Jupiter Pops

The Kitt Peak observatories in southern Arizona are the premier astronomical site in the U.S. because of their location, far from the light pollution of any urban center. Kitt Peak isn't close to any town but, it's probably closest to Tucson. Next closest would be Ajo, my current location.

Ajo was a happening place when the enormous open-pit copper mine was running. The miles-wide pile of tailings outside of town testifies to the sheer economic power that suddenly ended in 1983, when the company decided that the mine wasn't profitable. 80% of the residents moved away. The remainder seem quiet, cowed, almost haunted. Remnants of Ajo's former prowess remain. It has a beautiful central plaza that would be the envy of any town in the U.S., but the shops beneath the arcade are thinly stocked, closed before five, weak and tentative. Yard sales are everywhere, and you can tell that the stuff has been sitting out in those yards for a long time. The main business in town seems to be Mexican auto insurance agencies catering to motorists headed for Rocky Point on the Gulf of California, 100 miles south.

Even so. It's beautiful here. The desert hills reveal their volcanic origins and crazy shapes. The ocotillo and the palo verde are in bloom. Birds are everywhere. Last night, walking from the local roadhouse back to the motel along the nearly deserted highway, I gaped at the constellations, the original light show. Jupiter looked like a searchlight and even the more restrained Saturn was showing off. The stars pop in Ajo.

Botanicals

My winding way southeast covered many habitats, although there were no transitions that were obvious to the untrained eye. The omnipresent, flowering palo verde trees yielded to a few scattered saguaro cactus. As I left the hamlet of Hope (Sign says: Your [sic] Now Beyond Hope) I rode through an intense little pocket of flowering ocotillo against dark rocky cliffs. If I had known that this location would be the most photogenic of the day, I would have stopped. :)

Later the saguaro habitat added barrel cactus and, later, cholla cactus. Sage gave way to creosote. But the palo verde trees continued their intense yellow bloom during the entire 200 miles.

Paved... or Not

This goal of never getting on a freeway makes for some diligent route planning. The map indicated a highway running from Salome southeast to Buckeye, crossing Interstate 10 along the way. Indeed, from Salome to 10 it was a nice road and a beautiful ride. But as soon as it crossed 10...

Now what? It was a long way back to anywhere that would provide an alternate route, but it was only a quarter-mile back to the freeway. Yeah, I could get on 10 and be in Buckeye in 15 minutes. But I hated to give up on the no-freeway goal. Eventually I climbed on and took the heavily loaded Ninja down that dirt road. Even if it was 18 miles of dirt, I would just go slow and pray.
In places the gravel got deep and the front tire developed a mind of its own, pretty terrifying for a guy like me who didn't learn to ride dirt bikes. I saw no sign of humanity except for an electrical substation that clearly was fully automated and wouldn't even be checked on for, I dunno, the next month or two. Then I started thinking about flat tires.

After five long, nail-biting miles, pavement resumed. I thought about kissing it, but declined.

Birds

At the same point that the pavement stopped, while I was pondering my fate, I noticed raptors circling above an irrigated field. I snapped a few blurry shots of the moving birds. Image stabilization didn't help much.

See what I mean? It's even hard to tell whether the bird is moving left, or right. (For the record, it's right.) I had no idea what these were. I had never seen a hawk with white at the front of the wing and dark at the back - usually it's the other way around. The wings were pointed enough to resemble falcons, but a whole team of falcons working a single field? My bird ID aid is an application on a Kindle, and the Kindle doesn't do well in bright sun. Later, at a lunch stop in Gila Bend, I pored through descriptions of all the hawks and found nothing that matched until I got to Swainson's Hawk, the light-colored form. My previous looks at Swainson's, in California, were distant views. These birds are gorgeous closer up.

As I write this, dawn has come in the desert. The light seeps in slowly and thinly, building long before sunrise. I began hearing bird calls and then strange noises outside my door, scratches and bumps. I got dressed and stepped out. When I saw what was going on, I went back inside for the camera.

And it wasn't just one Cactus Wren – it was a herd of Cactus Wrens, carrying food to begging fledglings, checking every crevice, chattering and squawking. The place is rife with other bird species, too. Nature permeates this little town. 

Today I take a long ride through the Tohon O'odham reservation, past the Kitt Peak turnoff (which I will resist) and around the southern edge of Tucson, headed for Sierra Vista. I hope to get some birding done in that target-rich environment this weekend.