7:30am. A clear, still, blue sky. I am comfortably wearing short sleeves at this time of the morning for the first time this year. White wing doves are singing in the back round with the familiar, warm-season buzz of tiny insects streaking by on all sides. They are invisible for the most part until they catch a glint of the sun, seen as a tiny dark spot of shadow if the sun is behind them or a sharp flicker of brightness when the sun strikes them head-on.
Though I have walked the upper part of the 197 trail literally dozens of times, I have only recently explored the section of the 197 trail below the 112 Road. This section had always looked hot and dry and uninviting to me, but that was before I discovered that it leads to Six Shooter creek within a quarter mile and then terminates at the Ice House picnic area about one mile further. It also intersects with the Check Dam trail about ½ mile from the picnic area and then connects with the Toll Road trail 200. I haven’t yet walked the Check Dam trail, mainly because it either requires a round trip or a car shuttle to the end of Jess Hayes Road at the lower end of the Toll Road trailhead.
The trail descends sharply from the 112 road, following a lumpy trail of light green, lichen covered rocks. It descends so steeply that this intentional granite armament probably keeps the trail from forming a deep rut right through the middle from heavy rains. At Six Shooter creek, there is plenty of bubbling water with pools just deep enough to reach to the top of Bela’s chin. A few smallish Sycamores and stunted Cottonwoods are within eyeshot, surefire indicators of a creek that spends more time dry than wet. Last year, the creek slowed to a trickle but it never completely stopped.
Like everywhere I have been this year in Arizona from 2400 feet to 5000 feet elevation, fleabane daisies, thistle, and yellow western wallflowers have been the big winners in wild flower season ubiquitousness. The fleabanes form close growing, low patches of white flowers with yellow centers during the day and then cup upwards during morning and evening, appearing more lavender than white. The thistles by contrast are large four to five foot tall plants, armed just about everywhere with sharp spines, both along the leaves and the stems. The flowers are pink to lavender and usually in groups of eight to ten, but innate frugality allows only one or two to be open at any one time.
A large two-tailed swallowtail was hanging precipitously from one of the flowers and then let go, resuming its characteristic punch drunk flying style, intentionally seeking what seems like the longest possible distance between two points. I have had these erratic butterflies fly towards me before and have been forced to bob and weave just to stay out of its way.
One of the thistles was loaded with mixed generations of lady bird beetles. The nymphs are three times the length of the adults and look aggressive and predatory, with a mix of orange and yellow pigments not unlike that of a Gila monster. In comparison, the adults are childlike with the orange shell with black spots. While nearly all of the activity was on top of the leaves, the undersides were covered with thousands and thousands of bright green aphids clustered tightly elbow to elbow and, for the moment, safe from the predators above. Perhaps the beetles topside were just enjoying the morning sun, or maybe they were digesting the spoils of a recent battle and re-polishing their armor before descending to slaughter the other helpless victims in the shade of the bottom half of the leaves below.
The manzanitas are still spectacular, with bright pink flowers hanging in clusters of a dozen or so, attached to the branches with bright red pedicels. They look like giant desert rhododendrons from a distance. Some of the plants are thirty feet across and fifteen feet high, with a unique branch framework of branches that appear to have been dipped in chocolate. The pollinators are sparse but include European honey bees and a small compliment of native bees, some with gumdrop yellow stripes and smaller ones with iridescent blues and greens.
There are two species of Manzanita in our area: Arctostaphylos pungens is the first to bloom in late February and March and A. pringlei flowers in April and May. Sugar bush is also in full bloom right now with white flowers tinged with a the tiniest bit of pink, oftentimes crowded up close to Manzanita, scrub oak, pinon pine, and all of the other dense chaparral shrubs.
The sound of the creek is not overbearing, just loud enough to provide the security that water is nearby, and that even though you might starve, you would never die of thirst. But every creature knows that as the sun migrates higher, the days of easy living will end and the sound of bounty and certain survival will slowly fade away as the water gradually slips below the surface.
Though I have walked the upper part of the 197 trail literally dozens of times, I have only recently explored the section of the 197 trail below the 112 Road. This section had always looked hot and dry and uninviting to me, but that was before I discovered that it leads to Six Shooter creek within a quarter mile and then terminates at the Ice House picnic area about one mile further. It also intersects with the Check Dam trail about ½ mile from the picnic area and then connects with the Toll Road trail 200. I haven’t yet walked the Check Dam trail, mainly because it either requires a round trip or a car shuttle to the end of Jess Hayes Road at the lower end of the Toll Road trailhead.
The trail descends sharply from the 112 road, following a lumpy trail of light green, lichen covered rocks. It descends so steeply that this intentional granite armament probably keeps the trail from forming a deep rut right through the middle from heavy rains. At Six Shooter creek, there is plenty of bubbling water with pools just deep enough to reach to the top of Bela’s chin. A few smallish Sycamores and stunted Cottonwoods are within eyeshot, surefire indicators of a creek that spends more time dry than wet. Last year, the creek slowed to a trickle but it never completely stopped.
Like everywhere I have been this year in Arizona from 2400 feet to 5000 feet elevation, fleabane daisies, thistle, and yellow western wallflowers have been the big winners in wild flower season ubiquitousness. The fleabanes form close growing, low patches of white flowers with yellow centers during the day and then cup upwards during morning and evening, appearing more lavender than white. The thistles by contrast are large four to five foot tall plants, armed just about everywhere with sharp spines, both along the leaves and the stems. The flowers are pink to lavender and usually in groups of eight to ten, but innate frugality allows only one or two to be open at any one time.
A large two-tailed swallowtail was hanging precipitously from one of the flowers and then let go, resuming its characteristic punch drunk flying style, intentionally seeking what seems like the longest possible distance between two points. I have had these erratic butterflies fly towards me before and have been forced to bob and weave just to stay out of its way.
One of the thistles was loaded with mixed generations of lady bird beetles. The nymphs are three times the length of the adults and look aggressive and predatory, with a mix of orange and yellow pigments not unlike that of a Gila monster. In comparison, the adults are childlike with the orange shell with black spots. While nearly all of the activity was on top of the leaves, the undersides were covered with thousands and thousands of bright green aphids clustered tightly elbow to elbow and, for the moment, safe from the predators above. Perhaps the beetles topside were just enjoying the morning sun, or maybe they were digesting the spoils of a recent battle and re-polishing their armor before descending to slaughter the other helpless victims in the shade of the bottom half of the leaves below.
The manzanitas are still spectacular, with bright pink flowers hanging in clusters of a dozen or so, attached to the branches with bright red pedicels. They look like giant desert rhododendrons from a distance. Some of the plants are thirty feet across and fifteen feet high, with a unique branch framework of branches that appear to have been dipped in chocolate. The pollinators are sparse but include European honey bees and a small compliment of native bees, some with gumdrop yellow stripes and smaller ones with iridescent blues and greens.
There are two species of Manzanita in our area: Arctostaphylos pungens is the first to bloom in late February and March and A. pringlei flowers in April and May. Sugar bush is also in full bloom right now with white flowers tinged with a the tiniest bit of pink, oftentimes crowded up close to Manzanita, scrub oak, pinon pine, and all of the other dense chaparral shrubs.
The sound of the creek is not overbearing, just loud enough to provide the security that water is nearby, and that even though you might starve, you would never die of thirst. But every creature knows that as the sun migrates higher, the days of easy living will end and the sound of bounty and certain survival will slowly fade away as the water gradually slips below the surface.
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