Eating out . . .

. . . but I don’t mean in a restaurant.  We hied ourselves over the river and through the desert to a delightful KOA RV park in Desert Hot Springs, California, where the weather was conducive to enjoying all three meals outdoors.

For ages, I have wondered about the general Palm Springs area.  Just one of those places that gets mentioned a lot, and I always wondered what was the scoop.  Well, now I have to say that three days there was in no way sufficient to get more than just the briefest feel for the countryside.

My impression is of mostly exceptionally dry barren rocky and rugged mountains and featureless plains.  Our explores allowed us to find varied landscapes, but all dry; perhaps they have a rainy season when vegetation greens and blooms, but it seems fairly certain that any amount of lush growth is confined to very limited places.

Of course a good bit of my curiosity revolved around hot springs, of which the region appears to have a plethora.  Now that I have been there, I have at least as many questions as prior to that brief stay.

To my great enjoyment, our park was complete with three jacuzzi tubs and a large swimming pool, all churning away with natural hot spring water.  They are located under cover in a courtyard but semi-open to a mountain view.  They were not very populated whenever we were there, but then the park had not yet filled with what is surely a larger contingent of snow birds.

We used the spas freely whenever we were “home”, and appreciated the care and maintenance of the park.  And boy howdy, we loved the weather!  It stays pretty much 15 to 20 degrees warmer than Prescott, so we were outside all the time.

Costa's & verdins . . .

We put out our feeders at that location and were rewarded by visits from a (or several?) stunning Costa's hummingbird, one that we never get at home.  What a treat!

Other than crows, ravens, white-crowned sparrows, mourning doves and Eurasian collared doves, we didn't identify any other birds at the park, and didn't add to the trip list except for verdins that tried to help themselves to the hummingbird nectar.  

They were funny in their frustrating attempts as they reminded us of a past verdin experience.  It was after a wonderful hike near Tucson with cousin Barb.  We stopped for a meal on the outdoor deck at The Pass.  As we sat and savored the clement clime, tiny bold verdins hopped across our table, helped themselves to sugar packets which they carried to another table for a leisurely ripping open and eating the contents.  Quite the little sweet-toothed thiefs!

Getting out . . .

We wondered if it might be uncomfortably hot for hiking, but were pleased to find that it was not at all.  Knowing next to nothing about the region allowed us to engage Mr. Google to find likely places to explore.  

One destination was a preserve called Big Morongo Canyon.  Whatever I might have expected there, it was something else again.  Most of the trail through there was via a boardwalk kind of affair, reminiscent of some of the places we’ve hiked with Darren in Florida, with the necessity of it being the same - wetlands and jungle-like undergrowth.  In the case of Morongo, though, while we were there, it was dusty and dry - only one tiny trickle of water could we discern.

Lions and bears, oh my . . .

There is a longer trail that goes further up the canyon into exposed landscape; that is a good one to try out at a later date.  I did kind of wish the warning signage about the presence of mountain lions and bears had been posted at the beginning when I could have taken along the bear spray that was stowed in the truck, where it was useless to one and all.  The "oh my" part was this rusting old car body down in the bottoms; who knows why or how.

We chatted with a few folks we encountered along the way.  I thought perhaps it would be a place favored by locals; however, they were all from far-away places, mostly east coast.  In our few days in the Desert Hot Springs area, we saw almost no Arizona license plates.  I guess it’s not a popular Zonie hangout.

Mission Creek . . .

Another preserve we read about was Mission Creek.  The word “creek” in the name was the ticket to try it, but turned out to be quite a bit of a misnomer, at least during the current season.  Mission Creek is a very wide deep wash descending from the mountains - dry and dusty when we were there.

That place did not even rate a sign along the highway to alert folks that it existed, but the señor found it, nevertheless.  A washboardy dirt road the equal of any in Arizona delivered us to a gated hiking trail.  One other human was out there, departing with his thirsty pooch as we entered.  

There is quite a bit of history in that canyon . . . from an 18th century Indian reservation to a hog ranch, guest ranch and cattle ranch.  From what I can discern, the area often has flowing water and a spring that supports lush growth, not to mention drilled wells that supplied "dudes" who arrived for the experience.  I can't quibble with the price. . .

A row of roofless rock cabins line up near other ruined remains of the ranch, including a pool and an impressively large fireplace.

The fireplace shows up in the far back left of the above photo.  Below is something I found online - a cool ghostly composite by John Earl of the fireplace ruin overlaid with an actual picture of the dining room as it was back in the day.

We saw other historic ruins as we walked the gently inclined slope to the main ranch house with San Gorgonio Mountain looming in the distance.  At 11,503 feet, it is the highest peak in southern California.

I greatly admired the fireplace construction.

We were perplexed that nowhere was there the slightest information about what we were seeing.  I had to find it all later with the able assistance of Mr. Google.

It was abundantly obvious where the spring was located; however, getting through the mass of grapevines was impossible.  We could neither hear nor smell any presence of surface water.

Looking back whence we came made it clear that we had climbed a great deal above the valley floor.

Thick vegetation, mostly creosote, alongside the streambed was in stark contrast to surrounding rocky barren hillsides.

Both preserves are within the Sand to Snow National Monument and are administered by the Wildlands Conservancy, an organization that acquires private property for the purpose of preservation.  I was reminded of local Prescott efforts by Save the Dells when I learned that the Mission Creek properties acquisition eliminated two approved resort developments.  The largest included a 300-room hotel, golf course and 1,200 homes.

Joshua Tree . . .

Now designated a national park, Joshua Tree offers a vast and stunning landscape, a bit on the other-worldly side with the forests of those twisted tall yuccas.  We had previously been into the more eastern portion, which is classified Colorado Desert.  Our more recent explore was through the western section - Mohave Desert.

The place is overwhelming, in a way; a person could spend many weeks out there and never make a dent in what is to be seen.  We chose random trails from the map to take off onto, although truthfully, off-trail wandering would be perfectly alright.

The next photo shows a cross section of a Joshua tree that was destroyed in a 1999 wildfire.

We took one particular side road because it accessed an area that was up to 5,100 feet and offered a wide distant view.  This shot shows the Salton Sea way out yonder . . .

. . . and this looks out over the San Andreas Fault, visible as the dark line out in the valley.  Up close, it is a continuous line of high hills, dwarfed in this picture by the San Jacinto and Santa Rosa mountains beyond.

Climbers and flashers . . .

Another view we got up there was most unexpected, and I did not photograph it.  As we climbed up to the viewing platform, I noticed a young Asian woman clad in a long cloth coat and thought it odd.  It was cool and breezy up there, but I was still comfortable in my shorts and tank top.  She was accompanied by another woman and two men; we quickly learned why the coat.  Underneath, she was wearing only a pink bikini to match the pink beanie on her head.  Periodically, she flashed open the coat to pose for her companion who was photographing her.  I wonder what website/Twitter/TikTok that will show up on!?

There were many rock climbers taking advantage of the opportunity to practice their craft; we enjoyed watching one young woman until she reached her goal.  Seemed as if every granite face had someone going up or down.

 

 There were also denizens of the non-human variety.

Ryan Ranch . . .

History trumps pretty much everything for us, so we chose a trek out to the site of the former ranch established by the Ryan family in the 1890s.  Three miles distant from their homestead, they operated the Lost Horse Mine, supplying water for it via pipeline from their well.  

Their substantial adobe home had additional wood frame rooms.  The structure is in a state of ruin now after a fire destroyed it in 1978.  In addition to the Ryan's home, there existed a small settlement at the site; artifacts and other building ruins are visible for quite a distance. 

As always, I am happy to be home, enjoying friends and familiar places (and the opportunity to stretch out while inside; Woofie is not any too roomy), and grateful for the blessing of travel and getting to share my thoughts and experiences.  I really mean it when I say "Thanks for traveling with me!".

What about the birds!?

Whatever was I thinking?  I published the last blog post, but left out the birds!  After all, this place is about the birds, also it’s for the birds - this particular RV park, I mean.  We enjoyed previous stays, but the character of the place has deteriorated since then; we are unlikely to utilize it again.

Many more of the RVs now seem to be semi-permanents, either for weekenders and vacationers or for local working folks.  Nothing really wrong with any of that, except that it makes it much harder to get to know those around you.  

Our particular assigned spot, for instance, had a trailer on one side with no one in residence for the week, so no socializing there.  The other side was a bit of a puzzle: two women there who remained inside with the shades drawn nearly 24/7.  One early glimpse of them sitting at their picnic table smoking was pretty much it.

The vast majority of people here have come for the purpose of riding their ATVs in the desert, especially the Ehrenberg Sandbowl, so there's incessant engine growlings going back & forth.  Thankfully (that's appropriate, isn't it) a potluck meal on Thanksgiving day did give us an opportunity to meet some folks.

One woman asked where we were from and when I told her Prescott, we were off and running.  Seems that her husband had happened into our town some years previous, and continually talked about moving there.  Nothing would suffice but that we talk to him.  That was when I found myself extolling the virtues of the Prescott area.  What were we thinking?!  It’s just very hard not to speak highly of a place that you esteem.  At any rate, they are staying in touch, turns out he is a keyboardist and they are a musical family, so we had lots in common.

Now back to the birds.  We did not put out our feeders there, the sole reason being  . . . grackles.  They are numerous in the area, and we would have been inundated with them instantly.  Besides them, our bird list at the park and on the river there included Eurasion collared dove, Canada goose, turkey vulture, black phoebe, and Brewer’s blackbird.

When we were wandering the oxbow regions, we added double-crested cormorant, loggerhead shrike (what a striking bird it is!), phainopepla (one of my favorites), the ubiquitous American coot, raven and mourning dove.  We also noted great egret, white-crowned sparrow, Say’s phoebe, ring-necked duck, red-tailed hawk, curve-billed thrasher, northern mockingbird and rock dove aka pigeon, which brings me to a Darren story.

A Darren story . . .

A great many years ago, we were in downtown Phoenix near the main post office.  Darren was fascinated with the pigeons there, so we sidled up to one and to my great surprise, it allowed me to pick it up; we thought maybe it was hurt, but it turned out, it was just a moocher and knew an easy mark when he saw one.  Of course we took Sparky home with us and he became a favored pet.  When it came time that we were moving out of state, we had to leave the pigeon behind, but didn’t want to just abandon him.  We determined that Encanto Park was an appropriate place for our pet, so with sad hearts, we took Sparky to his new home and Darren released him there.

That wasn’t quite the end of the story, though.  Evidently, Sparky had become fond of having a human family; he followed us.  Finally, we put him down and ran to hide behind bushes where he couldn’t see us.  Not to be deterred, Sparky continued trying to find us as he would land on people’s heads and shoulders.  We had to laugh at one gentleman who seemed to be especially favored: he ran and ducked and swatted, undoubtedly going home afterward with a story about being dive-bombed by a pigeon.

Darren acquired a second Sparky later when we lived in Chino Valley.  The poor kid was devastated when he and I were caught out in the strongest dust devil I’ve ever encountered, and his pigeon was swept away with it.  The wind must have put him down in some distant farm yard that suited him just fine, because he did not find his way back to us.

Okay, a return to our current day wanderings.  Here, there, and the next place, we added to the trip list with roadrunner, Swainson’s hawk, Abert’s towhee, and a real treat - a bald eagle.

California, river access, intaglios . . .

In our quest for new territory, we crossed into California and drove northward to get a feel for the lay of the land.  We counted it a good discovery when we ventured into a development by the Colorado River Indian Tribes (thankfully shortened to CRIT).  There was quite a bit of side channel water there and even a place to launch our boats, so we expect to return there at a later date.

Those explores allowed us to add to the bird list for this trip: red-winged blackbirds, bufflehead, canvasback, vermilion flycatcher, pied-billed grebe, western grebe, great blue heron, kestrel, mallard, northern harrier, Say's phoebe, spotted sandpiper, and turkey vulture.  We kept hearing a belted kingfisher; when I said aloud that I heard it, but couldn't spot where it was, it made a point to fly under the platform we had climbed out onto over the water and circle several times so I couldn't miss it,  Very accommodating!

Just because we were in the neighborhood, we headed over to see the Blythe intaglios, ginormous fascinating humanoid and animal figures etched into the desert floor prehistorically.

 

It is tragic how much damage was done to the figures before protections were put into place.  The two sign photos below show the difference between 1932 and 1982.

 

The figures are so large that they can only be discerned in toto from the air.  The next photo shows Chris standing near the foot of a 171-foot-high geoglyph.

 

By utilizing Google Earth, the señor had discovered that there were several intaglios that we had never seen.  They are on another mesa top with no road nor signage to them, so we had missed them.  Away we trundled off our mesa top and onto a neighboring hill so that we could then say that we saw them all.  That's us atop the next mesa.

The countryside around there is plenty rugged.  We continue to reserve the idea that we may return to do more exploration.  We read that there are also rock art sites thereabouts, not surprising considering the presence of the geoglyphs.

 

I was jump-up-and-down excited when formations of about a gazillion white-faced ibises flew overhead, so much so that I spent most of the time watching them with the binoculars instead of photographing the spectacle.  Only at the last minute did I grab the camera for a rather pathetic attempt to record them.  Sometimes I just forget which device to pick up. . .

Cibola, coyotes and a rescue . . . 

A primary reason we chose Ehrenberg for our stay is its proximity to the Cibola National Wildlife Refuge, a huge preserve that we managed to see a large part of.  Although birds are the big draw there, it was no surprise when we spotted a pair of coyotes (if they had been carrying Acme dynamite, that would have been another matter), and then it was fun to see another pair further on.  After a while, though, the sightings moved into the realm of  “What the heck; how many coyotes are out here anyway!. 

We had quite the interaction with a couple of the critters (we spied 12 altogether over a two-day span).  One particular pair was crossing a dirt road, emerging from the brush on one side to have a drink of water from the ditch across the way.  In itself, that was not surprising, but we were startled that they took one look at us and decided we were of so little import that they would continue on their mission.  The larger of the pair even decided to have a bit of a lie-down in our presence!  We crept the pickup closer and closer, but they remained unperturbed.  The others that we encountered were also oddly complacent about our presence.

  

We saw only one deer while out there, but clearly, there are more.  In the people category, we encountered a whole two - a father and son who were all adither when we pulled up alongside to ask if they were okay.  They were fine, but concerned about a fawn they had rescued from a ditch.  It had fallen into the steep concrete-sided canal, hurt its leg, and couldn't get out.  They gave him a hoist out of there and mom & baby were quickly away into the brush.  It happened so fast, they said, that they weren't sure if the fawn was okay.

As they related the tale, we were astounded to see the two animals emerge back out of the brush and come towards us in plain sight!  It was almost as if the doe was showing that baby was okay and thanking them.  Again, I got caught up in trying to determine with binocs if the young animal was alright that I forgot to pick up the camera - sigh.

A primary visitor attraction at Cibola is Goose Lake and the accompanying loop drive through surrounding fields.  The thousands of birds on the preserve have a schedule all their own; one time through we were greeted by a cacophony of calls from Canada geese and snow geese.  As they jostle for position, something may trigger a flock decision to take flight, circle, carry on some more and wing their way away (that wording actually got my brain to going with "A Lion Sleeps Tonight", and so now it will be playing in the background all day).

Other times we were by the lake, the geese were nowhere in sight, but prevalent out in the agricultural fields.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

  

 

 

Once when we returned to the lake, there was not a goose in sight, but a tundra swan had showed up.

 

In our wanderings on the preserve and walks out by back channels and wooded areas, we added more to the trip list, including yellow-headed blackbird, ruddy duck, Ross' goose, ruby-crowned kinglet, western meadowlark, Merlin, northern pintail, northern shoveler, Gambel's quail, chipping sparrow, starling, green-winged teal, American wigeon and greater yellowlegs.

It was a treat to find a tiny burrowing owl seemingly scowling fiercely out at us.  Wouldn't it be sad to have such a countenance, so that no matter what your mood, you would appear to be gazing out at the world with a stink-eye?

The preserve has a great variety of environments, from marsh to low desert plains, from major river to scarcely flowing reed-choked channels, and all the wildlife and birds that are supported by it.

 

 

I never tire of seeing what else is to be found, but my favorite in every way are the sandhill cranes.  There were reported to be nearly 800 on the preserve while we were there.  They were at the lake in the evening, but primarily hung out in the fields feeding during the day.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Their purr-like sounding, especially as they fly overhead brings a smile whenever I hear it.  And I love watching their formations coming in to land.  They are usually heard before they appear, and then there they come: occasional slow flaps of wings, straight out until just before dropping to earth when their long awkward legs and feet descend.  What a sight they are!

 

 

The refuge consists of reclaimed agricultural fields that are managed waterways.  One of the places we thought we remembered exploring during a previous visit did not show up on the map, leaving us wondering if our memories were of another place.  After all, if you visit a lot of wetlands, they can begin to meld into one huge memory.  The señor, however, thought he might know where it was; despite no map indication that it existed, we found it.  

 

Perri Marsh was the name of the place.  If I go there again, I guarantee I will do it in the middle of the day.  We sauntered around and about the place for several hours, marveling at how many great egrets were in residence.  

 

 

 

As the day waned, I also marveled at how many mosquitoes the marsh harbored in its reedy recesses.

As I slapped and cursed and swatted and swore, I walked faster and faster to be gone from their whining presence and the painful itchy bites I was incurring.  One last surprise awaited us, though, and of course I was loathe to pass up pics of a mixed flock of snowy egrets and white-faced ibises that seemed to be in serious deliberations.  As I sidled closer and closer to the birds, the mosquito hordes moved in for the kill.  I nearly knocked the camera out of my hands as I tried vainly to protect myself.  In the end, I managed to snap a photo and hightail it out of there.

As I complained loudly about how awful it was, my pard looked at me and said he didn't get bitten . . . at all . . . not one single bite . . . proving once again that there is no justice.

 

I had to snap this funny sight as we headed for home late in the day: cormorants settling in for their night's roost on a cable over the river.