Summer Camps

CAMP CHIRICAHUA LETS NEWLY FLEDGED BIRDERS SPREAD THEIR WINGS

When Roger Tory Peterson compiled his first field guide for Western birds in 1939, he did much of his research in Arizona's Chiricahua Mountains. This dean of American birders notes that the state's "sky islands" - lofty peaks that thrust upward from the desert floor were even then well-known to birders as the best places to observe many species seldom seen in the United States. The reputation of this one-time Apache stronghold as prime habitat places the mountains at the top of the birding pecking order today. That's why Victor Emanuel prefers the area as the site for Camp Chiricahua, America's first birdingcamp for kids. With all of North America to choose from, Emanuel wants his fledgling birders to begin with the best. In June of last year, 15 teenagers from throughout the country came to Arizona to share an experience that, for them, would be unique: the chance to enjoy their sport with other youngsters and to go into the field with Peterson, the "Babe Ruth of birding" and a longtime friend of Emanuel. "I don't know anyone my age who likes birds," says Cullen Hanks, 15, from Houston, Texas. "They want me to play football, but I'd rather go birding." "I don't tell other guys that I like birding," confesses Matt Weiss, 13, of Miami, Florida. "They make fun of me. That's why being here is so great."

"Other kids are just not interested," says Dan Chiaravalli, 14, from East Lansing, Michigan. "But I am devoted to it. It's all I do." He and Dan Smyth, 14, also from East Lansing, are the only birders in their school. Both say they're "really psyched" about Camp Chiricahua.

Remembering his own childhood, Emanuel, the owner of Austin, Texasbased Victor Emanuel Nature Tours, decided in 1986 to do something for young birders by starting Camp Chiricahua. "Birding should be a joyful and prideful experience," he says. To date, 100 boys and girls ages 11 to 17 have taken part.

Emanuel gathers his group in Tucson before driving east on Interstate Route 10 through Willcox and turning south into the rugged range that sheltered Cochise, the great Chiricahua Apache leader.

"This is not a tour," Emanuel tells the campers. "It is an educational adventure. You are going to learn to identify birds . . . learn about their life zones . . . improve your skills."

Before departing, they spend a day at the Arizona-Sonora Desert Museum to get acquainted with the dry country and its life-forms. Gila monsters, tarantulas, and desert bighorn sheep receive close attention. But the museum's two aviaries are most popular.

Because summertime Arizona is home to 12 of the 16 species of North American hummingbirds, one aviary is dedicated entirely to these tiny beauties. Within their enclosure, 22 hummers of six species whiz happily from feeders to nests, where their bee-size chicks squeak for attention. Other hummers outside conspire to get in where nectar can be had so easily.

In the second and larger aviary, many of the 400 species of birds that can be seen in Arizona walk, swim, or fly amid native shrubs and trees that flourish here. Peterson, taking a break from responding to questions from the campers and autographing their copies of his field guide, settles down on a convenient bench for some serious photography. One by one, his friends come to pay their respects to their biographer: the yellow grosbeak, lazuli bunting, cinnamon teal, cactus wren, whitewinged dove, house finch, Inca dove, hooded oriole, and grasshopper sparrow.

The following morning, Kenn Kaufman, author of Guide to Advanced Birding and a Tucson resident, takes the campers to a nearby field where acacia, cholla, and prickly pear thrive. Youngsters from New York, Illinois, and Michigan, who have never seen a cactus, quickly develop a healthy respect for the formidable defenses that cacti deploy.

The campers' target is the rufous-winged sparrow. Fifteen pairs of binoculars focus on a small perky bird that perches on an acacia twig and shows off the reddish stripe that adorns its head and its rufous shoulder chevrons. The sparrow jitters nervously, trills a police-whistle call, then vanishes among the thorns.

Kaufman shows his charges a cactus wren's nest cunningly crafted under the extended arm of a teddy bear cholla. A horizontal tube woven of grass and twigs, the nest provides its occupants with protection from sun, wind, rain, and predators. For the cactus wrens calling nearby, it was a successful survival strategy, Kaufman points out.

Invited to the country home of an amateur ornithologist, the youngsters roost on the floor of a glassed-in porch to watch for Montezuma quail that sometimes come to feed in the backyard. Nearly an hour passes. Hopes dwindle. Then someone spots a glittering black eye in the tall grass. Concentric black and white circles frame the eye. Slowly, the shape of a male Montezuma quail emerges. With its black back beaded in white and its white breast beaded in black, it is unquestionably one of the bird world's snappier dressers. After a moment's hesitation, it brings out its mate, stunningly garbed in pale maroon with black dots. Fifteen pencils silently add Montezuma quail to cherished lists of birds seen.

Arriving at Cave Creek Ranch adjoining the Chiricahua Wilderness, the campers hike up Cave Creek between towering ramparts of blond granite aptly named Cathedral Rocks. Ancient oaks, sycamores, cedars, and cottonwoods shade the valley floor where Cave Creek ripples over rocky ledges, disappearing beneath a boulder-paved bed only to emerge again downstream.

Blue-throated and magnificent hummingbirds zip past in search of wildflowers from which to sip nectar. They chirp and trill in tones barely within the range of human hearing.

Emanuel explains that large numbers of hummers arrive in southeastern Arizona each spring, making the area perhaps the best place in North America to observe them. In one program, for example, 6,000 hummers were banded by one crew in just five years. After mating, nesting, and fledging their chicks, the hummers return to warmer Mexican habitats for the winter.

An owl's baritone hoot echoes eerily from the shadowy distance, a bassoon to the hummingbird's piccolo. Finches, warblers, sparrows, woodpeckers, and doves flit through the lower branches, while hawks and falcons monitor their movements from above.

Cliffs painted with a pastel palette of ochre and pink and rose and orange reflect yellow light onto the canyon floor as the campers, watching for birds, stumble over a winding rocky path. An hepatic tanager perches on the branch of an Apache pine, phosphorescent in its reddish-brown brilliance. It sings a glissando of tinkling, chimelike notes. Camp counselor Barry Lyons is charmed. "That's a great bird," he says. "I love that bird."

reflect yellow light onto the canyon floor as the campers, watching for birds, stumble over a winding rocky path. An hepatic tanager perches on the branch of an Apache pine, phosphorescent in its reddish-brown brilliance. It sings a glissando of tinkling, chimelike notes. Camp counselor Barry Lyons is charmed. "That's a great bird," he says. "I love that bird."

Back in the shadows, an elegant trogon produces its rasping, guttural call. The kids eagerly await the appearance of this redand-green visitor from Mexico. But the trogon has business elsewhere. Its signature sounds faintly from far up the canyon.

The young birders are content. They'll see it tomorrow.

Returning to camp, Emanuel admits that while everyone thinks well of Nature, not everyone wants to get to know her personally. "A few people are touched by Nature when they are small," he says. Given a little encouragement and help, he feels, today's Chiricahua campers will become the scientists and conservationists of tomorrow.

"The quality of tomorrow's environment," Emanuel says, "will depend on the young people who are sensitized to its needs today." Camp Chiricahua, he believes, will help make a difference.