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| Tales From the Desert Mount Lemmon, AZ, Sunday, October 3, 1999 While hiking today, I received an unexpected gift a "thank you" from the Universe. My husband and our two Australian Shepherds took one of our favorite hikes among the cool pines of Mt. Lemmon in the Santa Catalina Mountains, a range that prominently rises out of the desert and is located immediately north of Tucson, Arizona. Having a lovely cabin getaway there near the small community of Summerhaven, we are surrounded by national forest with wonderful hiking trails. (Needless to say, we spend almost every weekend up there until temperatures drop to freezing, since our cabin is not winterized.) On this particular hike, we walked from our cabin down to the Marshall Gulch Picnic Area, went up Aspen trail, down Marshall Gulch trail and continued back along the road up to our cabin, covering approximately 7 miles. Along the way, I picked up other people's thoughtless litter and carried it in my pack. My collection consisted of a cigarette butt found lying on the trail (right next to fallen pine needles!) and a crushed liter seltzer bottle left beside the creek where we stopped to enjoy the changing of maple leaves off the Marshall Gulch trail. Along the road, I picked up a SweetTart wrapper, a Milwaukee's Best beer can, and two plastic lids to drinking cups. Then further on the road just before we turn onto the dirt road leading to our cabin, I went to pick up yet another discarded item that caught my eye. I was totally surprised by what I found. It was a perfect long stem red rose, thoroughly protected in its cellophane wrapper and kept fresh by its full miniature holder of water and the cool mountain temperature. On the wrapper was a printed label that said, "Desert Greetings" and gave instructions for keeping the rose fresh. My heart was singing and my face was beaming for that last mile walk home. Although I'm sure there is some other story that lies behind this last find, its meaning to me was immediately apparent. The desert was sending me "greetings" and the Universe was giving me a "Thank You" for doing what I could to help keep nature beautiful.
Spencer Canyon, AZ, July 4th Weekend, 1998 The rain had finally stopped late Sunday afternoon and the weather turned gorgeous. I ventured out to buy a bird book at a nearby ranger station so I could begin to learn and identify the many birds of the mountain where we have a summer cabin. However, the book I wanted was sold out. Destiny had it that as I was driving back to my cabin, I was listening to my audio book, "The Dog That Rescues Cats." This book is a moving story about the uncanny ability of a dog to know when a cat's life was in danger and the persistence and dedication of his owner to follow the dog's lead until the cat was found and rescued. I was truly inspired by the owner's sense of commitment to help rescue these helpless cats. As I approached a turnoff for Spencer Canyon, I thought it might be a good time to finally familiarize myself with this area. I pulled into the left turn lane and was about to turn when my eye caught sight of a very large bird on the right hand side of the road where the mountain has been cut away to make room for the road. "Hmmm," I thought, "I don't know what kind of bird that is and I don't have a book to look it up. Is it a falcon, a hawk, or what?" As I sat there in the left turn lane studying it, I soon realized that this bird was not enjoying my presence and yet it wasn't flying away. Instead, it spread its wings wide, clinging to the earth as it inched higher. I made a U-turn and parked on the opposite side of highway to investigate further. The bird went only higher. Then I instantly understood the circumstances! Here I was setting out to learn more about birds while listening to profound stories of rescue, and right before my eyes is a very large bird in some kind of trouble. I knew right then and there that I had to get involved and do something. But what? I drove quickly back to the ranger station; it was already their closing time. The "closed" sign was up, yet I was able to get an employee's attention and urgently told her that there was a falcon or something on the side of the road at Spencer Canyon. She replied, "It's still there? Game and Fish were called about it 2 days ago and they were supposed to get it." Now I really felt for this bird. It had already spent two days on the side of the highway on one of the busiest weekends! The employee explained that she couldnít help me (nor could the volunteer plant expert who was getting in his car), but she did give me a large box I could use to transport the bird if I did catch it. She said throwing a sheet over it might work. She also called a woman in Tucson, the city an hour's drive down the mountain, who would take care of the bird if I got it to her. I asked the woman how to catch such a bird but I didn't like what I heard: "Use gloves and reach high up on its legs so its talons won't dig into you." "Talons!" I thought, "what about its sharp beak!! Oh boy, what now?" I called my husband, waking him from his nap, and got some phone numbers of our cabin neighbors who might help me try and rescue this huge bird. One fine gentleman agreed, and upon telling him what the bird woman had said, he brought along his outdoor working gloves. My husband decided to lend his support, even though this type of activity is not his forte. In my car I had a large heavy fabric protecting my back seats from the wear and tear of my dogs. I could use that fabric as a sheet. I drove back to Spencer Canyon and found the bird even higher on the cut-away. "We'll never get to it up there," I thought, so I walked back to where the ground was accessible and hiked to the top of the cut-away's hill. It was like a cliff, and I couldn't see where the bird was. Then my neighbor drove up and guided me. I tossed little rocks down the cliff, trying to get the bird to move back down or something. Finally it got the hint and in an unnatural and broken glide, it barely made it to the far lane of the highway and struggled off into the pines toward Spencer Canyon. Traipsing my heavy fabric, I tried to ready it for a launch at the bird while my neighbor, abandoning his gloves, steadied the opened box in hopes of entrapping it. But the bird easily avoided us and headed one way or the other in the gap between us and took refuge in the underbrush. Then my husband arrived and we were able to somewhat narrow the gaps as the three of us converged on the bird. Still it eluded our attempts. My fabric was so large and heavy that it seemed to hang in the air before it ever considered descending, and we weren't close enough for my neighbor to reach the bird with the box. So we continued to slip and slide among the pine needles as we followed the bird over more and more mountain turf, leaving the highway and our cars farther away. After 45 minutes or so, we began to improve our technique and get closer. Finally I got the fabric to land over the bird, but with the thrust it took, I slipped and fell on the pine needles and the bird just walked out from under it. It seemed stunned, exhausted, or both and my neighbor immediately flopped the box down over it. We had it! Now what? We retrieved a thick, clear, plastic zippered covering that someone had abandoned (the polite term for litter) and positioned it on the ground so we could slowly move the box and bird onto it. Together we secured the plastic firmly against the box and flipped it over, then quickly closing the flaps over the plastic. Back at my husbandís truck, we taped the box securely and created some breathing holes. Now that we had actually caught the bird, my husband and I quickly packed up our stuff, loaded our dogs, and closed up our cabin. The goal now was to get the bird down to the woman ASAP. When we finally transferred the bird to her, she confirmed it was a Peregrine Falcon, which at that time was still on the endangered list. My neighbor didn't head down to Tucson until early the next day. He said that as he approached Spencer Canyon that next morning, he saw a mountain lion crossing the highway at exactly that spot. It was probably following the birdís scent and if we hadn't rescued it, it definitely would have been the mountain lion's breakfast! I followed the bird's progress closely as it went through its recovery process. The falcon was a male so I appropriately named him Spencer. He was a very feisty bird with an incredibly deafening screech and the bird woman told me we were probably able to catch him only because he was so dehydrated and starved. His injury was from a bullet wound. He was shot and the bullet deflected off his radius and ulna (equivalent to our forearm). They didn't know if he would make it or not, or if he'd ever be able to be released back into the wild. I learned that the bird woman voluntarily cared for injured birds without any financial help and she and her husband went through extensive training and testing to be authorized by the state to do so. The veterinarian they used also worked voluntarily, yet they still had to cover the cost of medicines, x-rays, etc. I contributed to cover Spencer's care. About two and a half months later, Spencer had recovered from his gunshot wound without any infection and was responding well to his test flights, so they were ready to release him! We took Spencer back up to the mountain and at a large rock cliff by our cabin, we released him back to nature. He had a textbook perfect release as he flew off into the canyon of pines below. We keep an eye out for him and continually wish him well. So if you see a Peregrine Falcon in the mountains north of Tucson, it could very well be Spencer. Please give him our regards!
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