ALONG THE WAY

{focus on nature} Suburban Roof-prowling Bobcat Ate Well, But He Was No Housekitty

IN THE DAYS before development devoured huge habitat hunks in northeast Scottsdale, a cunning cat took up rooftop residence at our home. Lazing on the roof, the bobcat earned an easy living. Daylong snoozes preceded nocturnal hunts. Twenty pounds of lean muscle mass, the tawny cat with black spotting, stubby tail, lanky legs and a steel gaze was art in motion. A masterful mix of grace and purpose, he choreographed perfect pounces, scoring substantial meals. Dining on plentiful prey of rabbits and rodents, life was good for the solitary cat, who hid his presence well. Settling into suburbia for a year, he likely outhunted his counterparts in the wild, forced to work for food.

From a distance, he looked like a well-fed housecat. Closer scrutiny, however, revealed distinct differences. Named for its short 4to 6-inch bobbed tail, the bobcat (Lynx rufus) is larger boned and more muscular than its domestic cousin, with hind legs proportionately longer than its front legs.

Known to prey on as many as 40 species, the bobcat makes diet diversity a survival skill. Equipped with 28 teeth anchored by roots nearly as long as the exposed crown, a bobcat's bite can sever the spinal cord of small prey.

"Bobcats can change the composition of their diet as environmental conditions change," says Arizona Game and Fish Department wildlife research biologist Ted McKinney. Studying bobcat diets during the drought in the '90s, McKinney found the felines mostly ate rodents, but gobbled up rabbits when they could find them. "Eating rabbits is like sitting down to a good meal for bobcats, while they have to eat 10 little ground squirrels or mice to feel satisfied."

McKinney first fell for these felines decades ago at the Arizona-Sonora Desert Museum near Tucson while working his way through college. When a family relinquished a pet bobcat to the museum, McKinney was assigned complete care of the cat.

"He turned out to be a love," chuckles McKinney. "I used to wear a straw cowboy hat that he liked. After I got close to him, he liked to play this game: When I'd go into his cage, he'd crouch down like he was going to attack me. Making three or four big jumps, he'd knock my hat off, batting it around the cage. I'd put it back on and he'd go after it again."

The game sadly stopped a year later."

Other encounters with bobcats point to their proud nature, McKinney observed during his research. "While working on banding quail using wire mesh traps near the Kofa Mountains by Yuma in 1958, we went to check the traps and there was a bobcat in one of them. Captured near a water catchment, the bobcat was soaking wet and angry with the world when we lifted up the trap and released him. Rather than rocketing off into the distance, he went a little way, then started shaking water off and licking his paws before leisurely walking off.

"Through the years, I've noticed that whenever I encounter bobcats in close proximity, they don't seem to be particularly afraid of me," adds McKinney. "I've always felt they had an interesting sense of dignity about them. If you see one close on the road, he might walk a few feet away, then sit there and watch you a bit. This fits with an overall impression that bobcats aren't negatively affected by the presence of people or houses."

Although not typically identified as predatory pests and despite a decline in the bobcat fur trade, the animals are still regularly hunted.

In rare instances, bobcat-human encounters can be a cause for worry. In February, the Maricopa County Parks and Recreation Department briefly closed the Spur Cross Ranch Conservation Area northeast of Phoenix after two hikers spotted a growling bobcat that approached them. Park officials were concerned the animal had contracted rabies.

Little is known about Arizona's bobcats, but McKinney is working on changing that. "With a conservation mentality emerging in the '50s, bounties were outlawed in the '70s. So most research on bobcats," he says, "only began in the '70s. There's still no single state that's done a lot of research on bobcat populations."

McKinney recently began a new study with Game and Fish, aimed at estimating Arizona's bobcat population. Data collected at 1,000 scent stations in five key habitat areas will provide a greater understanding of their relative abundance, population trends, habitat needs and possible designation of refuge areas.

Meanwhile, I often wonder what happened to the rooftop cat, which exited as suddenly and inconspicuously as he'd arrived a year earlier. Despite hiding himself well, I managed to grab glimpses of his distinctive ear tufts and majestic territorial pose. My most indelible memory, though: Locking gazes for an instant-enough time to confirm there's something undeniably sacred about sharing space with another species.

FUN BOBCAT FACTS

In 1915, a real desert bobcat named "Rufus Arizona" was introduced as the University of Arizona's first mascot. Rufus retired to the Reid Park Zoo. The mascot eventually morphed into Wilbur Wildcat (a human in costume) in 1959.

Bobcats are known to live up to twice as long in captivity as in the wild.

A Wandering Drive Across the Reservation Reveals Pristine Apache Lands

TROLLING ACROSS THE Fort Apache parade grounds, I anticipate my adventure and wonder why the Apache Indians fought so desperately to hang onto what remains a remote, lightly populated wilderness in eastcentral Arizona.

The fort's 288-acre collection of Army barracks, school buildings and the new Apache Cultural Center remains shadowed by ironies, and so offers the perfect preparation for my 90-mile drive through the heart of the White Mountain Apache Reservation, the ecological equivalent of a quick drive from Mexico to Canada.

The resourceful White Mountain Apaches now have laid claim to the fort once built by white men, just as visionary leaders like Chief Alchesay learned to compromise and adapt to hold tenaciously onto this spectacular, 1.6 million-acre reservation. The sprawling reservation includes the Salt River Canyon at 2,700 feet elevation and Mount Baldy at 11,403 feet, which remains one of the wettest places in Arizona. To hold onto their home, the White Mountain leaders even proved willing to serve as scouts for the Army in the terrible war with Geronimo's Chiricahua Apaches.

In part, that's because they believed their culture and morality depended on an intimate connection with the land where every bend of the stream had a sacred name and a story that helped parents teach children right behavior, as so beautifully described in Keith H. Basso's Wisdom Sits in Places: Landscape and Language Among the Western Apache. The Apache people believe the land's spirit can impart wisdom if you pay close attention. Now the White Mountain reservation harbors just 12,500 people and some of the most remote, pristine and diverse wilderness in Arizona, including a splashing tumult of streams that nurture the Apache trout-brought back from the brink of extinction through a cooperative effort of the tribe and Arizona Game and Fish Department.

My journey of discovery started with the purchase of a $6 fishing permit at the Wildlife & Outdoor Recreation Division in Whiteriver next to the White Mountain Apache Motel and Restaurant-the only motel in 5,200-resident Whiteriver. You need a permit anytime you leave the paved road on the reservation. Then I headed south to Fort Apache. After leaving the fort, the road leads to Indian Route Y55 and rises steadily from the juniper grasslands around Whiteriver. The pavement continues for 11 miles, past scattered homes along the East Fork of the White River. Less than 100 yards after the pavement ends, the road forks. I initially explore the road's northern fork that runs along Deep Creek, a soul-soothing stream too shallow to harbor hope of trout. I savor the stream, but turn back after a mile when the road climbs up from the creek toward Christmas Tree Lake, where you can catch 20inch Apache trout on a $25-a-day fishing permit.

Back on Y55, I drive steadily up the mountain, marveling at the riotous mix of vegetation. The forest crowds the road, with oak, ash, walnut and cottonwood trees, augmented by golden, oldgrowth ponderosa pines. Soon, seductively whitetrunked aspens make their appearance, hedged by brooding Douglas firs. The road climbs easily up to a ridge with stirring panoramic views and on past a succession of cheerful streams. At