, maybe "Sycamore Sam," or the like, since these seeds were natural and from the same wash. No name would be nice too, just so long as I can see the wash flowing as it has in years past.
Later that afternoon we received the most thunderous storm of the season. One of the thunderous bolts shook the walls as it boomed angrily at the world, and apparently awakened our resident Couch's Spadefoot, who immediately began calling out. This toad's mating call sounds more like a complaint against being woken rather than a musical serenade. I watched, though, and soon another toad hopped toward the sound, and disappeared behind the curtains of the mulberry leaves.
Meanwhile the Broad-billed Hummingbird tucked herself into her nest during the downpour, tail held high, keeping her eggs safe from harm.
Thank you for appreciating nature and the environment on which it thrives.
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