Monster to Some, Art to Others

BEAUTY OR BEAST?

A Dazzling Beaded Skin Covers the Poisonous Gila Monster, Dubbed the Boris Karloff of the Desert

text by Vera Marie Badertscher

A flash of misplaced color halts my mad rush to do chores. Who dropped that black and salmon-colored beaded bag on my green garden hose? Stretching into an oblong form with fat legs, the bag transforms into a Gila monster. When southern Arizona bakes in the oven of summer, even the tiny reservoir of water inside the tip of a hose lures thirsty desert animals. The largest and only poisonous lizard in the United States has bellied up to my "bar." I freeze in fascination, not dread. If you run from danger, you may miss beauty. The "beaded bag" stretches one stubby leg, then another. Slow progress. Up and over the first coil of hose. Over a second coil. It finally lugs its 15-inch body onto level ground and starts an erratic path around the swimming pool. This lovely creature shows no fear of the human looming nearby. Nor does it seem inclined to fight over water rights. It trudges toward a patch of dirt 3 feet away. The border of the pavement presents a dilemma. One foot rises, its head swivels. The thoughts in the lizard brain seem to plod even more slowly than the stubby legs. Rejecting a change of surface, it returns the foot to pavement and resumes the meander around the swimming pool. Engrossed in the pilgrimage of this beautiful creature, I can't help but wonder: Why is it called a "monster?" Does its reticulated coloring offend those looking for symmetry? Ragged bands and blotches sketch mystical

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maps around the chubby body. Small dots of contrasting color scatter like islands between strips of dark continents. The color scheme of bright salmon-orange and black shouts, "Don't mess with me!" From its short, thick tail to its broad head, this is a creature of heft and substance.

Its Latin name, Heloderma suspectum, reflects the impression given by this animal: the Greek heloderma, studded skin; suspectum, suspected to be poisonous. The Gila monster shares the heloderma designation with its close relative, the Mexican beaded lizard (Heloderma horridum). Found south of the border, the Mexican species is larger and sports different markings, but both it and its neighbor to the north have that distinctive beadlike skin. As a pair, they are the only venomous lizards in the world.

In Mexico, both the Gila monster and the beaded lizard are called escorpion (sometimes escupion) or "spitter," deriving from the Spanish word escupir, "to spit," because of the misconception that these lizard cousins spit venom at their enemies.

Frightened by the oversized lizard, Territorial settlers made up gruesome tales, which launched the Gila monster's nasty reputation. Every time one clamped its jaws onto a person and refused to let go, the lizard's legend grew. One book even dubs it the Boris Karloff of the desert.

I've seen one hiss when disturbed, but their fits of pique are rare. A Gila monster will defend itself, but it's not itching for a fight. It does not have to battle the eggs, baby birds and newborn rodents it eats. Gila-phobic people can relax. People are not on this monster's menu.Of the 40 to 50 Arizonans bitten by Gila monsters in the past five years, only a handful had to spend a night in the hospital. The bites hurt, but no one dies. While the lizard moves slowly across the desert, anybody who dares to pick one up will learn how quickly it can whip around and munch on the offender. Rule one: When outdoors, don't put your hand or foot where your eyes can't see. Rule two: Don't hassle a Gila monster, and it won't hassle you.

Since Gila monsters spend up to 98 percent of their lives underground, most people never see one. I am amazed at my good fortune. Look for Gila monsters where paloverde trees and saguaro cacti grow. In late May and early June they will emerge from their dens seeking mates. Then they pop underground again, subsisting on small rodents that make a wrong turn and enter the Gila's hiding place. Snug in their hidden homes, they can exist on only two or three meals a year. The female lays three to five eggs in late fall or winter. The male plays couch potato in his separate den.

It takes 45 minutes for the lizard to meander around my swimming pool and ever-sotentatively drop down through a drain hole to the desert below. A detour across 10 feet of desert to the shade of a mesquite bosque adds 20 minutes to its itinerary and more time for me to contemplate this latter-day "dragon."

I'm looking at the unique skin, a feature shared by extinct dinosaurs. The Gila monster's "beads" are actually rounded scales, each covering a small bone. This protective armor led to the myth that it's impossible to kill. "Can't cut him, can't beat him to death, can't even drown him," the oldtimers say. The myths grow from the animal's primitive defense mechanisms. When it bites, attempting to pull it off will make it bite harder. Under water, its respiratory system will drop into low gear. It lumbers slowly through life and even more slowly toward death.

Quail move more quickly. As the Gila monster approaches the shrubs around the mesquite, one... two... six Gambel's quail scurry out. The quail, chattering shrilly, hop, strut and dart around the lizard, staying a discreet 2 feet away. The feathered cowboys herd the intruder away from their nest. Their eggs and young offspring are the Gila monster's favorite meal, and the birds know it.

Unruffled, the marauder plots a tranquil alternate route, putting up with full sun for a little longer. The Gila monster plods across another 12 feet of dirt. It's now in the home stretch, heading for its subterranean den in a rocky patch under a cholla cactus.

Looking at it, I see colorful art, and not a Saturday-matinee monster. I'd like to rename this lizard. A Tohono O'odham myth appeals to me more than the wild tales of Arizona settlers: Indians and animals were invited to attend the first saguaro wine festival. Of course, partygoers wore their best. Gila Monster, not wanting to be dowdy like some lizards, gathered bright pebbles and tossed them over his back, making himself a durable and beautiful coat.

Let's call it the pebble-coated lizard. In the Sonoran Desert, the Gila monster glows in technicolor. AH