The Canyon at Ebb Flow Part II

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From atop a small hill, my friend Magill and I looked toward the canyon we would be exploring for approximately the next day and a half. The cottonwood trees were already well along in their leafing-out but the sycamores were still only in buds and the mesquite trees would be awhile yet before they showed any signs of new growth.

From atop a small hill, my friend Magill and I looked toward the canyon we would be exploring for approximately the next day and a half. The cottonwood trees were already well along in their leafing-out but the sycamores were still only in buds and the mesquite trees would be awhile yet before they showed any signs of new growth.

We picked our way down the hill, through desert scrub, as we traversed the last half-mile of open country. Then we walked along an untraveled dirt road that would take us to the trailhead. We each took a long drink from our canteens as we prepared to set off along the stream-side trail. We had brought water-filters (and iodine tablets) so there was no need to pack much water as we could pump safe drinking water from the creek and spare ourselves the unnecessary weight in our packs.

As we had expected, the signs of recent high stream flows were obvious. It had been a very wet winter by Arizona standards and drainages such as this one had positively rocked with a mix of mud, uprooted vegetation and tumbling water during these past few weeks. From home, Magill had been watching the gauging station for information on this particular stream’s flow so we had been able to time our visit such that we would not be in any danger from flash-flooding. Or perhaps what I should say is that, assuming the weather forecast was accurate (i.e. no rain was expected anywhere in the watershed), we should be safe from rising waters.

Even if a fluke rainstorm popped up, we wouldn’t be hiking that far up into the canyon and, since we had both been here before, we knew that for as far in as we expected to go, the canyon walls were of a gentle enough slope that we could usually scramble to higher ground if need be. But this morning, Arizona’s sky was blue in all directions and, here at least, the sun was comfortably warm. In short, it was a perfect day.

We set off up the trail, the air vibrant with bird songs and alive with small swarms of bugs rising from the creek. Magill suddenly remembered that he had left his backpacking fishing rod in his truck but neither of us were about to lose any of our precious time in paradise by walking back to get it.

“Don’t worry, my friend, I brought along some tuna fish for dinner,” I said. “You mean you’re carrying canned food?” he replied incredulously. “Naw, they sell it in soft aluminum packets these days, doncha know? It’s a lot cheaper than freeze-dried backpacking food and probably tastes better to boot,” I suggested. “Yeah, well, fresh trout from this stream woulda been better than anything! Dang, I wish I had remembered that rod.”

We walked in silence and I thought back to my days with the Game and Fish Department when a crew and I had netted this stream to assess the health of the resident fish populations. I couldn’t remember for sure but I thought that this stream, at some point along its course, transitioned from a trout-dominated water to one that was mainly small-mouth bass and sunfish. And historically, this creek would have been home to native fish species such as chub, dace and suckers. Animal populations, just like human cultures, undergo changes over time; sometimes due to fluctuations in climate and sometimes due to invasions, wars and conquests (although in the animal world, we would use terms like “predation” and “competition”).

Regardless, one thing was for sure: At current water levels, this creek appeared to be habitable by a variety of fish species since it was a mix of aquatic habitats including deep pools, noisy riffles and strong, clear runs. But it might be a challenge to fly cast in such a stream, given all the carnage of the recent floods. The creek’s route was scattered with downed trees and occasional logjams; the eddies were thick with flotsam, jetsam and assorted hooking hazards. Actually, the high-water debris line was obvious well above the current banks so quick had been the ebb and flow from the various pulses of storm runoff and Spring snow-melt.

Although it was sometimes hard to hear the birds above the sound of the rushing water, Magill and I were both wearing our binoculars and hoped to amass a decent list of bird species since riparian areas are always magnets for birds -- both the warm season breeders and the migrants passing through on the way to their nesting grounds to the north.

So far, we had already seen plenty of the common species such as dark-eyed juncos, song sparrows, American goldfinches and spotted towhees. We had also caught glimpses of some less-common species, including Lucy’s warblers, a nesting pair of Bewick’s wrens and a low flying black hawk. At one point, while we were walking past some cliff walls along one side of the creek, Magill cocked his head and then looked up the rock wall to point out a small group of white-throated swifts darting for aerial insects high above us.

When the trail drifted slightly away from the stream and its vocal waters, suddenly the birds could easily be heard; including raucous scrub jays, the rolling churr of Gila woodpeckers and the sweetly cascading song of canyon wrens. By far, the most exciting sighting of our hike up the canyon came when we leveled out a bit and the trees formed something of a gallery forest. I looked up in the direction of a chickadee’s call and was thrilled to see, there on the bare upper limb of a sycamore tree a pygmy owl -- stock still save for his slowly rotating head and blinking yellow eyes.

Because the little owl was nearly directly overhead, Magill and I quickly developed sore necks watching the bird as he watched us. I noticed that the grassy slopes behind us would allow for a supine posture so I put my backpack down into the grass and laid back up against it. Without a doubt, this was the most comfortable vantage point from which I have ever done any birding. Magill followed suit and we both watched the owl for several minutes until suddenly, another pygmy owl streaked into view and landed on the edge of a cavity in a second, nearby, sycamore. Soon, she ducked inside, presumably to sit on her eggs. The male remained on his perch which we now knew to be his vigil from which to monitor his mate’s nesting hole.

Surprisingly, the perched male was never mobbed by other birds and, after about 10 minutes, we decided we should continue our hike up the canyon and leave the pygmy pair to their solitude. I was so positively giddy at our good fortune at having had such a long and close viewing of the tiny owls that the next few hours of hiking passed in the blink of an eye. When we finally came to our first creek crossing, I was forced to snap out of my mental reverie and focus on the task at hand -- we would have to cross the creek here, now that it appeared that we were “cliffing out” on our side of the creek and that the only way to continue upstream would be to cross to its other side.

Magill and I studied the situation for quite some time before deciding that, despite the high flows, we really did want to get to the other side to hopefully continue our canyon exploration. Since I had shorts and river-sandals in my pack, we decided that I would go ahead and change so that I could see if fording the creek was even possible. Magill had brought hiking sticks so I used one to steady myself as I stepped from the bank and into the cold, rushing water. Before I had taken three tentative steps from shore it was obvious that to continue another 30 feet across the channel would be dangerously reckless.

We already knew that behind us we had passed no easy creek crossings so we continued hiking up the canyon on our side of the creek to where the cliffs began; hoping that we might be able to fly-hug the cliff walls and make it a bit further upstream to a possible crossing. But alas, there was to be no such luck.

Since the night would be cool, we really didn’t want to try fording the stream -- not only because of the very real danger of being swept under but also because, even if we succeeded in staying on our feet and crossing the stream --we knew that our clothes and packs would get soaking wet and make for an unpleasant late afternoon and a utterly miserable night.

Discretion being the better part of valor, we hiked back downstream until we came to an area big enough to put two sleeping bags and still have room for a small driftwood campfire. The site was actually quite beautiful and the ground was even fairly level and should make for fairly comfortable on-the-ground, tentless sleeping. Furthermore, in this section of the creek the canyon slopes consisted of packed dirt, scree, rock outcroppings and the occasional boulder fields -- as opposed to sheer walls. So, we would at least be able to take a steep, uphill hike to some high vantage point and enjoy the scenery for an hour or so prior to coming back down to camp and cook dinner before settling in for the evening.

And so, that is what we did. The view from up high was well worth the climb (and included watching a nesting pair of red-tailed hawks), our dinners were adequately satisfying, the campfire was cheerful and the night wound up being reasonably restful (though, given the fact that crickets were calling, I worried that scorpions would also be out prowling). The next morning, we awoke with the birds and slowly, very slowly, we made our way back down the trail and we were back to our trucks by early afternoon, after a roundtrip of 10.6 miles of hiking.

There was a small sense of defeat at our not having been able to cross the creek and hike further into the Wilderness but, the birding had been fun and we both knew that, now that we were virtually neighbors, we would have many more trips together in the near future. After all, it was still only the first few days of Spring and Arizona is a never-ending adventure for any who choose to shake off the dust of town life and step into the what that lies beyond the pavement.

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