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SCHOLARSHIP REPORTS 2007

2007 VENT Camp Chiricahua

11-22 July 2007

An Echo in the Canyon
By Saraiya Ruano

I hear an echo, an echo reverberating in the ink of my pen, originating in the canyon of my memory, and filling the air with a message of infinite value. I close my eyes, breathe deep, and all at once I remember boulder-strewn canyons and cactus-studded deserts in the sweltering heat. I stand atop a hill in Coronado National Forest and the sun feels warm and golden upon my skin, the wind gentle upon my face. I am walking among dry thorny plants, mesquite and creosote bushes, the smell of an imminent rainstorm permeating the air. I listen and hear the Cactus Wren cackling atop a soapstone yucca, or the trogon barking from the depths of the shady woods along South Fork. I hear the echoes of a story shared by fourteen eager and intelligent young birders, the echoes of two weeks spent in the diversity of Arizona wildlife.

I knew the ABA supported such events as Camp Chiricahua; I had read the online description a few times over and perused trip reports of past participants. I never thought I would be one of those participants. When I won a one thousand dollar scholarship through the 2006 ABA/Leica Young Birder of the Year contest, I immediately knew which event I wanted to attend. I too would see Spotted Owls and Red-faced Warblers. The trogon that lived only in my wildest dreams would crystallize into reality. My registration for the 2007 VENT Camp Chiricahua marked the fulfillment of a young birder's high hopes.

After persevering through the last few months of school, and pulling off a hard-earned "A" in an arduous chemistry class, I had only to wait about a month for camp. I was ready July 11, packed like a mule with two bulging duffel bags, my trusty 10x42 Eagle Optics bins swung lazily across my shoulder. A fisherman's hat displaying several bird-related pins shaded my forehead and eyes, which were lit with sparkling excitement.

I boarded my plane, saying goodbye to two somewhat worried grandparents. When I first arrived at the Tucson airport, I strolled right past Dave Jasper, our tour leader. Without his VENT sign held high, Dave was just another stranger lingering in baggage claim. I walked past a second time in search of a VENT leader and this time Dave held his sign up.

"Are you So-rye-ah?" he inquired, pronouncing the second syllable of my name like the thick bread people buy at organic health food stores.

"Yes, I'm Saraiya" I corrected, turning the second syllable into a "ray" of sunlight.

Shortly after, Haynes Werner of South Carolina arrived, and the three of us were shuttled to the Clarion Hotel. While waiting for others to arrive, fellow camper Holly Garrod and I birded the grounds, spotting Hooded Oriole, Curve-billed Thrasher, Gila Woodpecker, and raucous nesting Great-tailed Grackles. We stopped briefly to sketch a Cactus Wren, struggling to capture its bold energetic behavior in graphite.

After everyone arrived, we drove to the Sweetwater Wetlands and were treated to a nest of rusty-shouldered Harris's Hawks. Tagging behind us like an annoying little brother, a baby Gambel's Quail escorted us about the trail. With quick hands, Dave Jasper snatched the trusting bird and showed us its wings and feathers. I hastily snapped a picture of its scaled feet for future sketching. The scales on a quail's tarsus are arranged in a pattern called "scutellate", as oppose to a robin's "booted" scales, and it can be beneficial to know and practice sketching the scale patterns, which differ among the many families of birds. Other species of interests here included Pyrrhuloxia, Lucy's Warbler, Abert's Towhee, and a photogenic juvenile Black-crowned Night-Heron.

The following morning the group explored the Arizona-Sonora Desert Museum. Along the surrounding trail bordered by prickly pear and human-figured Saguaros, Black-tailed Gnatcatchers allowed us a hasty peek at their flitting gray forms. Rob Day pointed out endemic plant species including Teddy-bear Cholla, agave, Soapstone Yucca, and creosote. With so many spiny, spiky, and thorny plants, the desert seemed a place of harsh consequences. Unless we were willing to return like dogs shamefully covered in porcupine quills, we were advised not to deviate from the trail.

After counting our only shorebirds for the trip at Willcox, the group preceded to the small town of Portal, where everyone knows everybody, and most occupants are bird friendly, save our sassy teenage waitress ("No, Jasper, they ordered three vegetarian burgers, not two.") The group pitched their tents at Roth's House and crashed for the night.

We spent three nights at Roth's House, and were taken on several nighttime excursions. Elf Owl and Spotted Owl are among my favorite owling memories. July 14, the group stood quietly on the gravel road to South Fork, straining to hear the faintest call of a Spotted Owl, as if expecting them to whisper past our range of low frequency hearing. After dusk and the rising buzz of Ironclad Beetles emerging for the night, a spectral wail filled the air, like the haunting moans of someone in dire pain. The owls had arrived. After the frightening vocalizations, two juveniles sailed across the road. Locating their eye-shine, Dave Jasper shone his spotlight upon their terra cotta feathers spotted with white. Large black eyes peered back as the young owls shifted nervously on fuzzy talons.

Dave also accompanied us to the dry, rocky creek bed of Cave Creek, adjacent to our campground, to locate the cavity-nesting Elf Owl. Once more using eye shine, and the soft hissing of young, Dave shone his flashlight on a cavity high up in a tree. A small round face with large yellow eyes peeked over the edge, evoking such compliments as "Ah…he's so cute!"

Birding in the desert and Sierra-Madrean pine-oak woodland, the group collected many target species, among them the illustrious Elegant Trogon, an elusive jewel with an unmistakable barking call, and Red-faced Warbler, a passerine turned beet-red with embarrassment.

July 15 we departed for Rustler Park. Elevation increased and low-lying bushes gave way to Ponderosa Pine and Douglas Fir. The cool mountain air and coniferous surroundings reminded me of my home state, Colorado. The familiar smell of butterscotch from Ponderosa Pine worked its way into my senses, and old friends like Steller's Jay and Red Crossbill made their appearance.

On the road up to camp, we pulled over for a brief look at a suspicious warbler that two birders from Great Britain had spotted the day before. To our excitement, Camp Chiricahua ended up confirming the fourth U.S. record, and perhaps the only breeding record, of Crescent-chested Warbler. Many were able to secure identifiable pictures of the warbler, with its unmistakable white eyebrow. A few were also able to produce sketches from memory or life. Besides being an unexpected discovery, the warbler encounter taught us the importance of note-taking and detailed documentation.

Target birds in this high mountain habitat included Mexican Chickadee (a.k.a. Señor Chickadee), Olive Warbler, Flammulated Owl, and Short-tailed Hawk. As an additional treat, the nearby spring provided us with the best drinking water I have ever had- pure, crisp, and ice cold.

Our camping nights over, we moved on to the San Pedro River Inn, where we all slept well on soft mattresses and were allowed refreshing showers. From the inn, the bouncing song of Botteri's Sparrows could be heard, along with Blue Grosbeaks and laughing Gila Woodpeckers. One morning I awoke especially early, at 4 a.m., to watch Barn Owls with another camper, Hope Batcheller. As we sat in the aluminum shed, the owls landed on the roof overhead with a resounding, "thunk", their curved talons just visible over the edge of the roof like miniature machetes. An owl flew into the barn on silent wings, looked directly at us with his ghostly heart-shaped face and flew back out twice as silently.

From the inn we took several trips out to Ramsey, Ash and Miller Canyons specifically searching for hummingbirds. At Ramsey a few of us glimpsed the cinnamon-tailed Beryline Hummingbird perched at a feeder. At Miller Canyon we viewed a plump and stocky White-eared Hummingbird. Other brilliant and glowing hummers included Broad-billed, Broad-tailed, Anna's, Black-chinned and Magnificent (formerly called Rivoli's Magnificent Hummingbird after Audubon's patron).

Saturday we found ourselves on the hunt for Rufous-winged Sparrow at a power plant in Continental, AZ and Flame-colored tanager in Madera Canyon. The cooperative sparrow sang for us, notes high and clear, even allowing us to see the namesake rusty wing patch, which is often hard to distinguish. Though we missed the tanager, we got our goodbye looks at Arizona Woodpecker, Acorn Woodpecker, Broad-billed Hummingbird, and Sulphur-bellied Flycatcher (whose squeaky-toy call I hear even now as I type). We left the cool, shady forest for our last dinner together and our last night, at the Clarion Hotel.

This story is just as much about its young characters as it is about bird life. We are the next generation of birders. Some of us will become researchers, professors of ornithology, tour guides, and naturalists alike. Our futures are undeniably intertwined; we are each other's future co-workers. The future of our planet lies in the hands of those who love it most, those who understand its workings and cogs, who feel the distress and occasional upset of the natural world. I still hear an echo, imprinted on the pages of my formative years as a birder, and it grows with intensity as my fervor for birds begins to flower. Nurtured by the hands of encouraging adults and older generations, my interest in the natural world will never die or fail to capture me. The memories of Camp Chiricahua are now forever a part of who I am, my character, and my future.

As my audience and reader, know this essay was written not because someone requested it, but because they are experiences I wish to share, treasure, and remember. If a tree falls in the forest, and no one is around to hear it, will it still make a sound? I want someone to hear the echo; they are memories too precious to be forgotten.

I thank the ABA, Leica, and VENT for this opportunity, especially the ABA for their generous scholarship. I also owe a thank-you to our diligent leaders Rob Day and Dave Jasper. Rob Day proved an excellent cook, taking time to provide vegetarian options in addition to the regular meal. It was impossible to go hungry at Camp Chiricahua; that is, if you could beat the boys to the table.

These young birders attended the camps/events they report on with the help of ABA scholarships.