The Chiricahuas are the largest and most remote and unique of Arizona’s Sky Islands, the one most likely to evoke what southeast Arizona was like when no one was there but the Apaches. You may understand why I’m so high on the Chiricahuas when you read the short list of most memorable sightings I’ve had while roaming the forests and canyons there.
Elegant Trogon, a male in spring breeding plumage—first sighting, lifer bird
Madrean Alligator Lizard—my first and only sighting ever
Agantesis incorrupta, one of the spectacular tiger moths—first and only sighting ever
Masked Clubskimmer, rarest dragonfly in North America—first and only sighting ever
Olive Warbler, a male in spring breeding plumage—first sighting, lifer bird
Flammulated Owl—my first sighting, lifer bird
With the exception of Mexican Chickadee, the other specialty birds in the Chiricahuas can also be seen elsewhere in the state, but for us these mountains are special for the vast array of fauna and flora which can be seen nowhere else north of our southern border. I’m not sure whether E.O. Wilson ever experienced the biotic diversity here but for us the highlights for every visit are always different, often unexpected. Memories of a dozen trips over forty years come flooding back every time we are there--
A Black Bear bursting across a trail in front of us, a male Rivoli’s Hummingbird bathing in a stream, My son and I escorting a Bull Snake off the road, a profusion of autumn Morning Glories after a strong monsoon season, a wobbly fawn nursing in a field at sunrise, Common Ravens allopreening on a rocky outcropping, a robber fly at our feet struggling with a captured damselfly, multiple immature male Acorn Woodpeckers bringing insects to a communal nest in a sycamore cavity, a Sulphur-bellied Flycatcher repeatedly doing “touch-and-goes“ into a shallow pool in South Fork to bathe: the list seems endless.
A big factor in the allure of the Chiricahuas is getting away from the rest of humanity. The national monument can be crowded, but once you leave the spectacular scenery there in the northwest corner of the range and cross over the divide into South Fork, there are often very few people, mostly other birders. There are no service stations, the roads are rough, and places to spend the night are few and far between. Those are three ingredients for an escape from the real world.
On our most recent trip this summer the first thing I did upon arrival was park in a wide spot on a dirt forest service road, walk twenty yards down into a creek bed and spend the next three hours sloshing through the pools. Highlights were a Canyon Wren, working the crevices down a sheer cliff face for spiders, and a mated pair of Painted Redstarts gleaning through the oaks for insects and caterpillars while physically attacking two “blackstarts” (juveniles with no red in their plumage yet) from their first brood, harassing them to leave the natal territory.
The next afternoon . . . I did the exact same thing in the exact same place. But the results were different. Of course. That’s the hook of the Chiricahuas. The second afternoon is when I saw the aforementioned Sulphur-bellied bathing without actually immersing in the water, something I’ve seen dragonflies do, but never birds. And I saw my first ever Nabokov’s Satyr puddling in damp mud. I wish E.O. Wilson could have joined me.