And while there were summer afternoons in Yuma when a white sky did seem to crackle with an intensity that was positively malevolent, I found the heat bearable because, at that time at least, Yuma was still small enough that it was surrounded by agricultural lands and, unlike urban Phoenix (with its endless expanse of concrete, metal and glass), it cooled off in the evenings. Never mind the fact that for six months a year, Yuma’s climate is ideal for long hikes in the surrounding desert.

During my time in Yuma, I was fortunate to get to know two Department biologists, Lin and Mark, who, when they weren’t working long hours monitoring at risk populations of Sonoran Pronghorn, Flat-tailed Horned Lizards and other desert fauna, were off to other parts of the state, country and planet to learn as much as possible about the plants and wildlife beyond their work-world realm. Between the two of them, they seemed to have explored, while on vacations, just about every major biome on Earth -- ranging from equatorial jungles to both polar icecaps.

It was with these two old chums, along with Lin’s brother-in-law Ken, that I had a chance to spend three days out of the 10 that they had for their White Mountains area cow-elk hunt. Only Ken and Mark had tags, so, Lin and I had the zero stress jobs of accompanying each of the two hunters as they focused their energies in juniper and sage habitat northeast of the Pinetop area.

Lest you wonder why one would hunt anywhere other than tall conifer habitat -- first of all, most of the unit they were drawn for is comprised of pinyon-juniper country and second, they had hunted the area a few times before and had seen elk in abundance on each outing. In fact, the first year they hunted it (and I had joined them for part of that hunt too), Lin filled his tag with a robust-bodied cow-elk. Then also is the fact that elk populations historically were common in grassy and scrubby habitats throughout the Great Plains before the settlers pushed them into their now mostly mountainous retreats.

The crew was already a few days into their hunt when I was finally able to break free from obligations in Pinetop to join them. By the time I got to camp, the morning hunt was over and the guys were resting up before going back out for the late afternoon and early evening hunt. We talked for a while and then geared up and headed out in two trucks to where we would start off on foot.

Mark and I split off from Ken and Lin so that we could pursue two independent hunt strategies. Because we all had radios and would never be more than a few miles apart (per team of two), it was likely that if one team scored, then the other team could be radioed to come help field dress the animal and hike it back to the trucks.

Mark and I stuck more or less together as we proceeded through the moderately thick juniper flats. (I didn‘t especially relish the idea of a .30-06 round whizzing by my head should I stray too far afield from him.) Only a few days from the start of October, the sun’s late afternoon rays were already coming from low in the southwestern sky and gave the air something of a golden cast. This effect was heightened by the fact that the ubiquitous rabbit brush was in full bloom and its fervent yellow flowers appeared to be lit by cosmic electricity. We stood for a while without conversing, listening to a bull-elk calling from a mile or so west of us.

We set off in the direction of the bull’s bugling, making the fair assumption that he might have a small group of cows with him. Before long, I suggested to Mark that I follow 50-100 yards behind him so as to minimize the odds of either cows or a bull detecting us -- since it would be easier for an elk to perceive the sight, scent and/or sound of two people walking together than if we were separated by even a short distance.

While Mark struck out ahead, I trained my binoculars on a Sage Thrasher that had flown into the top boughs of a nearby juniper. His colors matched the muted greens and grays of the surrounding vegetation and I suspected that the species was named more for the fact that parts of their plumage is the color of the sage brush leaves and not because they feed on, or nest in, sage plants. As if to show me what he did indeed like to eat, the perched thrasher used his powerful bill to pluck a juniper berry from the tree, tipped his head back and swallowed the smoky-blue berry whole.

Juniper berries are technically cones but of a different sort than those produced by pine, fir and spruce trees. Unlike other conifer cones, they do have a juicy interior and hence the common notion that they are a berry. And as long as I’m clearing the air of a few misapprehensions: gin is not distilled from any part of the juniper; it’s distilled mostly from rye with juniper berries used only as a flavoring. But I digress….

The Thrasher flew and it was time to follow Mark, who had said he’d head toward a small hill in the direction of the bugling. When I caught back up with Mark at the base of the hill, he was looking at a young juniper that the bull had shredded with his antler. Fresh tracks from additional elk combined with the bull’s and these other tracks were almost certainly those of his harem of cows. Before Mark continued on in the direction of bugling, he pointed out another nearby landmark where we would meet. (The junipers were thick enough that even with only 100 yards between us, we wouldn’t be able to see each other on a continuous basis and we didn’t want to spook any elk by using our radios.)

Once again, I watched birds while waiting and was soon entertained by a flock of Pinyon Jays that noisily flew into view and then landed in the nearby junipers. We had yet to encounter any pinyon trees in the area but this species of jay is just as happy to forage in a coniferous habitat comprised solely of juniper. The Pinyon Jays are typical of many jay species in that their feathers are various shades of blue.

Jay feathers are a good example of how light’s wavelengths are variably reflected and absorbed and how this, in turn, affects the way colors are perceived by the human eye. The feathers appear blue -- not due to pigmentation but rather in the way they scatter the light’s rays. And, just like with the head of a Mallard drake: looked at in one light, the feathers appear purple, looked at in another light and they appear black. Somehow, the Mallard also has an iridescent green color that none of the jays share, regardless of the angle of light.

Late afternoon turned to evening and soon it was time for Mark and me to head back to our truck and then on to camp. Though we hadn’t filled the tag, we did have plenty of encouragement in the way of tracks, bugling, antler-mangled vegetation and observations of places where the elk had bedded down -- as evidenced by flattened grasses beneath the junipers. We radioed Lin and Ken to let them know we were returning to camp and, before long, we were all seated around a juniper campfire comparing notes as to what we had seen on the afternoon hunt and what would be the basic plan for tomorrow morning’s hunt.

In Part 2 of this account, I will continue to describe the brief period of time I spent with friends on their Fall elk hunt. The primary reason I was only able to join them for a small portion of their hunt was because, in parts of October and November, I would be exploring lands on the opposite side of the world from Pinetop. If all goes well, I will hopefully have an article or two pertaining to that adventure as well.