Discover Nature's Diversity at the Sonoita Creek Sanctuary

THE BUTTERFLIES DANCE

WE CHECKED OUR GEAR AT THE ENTRANCE TO THE PATAGONIA-SONOITA CREEK PRESERVE, ALREADY WORRIED THAT WE'D MISSED OUR CHANCE TO PHOTOGRAPH THE GREAT VARIETY OF BIRDLIFE WE'D SET OUT TO FIND. THE NATURE CONSERVANCY'S PRESERVE, A 350-acre cottonwood forest strung out along 1.75 miles of creek, protects one of the most diverse wildlife habitats in the state. Its 275 bird species draw avid bird-watchers from across the country. The unique blend of trees, grasses, and bushes also harbors an extensive butterfly population. But we'd missed the spring-summer biological rush hour when birds complete thousand-mile journeys to flock in the 100foot-tall Fremont cottonwoods and their waving fringe of willow, ash, Arizona wal-Rita Mountains, the preserve sits just north of the U.S. and Mexico border. That means it's a biological intersection, luring many Sonoran Desert species to their southern limits and offering shelter to an amazing array of tropical species. Birders here seek rare treasures such as the blue mockingbird and green kingfisher. A number of trails guided us through the dense growth of brush and trees. One track paralleled the creek and led to an old railroad bridge abutment, where you can sit and watch animals foraging along the banks. We fell under the spell of the forest as soon as we passed under the canopy of the first gigantic Fremont cottonwood, which looked like some sort of outlandish treeworld for elves. We wandered on along the leaf-strewn trail and sauntered down an elevated berm flanked by Arizona walnut and velvet mesquite trees. Squirrels scurried and rolled through the leaf litter, dashed up the tree trunks, played a demented game of tag across the interlocking branches, knocked loose leaves, and chattered inventive little squirrel oaths at our oafish passage. Rounding a corner, we looked down on Sonoita Creek glittering through a leafy arch of shimmering cottonwoods. In the middle of the stream, two deer walked with such graceful delicacy they left no ripples. Framed by cottonwood branches, the deer dipped their heads to drink from the gleaming stream.

nut, netleaf hackberry, and velvet mesquite.

"I hope we didn't wait too long," I muttered to photographer Gary Johnson. Johnson shrugged and settled a 30pound bag of camera gear into place over his shoulder. "Relax," he advised with irritating calm. "We'll get what we get." "Right," I mumbled. "Anyway, what am I worrying about? You're the photographer." "And that's as it should be," he concluded. We turned then and wandered down the trail into the oldest more-or-less intact cottonwood forest in Arizona, dominated by awesome trees we couldn't encircle by linking hands and stretching to our straining fingertips. Before us lay Sonoita Creek, which flows year-round thanks to underground rock formations that force water to the surface even during dry years. Nestled in a rich floodplain between Patagonia and the foothills of the Santa

WHEN THE BUTTERFLIES DANCE

"This is so amazing," I whispered.

"I think I can get pictures here," deadpanned Gary.

The chatter of the squirrels and the greeting of the deer proved but a prelude to a remarkable day among the trees that offered a lesson in the value of diversity in a complex ecosystem. Study after study demonstrates that biological diversity holds the key to a healthy, resilient, productive natural world. That's why an intact cottonwood-willow streamside system provides one of the most fecund habitats in North America, so bountiful that birds journey thousands of miles to reach it.

We encountered fresh examples of life's interlocking diversity around each bend in the creek. We glimpsed the dark form of a gray hawk, a raptor unusual to Arizona because it is at the northern end of its range. The hawk makes its living largely by weaving adroitly through the forest and plucking lizards off tree trunks. But what makes Sonoita Creek a Mecca for this chirping, warbling, and flittering feathered assemblage?

Answering that question requires getting down on your hands and knees and lifting rocks and leaves to peer at the base of the food chain: the amazing diversity of plants and insects that crowd one another in such a world.

Let's start with a purplish little creature dubbed the pleasing fungus beetle. We noted a pod of these garishly colored bugs clustered on a mushroom growing on a gash in the trunk of a cottonwood. These beetles spend all their time feeding on fungus, rooting through decaying stumps. They're a perfect example of life's interdependence, both exploiting and benefiting the fungus and thus playing a key role in the larger ecosystem. The beetles extract from the fungus certain chemicals that make them so repulsive in taste that no bird will sample a pleasing fungus beetle more than once. That may be why the beetles adopt such brilliant colors, a sort of swaggering defiance by a creature confident of its chemical defenses. The tactic exacts a toll because the physiological cost of converting the mushroom toxins into defensive chemicals leaves the beetle and its larvae unable to eat almost anything else. However, the beetles pay for their supper, spreading the fungal spores as they move from trunk to trunk. That, in turn, contributes to the greater good because the trunk-growing fungus dramatically accelerates decomposition, which returns nutrients to the soil and fuels the growth of other plants.

"The fungi is absolutely critical in decomposition," noted Dave Pearson, a zoology professor at the University of Arizona. "Otherwise, we'd be up to our eyeballs in dead tree trunks."

This same scheme of plants and ecological niches accounts for the startling profusion of butterflies in the preserve. This tiny patch of ground boasts more types of butterflies per acre than anyplace in North America, according to Jeffery Cooper, The Nature Conservancy's on-site manager. Butterflies remain among the more specialized of insects, thanks largely to the dietary demands of their caterpillar incarnation. Most caterpillars must eat only certain kinds of plants, causing them to be toxic to predators but forcing them to live among only those select plants.

That's why the caterpillar of the lordly monarch butterfly can feed on only one or two varieties of the milkweed. And that's why a caterpillar adapted to shade can't survive in sunny meadows. These physiological trade-offs link each species of butterfly to certain plants and habitats.

Therefore the plethora of butterflies fluttering across the landscape stands as frail evidence of Sonoita Creek's diversity a happy state of affairs that the preserve's managers hope to increase. They have undertaken an unusual project intended to increase the diversity of grasses and forbs on which butterflies depend. Decades ago farmers

(PRECEDING PANEL, PAGES 38 AND 39)

The Patagonia-Sonoita Creek Preserve boasts more species of butterflies than any other place in North America.

(ABOVE) Deer can be spotted along the preserve's trails, undisturbed by visitors.

(RIGHT) The overlapping habitats of the preserve lure an amazing diversity of wildlife.

WHEN THE BUTTERFLIES DANCE

cleared off several large meadows and left behind a tenacious forage crop called Johnson grass. This Asian grass grows in thick monocultures, sprouting from root runners that grow so thickly in any open sunny place that they virtually choke out all other plants. The preserve's managers brought in George Ruyle, associate research scientist in the School of Renewable Natural Resources at the University of Arizona, to set up controlled but intensive cattle grazing to thin the Johnson grass.

The cows have already taken such a toll on the Johnson grass that once-excluded native plants now account for 40 percent of the biomass in the experimental meadow. Next the researchers hope to plant plugs of the native Sacaton grass, which grows in clumps and allows a wide variety of other grasses and forbs to flourish.

A waving forest of sunflowers has already invaded the meadow. Johnson and I came upon this spot near sunset, like Dorothy plunked among the Munchkins. We wandered among the undulating sixfoot-tall forest of sunflowers, stalking butterflies and goldfinches with 200-millimeter lenses. Black, yellow, white, and gold butterflies lured us deeper and deeper into the meadow.

In the midst of the meadow, we found ourselves surrounded by a flittering band of goldfinches, endearing wisps of brilliant yellow birds capped in black. The tiny creatures spurted from flower to flower, hanging upside down, extracting seeds from the swaying stalks like show-off acrobats. I tracked them for an hour, lost in reverie. It was a memorable time.

I can shut my eyes right now and summon the image of a goldfinch bobbing on a sunflower; a butterfly fanning its shimmering wings; the swaying of a whole field of yellow blooms in a cool wind; the smell of fall wafting out of the trees; and the feeling of picking my way so carefully through those sunflowers, like a deer stepping into a glittering stream without stirring a ripple.

Additional Reading:

The attractions of southern Arizona are the focus of Arizona Highways' newest guidebook, Tucson to Tombstone, written by Tucsonbased Tom Dollar with photographs by regular contributors to the magazine. The region Dollar covers is imprinted with the mystique and legacy of three cultures — Indian, Hispanic, and Old West settlers — not to mention modern-day visionaries. And its sights-to-see range from 18th-century missions to a futuristic enclosure in which people, plants, and animals can live without outside help. The lively text takes readers over the area's unique desert, into its riparian canyons laden with wildlife, and to the peaks of its sky islands. The 96-page softcover book features more than 128 color photographs, plus maps and travel tips. It costs $12.95 plus shipping and handling. To order, telephone toll-free (800) 543-5432; in the Phoenix area or outside the U.S., call (602) 258-1000.

WHEN YOU GO

The Patagonia-Sonoita Creek Preserve is about 60 miles southeast of Tucson near the little community of Patagonia. From Phoenix, take Interstate 10 east to State Route 82, then head south to Patagonia. In town turn west onto Fourth Avenue, then south onto Pennsylvania, go across the creek and then three-fourths of a mile to the entrance. Look for the new visitors center scheduled for completion about this time. For more information, contact Patagonia-Sonoita Creek Preserve, P.O. Box 815, Patagonia, AZ 85624; (520) 394-2400.

WIT STOP Closing the Sunroof Won't Help When the Sky Is Falling

A few years ago, I taught a summer course at Northern Arizona University in Flagstaff. On my first free day, my family wanted to do some sightseeing, so we drove to Meteor Crater about 35 miles east on Interstate 40.

Frankly, I didn't want to go. My idea of a perfect day off is the same as my idea of a perfect day at work: do as little as possible in as few places as possible. I'd rather stay home and relax. Besides, a crater is just a hole in the ground.

I imagined it would be an interestingly shaped little cavity that might be cemented over and used by skateboarding enthusiasts. It's not. It's a big hole in the ground, 600 feet deep and 4,100 feet across.

The tour guide told us that the crater was formed about 49,500 years ago when a meteor approximately 100 feet in diameter and weighing about 50,000 tons slammed into the Arizona landscape traveling at 43,000 miles per hour. The explosive force of the impact equalled that of more than 20 million tons of TNT and probably extinguished all life within 50 miles of the crash site.

My family toured the crater and the Astronaut Hall of Fame on the grounds, watched the video demonstration, bought a few mementos at the gift shop, and had hot dogs and soft drinks at the cafe. I didn't eat anything. My stomach was feeling a little queasy.

When we got back into the car after our visit, my wife said, "Where should we go now?"

I said, "We're going back to the motel."

She said, "Why are we going back to the motel?"

I said, "Because it has a roof on it."

The kids said, "What are we going to do at the motel?"

I said, "We're going to have our room changed from the second floor to the first floor."

My wife said, "That's silly. Why do we want to move to the first floor?"

I said, "Because the first floor is farther away from the sky."

My wife noticed I was pretty jittery as I drove and figured it out. "You're afraid of meteors."

I told my wife, "I am not afraid of meteors." Then I asked my son, "Joey, is your Little League batting hat in the trunk?"

Joey said, "I don't know. Why?"

"Daddy just might want to wear it for a while if it is."

My wife wouldn't give up. "You are. You're afraid of meteors."

"Well," I said, "this is a meteor-prone neighborhood. It's dangerous."

"There's only one crater," she said.

I said, "It doesn't take many."

"But it happened over 49,000 years ago."

"That's just it," I said. "If it happened yesterday, I wouldn't be worried. But 49,000 years ago - we're due."

We drove along for a while in a silent truce. Then my wife said, "Boy it's hot," and she reached toward the roof.

"Don't open the sunroof," I said.

"It's like an oven in here. Why not?"

"Don't open the sunroof," I said.

My wife said, "Oh no. Don't tell me you're afraid a meteor is going to come in through the sunroof."

"It could happen," I said.

"Do you know the mathematical odds of that happening?"

I said, "I'm not good at math; I'm good at paranoia."

She said, "Closing the sunroof is not going to keep a meteor away."

I said, "Maybe not, but I'd rather be safe than vaporized."

She said, "There's no way a meteor could come through the sunroof."

I said, "Yeah, but what if one does?"

She said, "We'd be destroyed in a flash."

I said, "That's right. And 49,000 years from now I don't want tourists driving out Interstate 40 to see the 'Meteor Toyota.'"

Just then I had to swerve back into my lane to avoid an oncoming truck.

My wife said, "You're driving like a maniac."

I said, "I am not." I swerved out of the way of another truck.

She said, "You're looking up at the sky instead of keeping your eyes on the road."

I said, "Trucks have drivers. They can look out for me. Meteors don't have drivers, so I have to keep my eyes on the sky, too . . . to make sure none of them are coming."

My wife said, "Pull over. I'm driving."

I pulled over.

My wife took the wheel and cautiously guided us back into traffic on Interstate 40.

She said, "I don't know why you're making such a big deal of this. The man at the crater told us that nowadays it's almost impossible for a meteor to penetrate Earth's dense atmosphere."

I said, "What does he know? He works at a hole in the ground."

And that's the last thing I remember about the trip. Just then a bug splattered against the windshield, and I passed out.

FRIENDS TRAVEL ADVENTURES Capturing Real Cowboys Close Up at Prescott's Famed Frontier Days Rodeo

Out in the arena in a swirl of choking dust - his body twisted in every direction, one hand gripping tightly, the other held high in the air the cowboy fights to stay aboard a jackknifing bronco with other ideas. If he doesn't get thrown and wins enough points, there'll be cash money in his jeans and a tale to tell about surviving another year in Prescott's Frontier Days Rodeo. Said to be the oldest such cowboy competition in the world, the rodeo is the focus of one of the Friends of Arizona Highways' most popular Photo Workshops. Set for July 3 through 7, the Workshop will be led by internationally noted photographer Ken Akers.

Workshop participants will have special access to areas where they will be able to photograph the action up close, says Akers, the recipient of national awards for his rodeo pictures.

Highlights of the workshop include a cowboy cookout, a cowboy portraiture session, a sunrise shoot on a working ranch, horseback riding, and a lively look at Prescott, the picturesque mile-high community known as "Everybody's Hometown."

A perennial favorite of participants is a stroll along Whiskey Row, which in the old days supported so many saloons it was "for all practical purposes, just one long bar." And it's a great spot to relax after all the rodeo excitement.

Following are other trips in upcoming months.

Photo Workshops

Ghost Towns and Missions; March 6-9; J. Peter Mortimer. Sonoran Desert Secrets; March 27-30; Randy A. Prentice. Monument Valley; April 10-13; John Drew.

Arizona Photo Sampler Tours

All trips visit the Grand Canyon,

WHEN YOU GO

The Friends of Arizona Highways offers a variety of ways to explore the wonders of Arizona. Photo Workshops led by our master contributing photographers provide picture takers of all skill levels with in-depth hands-on instruction to help them take photos like those in the magazine. New Arizona Photo Sampler Tours visit more scenic spots than Photo Workshops, and they offer plenty of tips from the accompanying photographer. Friends Backpacking Tours focus on Arizona's most popular destinations. Scenic Tours with Ray Manley are designed primarily for mature adults. Assistance is provided by Nikon, Hasselblad, Fuji, and Image Craft.

For more information, call the Friends' Travel Office, (602) 271-5904.

Monument Valley, Canyon de Chelly, and Lake Powell; April 24-28, June 5-9, October 9-13.

Backpacking with the Friends

Paria Canyon; April 27-May 1. Keet Seel and Betatakin; May 30-June 2.

EXPLORE THE DESERT IN BLOOM WITH Desert Wildflowers ARIZONA Desert Wildflowers

From a spread of wild blue morning glories to La cluster of magenta prickly pear blossoms, Arizona's native desert wildflowers are beautifully represented in more than 180 full-color photographs. You'll discover when and where to find more than 60 colorful varieties and learn how to grow them in your home garden.

The 112-page, 81/4" by 103/4" softcover book is $9.95 plus shipping and handling.

ARIZONA HIGHWAYS

Exploring the wonders of Arizona To order, use the attached card or call toll-free nationwide, 1-800-543-5432. In the Phoenix area or outside the U.S., call 602-258-1000.

LEGENDS OF THE LOST Did Some Mexican Bandits Stash Saddlebags Filled with Loot at Mexican Pocket? Some Think Not

He just wasn't buying it. We were at the edge of a snow-covered forest 12 miles south of Flagstaff, and Jack Smith was pointing at a piece of the landscape called Mexican Pocket. "This isn't any 'pocket,' " he said. "This is just a hill, and these trees, most of them weren't here before 1918. Before that this would have been an open meadow. Some hideaway! It just doesn't make sense!"

Smith, a historian by training, spends some of his time trying to verify stories that are presented as truth but which usually get riddled with folklore when passed from one generation to another. One of the most persistent of these stories deals with lost loot.

In this case, it was the lost loot allegedly buried by a gang of thieves in 1888 at the place called Mexican Pocket.

Many years ago, the story goes, two saddlebags were dug up at Mexican Pocket; one contained $5,000, the other $8,000. The saddlebags supposedly belonged to two of 12 Mexican bandits who camped at the spot, and the mystery has persisted ever since: did each of the 12 bandits bury a saddlebag containing his share of the loot, and is the rest of it still out there someplace? Most of the so-called facts surrounding the buried cash at Mexican Pocket were gathered by the late Gladwell Richardson, a Navajo trader who also was a prolific writer of Western novels and magazine articles. His story on Mexican Pocket was published in 1973. It is the only known article on this topic.

Bonnie Greer, who has indexed Richardson's articles for the Arizona Historical Society, Northern Division (Northern Arizona University's Cline Library Special Collections and Archives), has tried verifying bits of various stories that Richardson wrote. She concluded, "It seems like he would take one or two facts, and then, you know, he would just write a whole article, and a lot of it has to be taken with a grain of salt."

According to Richardson's account of this missing loot, in 1887-88 a gang from Old Mexico was stealing horses in New Mexico and Apache County in eastern Arizona. After a series of robberies, the bandits moved in with friends and relatives in Concho for about a month and then moved on to Phoenix via the Tonto Basin. With some 15 of their stolen horses, they headed southwest, stealing a few more mounts along the way. This was an error that could be made only by people unaware of the skill and temperament of Commodore Perry Owens, the Apache County sheriff.

Owens' speed and accuracy with a carbine has been welldocumented in cases in which he killed several men. In the late 1880s, the lawman reportedly was under considerable pressure from ranchers furious over the theft of their horses. At his base in St. Johns, Owens also was besieged with complaints from irate citizens demanding action. He started pursuing the bandits with a posse but eventually ended up alone when his helpers decided the terrain was too rough for their horses.

"Deep canyons forced the outlaws to turn northwest, passing Chevelon Butte," Richardson wrote. "On the high plateau, the gang drove on past a series of small lakes, then into grassfilled, watered mountain parks referred to as 'pockets.' Believing they had evaded possible pursuit, the outlaws holed up to rest on one small creek."

The pocket where the bandits camped in 1888 may be east of today's State Route 89A, and while Jack Smith contends it would have been a wide-open and ridiculous place to hide, Richardson offered a different account.

Richardson says Sheriff Owens made his way through "dense" stands of pine trees the morning after the bandits had spent their first night in camp. Once he knew where they were, he went to Flagstaff and recruited two helpers, Pete Brogdon and John Jacobs.

When they returned to the pocket, Owens ordered Brogdon and Jacobs to spread out, adding that if the Mexicans didn't surrender, they should shoot to kill.

Later Owens swore he had called to the men in Spanish, pausing long enough to allow them to surrender, and then opened fire. Brogdon and Jacobs insisted that Owens said not a word and simply came out shooting with his recently purchased Winchester carbine.

When the gunfire ended, seven of the 12 bandits lay dead. The other five had sprung to their horses and escaped into the sheltering trees.

Owens gave Brogdon and Jacobs the bandits' horses and saddles as payment for their assistance and told them to bury the dead. Then they watched him leave with the stolen horses he was herding to their owners. Brogdon and Jacobs returned to Flagstaff to get help to dig the graves and went back to the carnage the following day.

While picking through the gear the bandits had left behind, they found a short shovel encrusted with dirt. Brogdon thought the bandits might have buried something, but neither he nor Jacobs pursued that possibility until several years later when a treasure hunter came around asking questions about the shoot-out. His curiosity finally ignited, Brogdon returned and, after an extensive search, dug up up a pair of goatskin saddlebags containing $5,000 in gold and silver coins.

For several years after that find, Brogdon and Jacobs returned to Mexican Pocket on weekends to continue their search. In 1893, Richardson says, they found another pair of saddlebags containing a little more than $8,000.

The five bandits who had escaped the shoot-out eventually made their way to Phoenix. Two of them died soon afterward of wounds suffered in the gunfight. The three who were still in one piece turned up at the Capital Saloon where they encountered Phoenix Town Marshal Henry Garfias. Suspicious of the new arrivals, Garfias questioned them. The men gave vague answers about where they were from and walked out of the saloon. Dissatisfied with the responses, Garfias followed them outside and ordered them to halt. As they did, they turned and reached for their guns, and that, says Richardson, was a very bad idea since Garfias was a quick-draw expert. Seconds later, three more bandits lay dead in the street.

Richardson assumed that each of the bandits probably carried a more or less equal amount of the loot in his saddlebags, therefore more cash was to be found at Mexican Pocket. That assumption is only one of the questionable elements in this tale of lost loot. Another is the role Garfias supposedly played. At the time that he allegedly shot threebandits, “Marshal” Garfias had been out of office for two years. His last term expired in 1886.

Also, according to Phoenix journalist Earl Zarbin, who has researched Garfias' life thoroughly, there is only one documented account of Garfias being in a shoot-out, and it wasn't the incident referred to by Richardson.

The story is further complicated by Richardson's final comment offered almost as an afterthought that the Mexican Pocket where this incident occurred is not the Mexican Pocket shown on the maps as directly east of State Route 89A. He says the original Mexican Pocket was west of the highway and doesn't appear on any topographical maps.

Historian Smith, who says no one has ever found the graves of the bandits supposedly buried in Mexican Pocket, speculated that the place Richardson was really talking about is Mortgage Spring, east of Pumphouse Wash. Mortgage Spring is an actual pocket, a real hideaway, Smith says, and there are some unmarked graves there.

Smith isn't certain about Mortgage Spring. He is certain, however, that nothing ever happened at the place called Mexican Pocket.”

ARIZONA HUMOR Universal Recognition

On my first day of teaching conversational English at a university in China, I told my students I came from Arizona. I mentioned the Grand Canyon, but they didn't seem to know anything about it or the state in general.

Then I mentioned Phoenix, and all of a sudden their hands shot into the air and they began shouting, “Charles Barkley! Charles Barkley!”

All in a Name

On our first driving trip through Arizona, we ar-rived rather late in Winslow without a motel reservation. We tried several motels without success, so we decided to call some of the places listed in our travel guide. Finally I found one with a vacancy, and the operator asked for my name.

“Steere,” I replied.

There was a long pause. Then the voice asked, “And your first name?” “Russell,” I said.

Another pause, then, “Yeah, right!” And a loud click as the operator hung up the phone.

An Oatman Visit

I recently visited the old mining town of Oatman with my grandson. As we parked the car, four burros approached, and I rolled my window down so my grandson could pet them.

To our surprise, one burro stuck his brown and white head right into the car, opened his mouth, and with big brown-stained teeth showing - brayed loudly: Hee haw! Hee haw! We nearly panicked.

Then my grandson quipped, “Look, Grandpa. He needs to floss his teeth like we do.”

Not Quite Full

Two men were sitting in the blood donor center in Flagstaff. One was an eastern tourist, the other a Navajo. The easterner could not restrain his curiosity and asked the Navajo, “Are you really a full-blooded Indian?” “Well, no,” the Navajo responded thoughtfully, “right now I’m one pint short.”

His and Hers

While on a walk through Black Butte Ranch with our 3%-year-old granddaughter, I explained that the red cattle with the white faces were Herefords. Later that day, she told her grandma that on the walk she had seen some Hereford cows, but she didn't see any Hisfords.

Take a Bow

A well-known coach was va-cationing with his family at a resort near a small Arizona town. One evening when he took his family to the tiny theater, he was surprised to receive a hearty round of applause upon entering. Graciously, he acknowledged the crowd, and then he sat down.

TO SUBMIT HUMOR

Send us a short note about your humorous experiences in Arizona, and we'll pay $75 for each one we publish.

We're looking for short stories, no more than 200 words, that deal with Arizona topics and have a humorous punch line.

Send them to Humor, Arizona Highways, 2039 W. Lewis Ave., Phoenix, AZ 85009. Please enclose your name, address, and telephone number with each submission.

We'll notify those whose stories we intend to publish, but we cannot acknowledge or return unused submissions.

The next day, much to his embarrassment, he learned the applause occurred because the four members of his family increased the size of the audience to the required 10, and the movie could begin.

Bases Covered

My wife, Red Marie, became exasperated one night by all the phone calls I get regarding Tombstone's history.

Thinking I'd show her, I replied, “What if Earp's not in heaven?”

“Then you can ask him for me.”

Weather Wonder

We stopped in a small town on our way to Quartzsite, desperate for something cold and full of ice. Though it was the end of September, the thermometer swelled past the 100° F. mark, and our “weather wonder” got the best of us.

“Doesn't the heat moderate here as the summer ends?” I asked the waitress who brought our drinks.

“Well, sure,” she replied enthusiastically. “It can be downright pleasant here this time of year. It just never has been.”

Declining Numbers of Tanagers Spark National Concern

At about the geographical center of Arizona and 6,000 feet above sea level, four citizens in their mid-60s - an English teacher, a librarian, a corporate executive, and a writer-naturalist are pursuing one element of a deadly serious National Science Experiment. In a month or so, this team will go again to established stations to gather its fourth summer of data on three species of tanagers: western, summer, and hepatic (liver-colored). As before, findings from thousands of such sites located in nearly all the Lower 48 states will be fed via computer-readable data sheets to the Cornell University Laboratory of Ornithology at Ithaca, New York. Results will be combined and analyzed.

The Cornell-sponsored experiment seeks answers to a deceptively simple hypothesis: “Tanagers are more likely to breed successfully in large patches of forest than in small ones.” True or false? Involved in the study are the fates of many of North America's most beloved and admired songbirds, some 250 species of grasslandand woods-dwelling intercontinental travelers classified as neotropical migrants. Many species are believed to be rapidly declining in numbers, causing alarm among some of America's more distinguished bird experts.

For advanced bird-watchers and casual Nature lovers alike, the question is fairly posed: is a day coming when our winged and feathered singers no longer will fill our fields and forests with sweet music and sharp calls?

It has long been taken for granted that on a single autumn night as many as 10 million warblers, vireos, tanagers, grosbeaks, flycatchers, and other wee flyers would launch southeastward from staging areas along Atlantic shores to wintering grounds thousands of miles away.

In some of their longest flights, migrants as tiny as warblers (fuel fat comprising half their body weight) remain aloft over water 80 hours at a stretch. At altitudes of one to four miles, the doughty flocks ride an advancing cold front from the north to the vicinity of Bermuda, where westering trade winds sweep them back to South America 2,000 miles nonstop. Yet other bands of migrants embark on southward odysseys of more than 3,000 miles over woodlands, mountains, and oceans. They fling themselves across the Gulf of Mexico or wing across lands connecting the continents of North and South America. In the Western United States, migrants may flee the cold one day or week at a time, but they head ever southward, toward the warm.

However diverse their routes, the subtropicals tarry for the winter on Caribbean islands, within Central American jungles, along Mexican savannas, amid South American rain forests. There knowledgeable citizens worry about onrushing destruction of habitat to accommodate human housing, frontier farms, and coastal development. But thus far, although perhaps in diminished numbers, every spring the mass migrations reverse. Magically, perfectly timed for the opening of buds and the hatching of insects, the states and provinces of North America welcome the colorful, melodious flocks for the annual rituals of reproduction.

That hat certain neotropical species have suffered population declines seems beyond doubt. Dr. John Terborgh, professor of biology at Duke University, wrote Where Have All the Birds Gone?, a book that compares his boyhood sightings of 150 kinds of migrants whippoorwills, peewees, vireos, cuckoos, warblers, and tanagers - with conditions in his old Virginia neighborhood 40 years later. Plenty of forest remains today, if only in patches. Birds still abound. But they are mainly residents and limited-range migrants: robins, sparrows, catbirds, chickadees, woodpeckers, wrens, and titmice.

Terborgh's concern has been echoed by a host of colleagues. A line of logic has evolved, postulating that forest fragmentation (by roads, power-line clearing, commercial and residential accesses) has reduced the chances for subtropical migrants to reproduce. By instinct they seek breeding sites deep within large forests. When little is left but forest patches, neotropicals are vulnerable.

In time, science may craft a plan to ensure that future choruses of neotropical migrants will flourish in the forests and fields of North America.

BACK ROAD ADVENTURE The Trip to Wild Cow Springs Just May Be the Most Civilized Backcountry Excursion You Can Hope to Take

Every desert community deserves an oasis. Fortunately many towns in Arizona have them. Tucson residents, for example, can escape hundred degree days by driving an hour to the cool pines on Mount Lemmon; Safford residents have Mount Graham; Globe-Miami residents have the Pinal and Sierra Ancha mountains; and people in the southeastern corner have the Chiricahuas. In all of these communities, you can drive from desert heat to the equivalent of a Canadian summer (minus the mosquitoes) in roughly an hour. Of these various summer retreats, there's one that is simple to get to but virtually unknown outside of Mohave County. The county occupies roughly 8.5 million acres of high desert in northwestern Arizona, a terrain of sand-castle bluffs and dramatic mesas towering over the western borders of the Grand Canyon. Approximately 100,000 people live in Mohave County, most of them in Lake Havasu City, Bullhead City, and the county seat, Kingman. Rising like a wall along the southeastern edge of Kingman are the Hualapai Mountains, named for the Indians who once inhabited them. Hualapai, in the language of the natives, means "people of the tall pines," and the scenic drive from Kingman to a Bureau of Land Management campground called Wild Cow Springs, at the top of the Hualapai Mountains, will confirm the accuracy of the name. The trip to Wild Cow is one of the most civilized backcountry excursions you can take in a state where mountain roads often are unpaved and dangerous. With the exception of a short bumpy stretch, this route into the Hualapais is a breeze. From Kingman, the entire oneway route to Wild Cow is 16 miles, and 12 of those miles are Paved. Furthermore, the paved road goes right through the heart of Mohave County's 2,262-acre Hualapai Mountain Park, where you can purchase a meal, rent a cabin or a room in a lodge, camp, picnic, and hike any one of a dozen trails. (See Arizona Highways, August '95.)Begin this trip at the inter-section of State Route 66 (Andy Devine Avenue) and Hualapai Mountain Road in Kingman. You can get to this point by leaving Interstate 40 at Exit 51 south and following Stock-ton Hill Road, which becomes Hualapai Mountain Road. This road quickly climbs Sawmill Canyon to the park entrance. One minute you're in tumbleweed country at the edge of a new subdivision, and the next you're rolling through hills covered with piñon pines (once a major food source for the Hualapai Indians) and ju-nipers. Within minutes the road passes from high desert to hills covered with ponderosa pines, spruce and aspens, and dra-matic outcroppings of lichen-speckled granite. In less than an hour, the habitat of the Gila monster and desert tortoise gives way to a landscape thick with mountain lion, elk, deer, the tufted-earred Abert's squir-rel, and the more elusive Hua-lapai vole, a mouselike creature threatened with extinction. The road up the mountain begins at an altitude of about 3,300 feet and reaches 8,200 feet at Hualapai Mountain Park. Sawmill Canyon, which the road bisects, was named for a sawmill that operated near the mountaintop around the turn of the century. In addition to the sawmill, gold and silver mines pocked the Hualapais. In the 1870s, a horde of prospectors poured into the range from California and Nevada. From the intersection of State 66 and Hualapai Mountain Road, it is 11 miles to the park head-quarters, where you can get more information about the facilities and hiking trails in the area. Within the park, the county parks department maintains a bunkhouse which sleeps 10 and 15 cabins, four of which are rustic stone structures. If you want to make a reservation (a good idea in summer and on weekends), call the parks de-partment at (520) 757-0915. Take a break at Hualapai Mountain Park, or end your

MILEPOSTS What'll You Have?

The sign out front says Truck-ers Welcome, but inside Cunningham's Ranch House Restaurant in Sonoita, you're just as likely to meet up with a cowboy in dusty jeans, a shirt buttoned to the neck, and boots with spurs that jangle as he bel-lies up to the bar — the salad bar, that is. The restaurant, owned and operated by Bob and Sarah Cunningham, offers a surprisingly varied menu and the kind of friendly service that makes small towns a balm for urbanitis. “It's home cooking — that's what I do,” says chef Bob, who recommends the bar-becued selections — if you can pass up the roast beef, chicken-fried steak, and stuffed bell peppers. The restaurant is at 3250 Highway 82.

Arizona Highways Spring Sale

Scenic prints, T-shirts, books, back issues of the magazine, and Christmas cards are just a few of the items that will be sold at re-duced prices — some at or below cost — at the Eighth Annual Arizona Highways Spring Sale. The big outdoor sale, which also will feature door prizes for lucky shop-pers, will take place from 9 A.M. to 2 P.M., Saturday, March 23, at the magazine, 2039 W. Lewis Ave., Phoe-nix. For more information, telephone toll-free (800) 543-5432; in the Phoenix area, call 258-6641.

In the Pits? Take a Mine Tour

From the observation point above the huge Morenci Open Pit Mine, the 240-ton trucks and giant shovels hundreds of feet below look like toys. For a close-up look at what goes on in the copper mine, you can take a free van tour down into the pit, covering three-plus hours and 81 square miles, visiting the crushers, concentrators, and solvent extraction-electrowinning plants. About 9,000 people a year take the tours, which are guided by Phelps Dodge Corporation retirees. Times are weekdays, 8:30 A.M. and 1:15 P.M., departing from the Morenci Motel. Reservations are recommended. For information, call (520) 8654521, ext. 435.

All Aboard! a “RR” Hotel

Passengers on Grand Canyon Railway's trips from Williams to the South Rim of the state's most popular attraction can spend the night at the railroad's “new” (it opened last summer) Fray Marcos Hotel. The 89-room hotel is located in the historic Williams Depot complex just steps from where passengers board the railroad's restored 1923 Harriman coaches. A 19th-century bar highlights Spenser's, a restaurant off the lobby, which serves breakfast, lunch, and dinner daily. To inquire, call Grand Canyon Railway toll-free at (800) 843-8724.

A Mission Renewed

We visited Mission San Xavier del Bac and were impressed with the dramatic results of the continuing project to spruce up the 212-yearold church's baroque interior. Thanks to the project — which involves only cleaning, not restoration — once faded colors are again the unbelievably vibrant blues, reds, greens, and yellows created by the padres and craftsmen who pushed Spain's empire in Mexico north into what is now Arizona. Bernard Fontana, a retired University of Arizona anthropologist who has devoted 40 years to studying San Xavier (still an active parish of the Diocese of Tucson), says the cleaning is about two-thirds done and calls it “quite a transformation.” From what we saw, the change already is nothing short of a miracle. To inquire about the mission, located just south of Tucson and visible from Interstate 19, call (520) 294-2624.

Hotel Check-In Made Easier

In the amount of time it takes to “screw in a lightbulb or uncork a bottle of wine,” guests can check into one of the more than 220 U.S. Hilton hotels and resorts, including eight in metropolitan Phoenix and Tucson, and be on their way to their rooms. Guests with guaranteed reservations who are identified as members of the Hilton HHonors guest reward program are automatically registered using the “Zip-In Check-In” procedure. Upon a guest's arrival, a hotel rep verifies the name and credit card and hands over a waiting room-key packet. Hilton says this takes only 20 to 30 seconds, compared with the “standard” check-in time of more than three minutes.

Understanding Tuzigoot Gently Down the Stream

Drifting along a tranquil river, enjoying the sights and sounds of a lush riparian setting, doesn't have to mean a long trek into the outback. Less than two hours north of Phoenix, you can ply the Verde River in a canoe rented from the River Otter Canoe Company. The outfitters, located in Camp Verde, are open daily and offer two-person canoe rentals for $30 a day. Guided trips are available for an extra fee along with shuttle service to and from the river. For more information, call (520) 5674116. Stuart RosebrookAnew biography about one of Arizona's biggest celebrities was written by an insider, so

Tell-All Book Hits Stands

HIKE OF THE MONTH Blackett's Ridge Gets Top Marks for Humbling Hikers with Mind-boggling Scenery

I'm crawling on a windy spur of rock shaped like a lumpy anvil and not a lot larger. At my left elbow is a 1,500-foot plunge into Sabino Canyon. At my right elbow is a 1,500foot plunge into Bear Canyon. Straight ahead is - well, another plunge, and I'm not going out to the prow of the anvil to report its precise character. According to the topo map, it is only 160 feet. I have more than a touch of acrophobia, and the terminal aerie of this hike has triggered it. No, a phobia is an irrational fear, and there's nothing goofy about this high-elevation agitation. Even Betty Leavengood's definitive Tucson Hiking Guide is less than intrepid here. "Extreme caution must be exercised in this area," she wrote. "A misstep could be tragic." This is Blackett's Ridge, and among the scores of spectacular hikes in the mountains around Tucson, it is tops at making the hiker feel both awed and humbled by the surrounding scenery. There's no cause to be scared except for the final 30 feet - but these last few steps lead to the overlook that makes it most worthwhile. The trail climbs 1,500 feet from Tucson to the narrow saddle separating Sabino and Bear canyons in the Santa Catalina Mountains, traversing a desert forest of saguaro, ocotillo, and agave. It's a short hike, 3.1 miles one way, but the climb is relentless, and it mounts severalpseudo summits, each one raising false hopes. Students of wildlife can observe hawks cruising at eye level, scanning the mountainside for breakfast. Students of urban sprawl can watch Tucson expanding literally by the minute, as ant-size bulldozers make new subdivisions at the mountain's foot. In winter Blackett's Ridge is sometimes shrouded in drooping clouds, and a hike into them is a foray into a wet, gray-white nebula where the desert plants fade in and out like silent ghosts stranded in a bizarre alien world. But the overlook from the lumpy anvil is the raison d'etre of this trail. You stare across the gap of Sabino Canyon at the main body of the Santa Catalinas, eye to eye with the mountain, and you see its immensity and power in a new way. From here the mountain is not a geologic incident but a force of Nature. Not a stage set designed for a city but something that was here 15 million years before Tucson, and which will survive our ruins by millions more.

WHEN YOU GO

Check trail conditions by contacting the Coronado National Forest's Santa Catalina Ranger District, 5700 N. Sabino Canyon Road, Tucson, AZ 85715; (520) 749-8700. The hike is strenuous so take plenty of water and plan on spending at least half a day. Springtime is the best time for this hike since the wildflowers are usually spectacular along the trail. Beware of thunderstorms; the ridge is a magnet for lightning.

We've done some damage to this mountain: mined it, carved roads into it, extinguished the native grizzly on it. But from here I feel renewed confidence that it will abide; outlive our carelessness.

The converse, though, is another story. Which is why acrophobia is actually an advantage for an Arizona hiker. It enhances the drama of places like this and keeps one from pushing too far. The mountain, too, can be careless.