Spotted Skunk of the Chiricahuas

FOCUS NATURE THE DAUNTLESS SKUNK, AFFABLE CAMP COMPANION

Skunks own the night. I found that out on a recent backpack in the Chiricahua Mountains of southeastern Arizona. A full day ahead of a rendezvous with our driver, a friend and I flopped for the night in a campground up the road from Portal. Generally, we avoid "improved" campgrounds with their overflowing refuse bins (bear bait) and beaten-down tent sites. But after a week of hauling our water from springs, the luxury of a water tap was irresistible. That night as I crawled into my bedroll under the stars, I thought, "Not bad. No boom boxes, no screaming kids, no bears." A crisp night; great sleeping weather. But as I lay on my side, drifting into slumber, something walked on me. No mistake. It walked on me. Four-footed, tiptoe-fast walking, upmy back, across my right shoulder, and down my chest. I lay still. I'd been walked on before in my sleeping bag, once while snow camping in the North Woods by my companion's dog, looking for an invitation, and many times by mice, voles, and other small critters. Here was a puzzle, though. This nocturnal prowler was too light for a dog, too heavy for a mouse. Suddenly, something trotted up my right leg to my hip and stopped. I tried to guess its identity by weight. Raccoon? Too light. Fox? Too bold. Then my friend's voice called into the night: "Something walkin' on you?" "Yeah." "Me, too. Got your light?" By the time I groped my flashlight from my boot, whatever it was scampering around on us had tiptoed off into the night. I got up and aimed my light beam at some brush where I heard scratching sounds. Nothing. "Think I scared 'em off," I said, crawling back into my bedroll. But no sooner had I cinched the hood of my "mummy bag" around my head than I felt a tug at my foot. Whirling up out of my bag, I got a light on the troublesome little varmint before it could escape to the bushes.

"Oh, my gosh, a skunk!" It was a spotted skunk. My first impulse was to duck back into my sleeping bag, but the skunk appeared neither threatened nor threatening. So I kept the light on while it and three or four companions moseyed brazenly through our camp. The one I'd exposed to the light stopped occasionally to cast impudent glances back over its shoulder.

The spotted skunk has a broad white patch above its nose and numerous disconnected white stripes on its body, giving it a spotted appearance. Like other skunks, it's an unfussy eater, feeding on insects, small rodents, fruits, seeds, carrion, birds, and bird eggs. And, like all skunks, it's essentially nocturnal, seemingly emboldened by darkness.

Over the years, my campsites have been raided frequently after dark by skunks, but none so audacious as the spotted skunks that invaded that night. Nothing discouraged them. I'd hoot and shine the light. They'd scamper off, returning as soon as I snuggled in again. The game lasted through the night. Later, I swapped skunk stories with others. One camper said that a spotted skunk actually pulled on his hair as he lay sleeping one night. Others told about skunks walking under tent flaps and rummaging through their packs. The mountain ranges of southeast Arizona, especially the Chiricahuas, Huachucas, and Dragoons, attract all four species of skunks that occur in Arizona: the striped, the hooded, the hog-nosed, and, of course, the spotted. Want to see one? I can guarantee it. As night falls in one of these mountain areas, just smear a little sardine oil on a rock or log, get your flashlight ready and wait.

Tucson-based Tom Dollar, despite losing a night's sleep, feels fortunate to have met spotted skunks evincing such equanimity. A former wildlife biologist for the Bureau of Land Management, Marty Cordano is familiar with most denizens of Arizona's deserts and mountains.Text by Tom Dollar Photographs by Marty Cordano