Many if not most parts of the Sky Islands region witnessed an above-average monsoon season this past summer. This surfeit of rain seemed to roll the red carpet out for wide range of species, flourishing in various local habitats. Among the usual cast lurked a handful of rarities that normally avoid human detection. Their elusiveness may be owing to sheer low numbers and/or reclusive behavior. Remote habitat is yet another avenue to avoid fascinated naturalists. When finally discovered by those of us who love nature, the resultant visual, emotional, and even auditory, olfactory and tactile rewards can be immense.
Our journey begins with a fish that the vast majority of people living in southeast Arizona have yet to cast eyes upon. Within the entire U.S., the Sonora chub resides only within the narrow confines of Sycamore Creek within the Pajarita Wilderness. Getting to the decidedly distant Sycamore Canyon that houses these small fish — up to about 4 inches in length — requires a heart-in-throat drive over cliff-hanging dirt roads. Once hiking along the creek, however, you are sure to spot these borderland rarities bustling about as they search for plant and invertebrate tidbits, all-the-while trying to elude predators. They thrive in their fragile home in part due to the total dearth of nonnative bullfrogs and crayfish, which have yet to breach their liquid sanctum.
Some species are so vanishingly rare in our area that many years may go by with nary a sighting. Such is the case with the eared quetzal. This relative of yet another rarity, the elegant trogon, normally stays within the Sierra Madre Mountains of northwest Mexico. Every now and then, however, an intrepid individual makes its way to our mountain forests. This year, from July 27 through August 12, a lone quetzal was repeatedly spotted in South Fork Canyon in the Chiricahuas. So elusive was the 14-inch bird that it was not assigned a definitive gender. Mostly what birders could see were flashes of red, which both male and female quetzals have on their bellies.
Heavy rains naturally translated into amphibian nirvana in a range of Sky Island habitats. Here at Raven’s Nest Nature Sanctuary a decidedly difficult-to-find species literally showed up at our doorstep. During a July downpour I opened the front door and spotted a tiny form hopping on the flagstone. I had never seen the species anywhere, let alone at the preserve, yet I instantly recognized it from field guides — a Great Plains narrow-mouthed toad. Its name is quite a bit bigger than the creature itself, which registers at a mere 1.6 inches in maximum length. Before I could snap a photo off it bounded into our ample native habitat surrounding the house — no doubt in search of ants and termites, its dietary staples.
Daytime at Raven’s Nest proved even more productive for summer rarities. Sticking with the diminutive, a stunner of a butterfly graced the preserve for several days. The aptly named elf is not our smallest butterfly species, though it is rather tiny and is only a rare stray from the Mexican state of Sonora. Visually speaking, its lack of size is easily compensated for by its bold orange upper-wing markings on a dark brown background. Unlike the reticent quetzal or the reluctant toad, our elf obligingly sat on various perches, slowly fluttering its wings as we admired this intrepid lepidopteran.
Most mammals are, by nature, rare for us to see — even if they are not actually numerically rare. Such is the case with the southern grasshopper mouse that I heard yet never saw as I prowled the preserve by night. This small but sturdy rodent is mainly crepuscular and nocturnal, making a sighting highly improbable for all but the most dedicated naturalists. While stalking along one of our many nature trails, I thought that I was having short bouts of tinnitus or ringing in the ears. I soon realized that I was hearing the high-pitched “howl” of a grasshopper mouse! Looking like your run-of-the-mill mouse, albeit slightly more robust, this species is anything but “normal” for a small rodent. It is mostly carnivorous, including eating other mice, lizards and venomous scorpions, its howling helps to maintain rather large territories for a mouse — the mouse that roared.
Back home, I was writing one late August day in my den when a brusk movement arrested my attention near the wildlife ponds just outside. Gila monster! Calling Claudia over, we quickly ventured outside for a few zoomed-in photos and videos as we admired the only venomous lizard in the U.S. It was a juvenile about 12 inches long, confirming local reproduction for the species and the third individual at the preserve. This was my 11th Gila monster sighting, which is about 11 more than most folks. It’s no wonder North America’s largest lizard species is so difficult detect. They are active above ground only a few weeks per year. Our young monster ambled away amidst the many rock walls of our native landscaping and habitat restoration project.
We end our rarity journey with among the most elusive of all native plant species in Arizona. While exploring a small canyon at Raven’s Nest — one I had passed through countless times before — a vine growing up a small velvet mesquite tree caught my eye. It proved to be in the dogbane family, a type of vining milkweed that I had never seen before. Taking to the books, I finally uncovered that this was a species that has only a handful of localities in Arizona — all in Santa Cruz County and most nearby our preserve. It was a feather in my cap as an ethnobotanist. It is so rare that botanists are still working out the scientific name. For now it is simply known as Polystemma, the genus, or vulture’s star as a common name. Its fuzzy, opposite leaves beautifully framed the rather odd flowers. Deep maroon, the blooms may attract carrion-loving insects as pollinators — its color and perhaps its aroma mimicking rotting flesh.
So here was the rarest of them all in a sense — right under my very nose. The moral of the story? Follow the monsoon — over 13 inches and counting at Raven’s Nest — and keep all of your senses keened when in nature, for you truly never know who or what might show up.
Vincent Pinto and his wife, Claudia, run Ravens-Way Wild Journeys LLC, their Nature Adventure & Conservation organization devoted to protecting and promoting the unique biodiversity of the Sky Islands region. RWWJ offers a wide variety of private, custom-made courses, birding and biodiversity tours. Visit: www.ravensnatureschool.org