Thanksgiving

Thanksgiving was a partial work day for us. On Thursdays we have been taking hydrology measurements at Arivaca Cienega. This was the first time that we did the readings by ourselves (Emily had gone home to Texas for the holiday) so we took our time. All told it took about three and a half hours including travel time.

On the way in we hung our replacement "You found me, I'm yours" gift in a tree near a pair of benches. We left a Buenos Aires pin and patch, which seemed appropriate.

Think Anyone Will Find It?

Since we were going to Thanksgiving dinner after the hydrology work, we didn't spend any time doing anything else at the Cienega, like birding, and there were no other visitors that we saw. We were expected for dinner between 12 and 1 p.m. Even with our deliberate pace we finished with time to spare and decided to try and find Arivaca Lake. The lake is not on the refuge, but there are signs pointing to it on Ruby Road and the last well site that we measure is off Ruby Road. It is supposed to be the local place for waterfowl and since none of the refuge lakes or ponds have any water it is probably the only place relatively close by. So off we went to find it.

We didn't find it before we ran out of time. Ruby Road is a perfectly fine road for about a mile out of Arivaca, but it becomes paved and pot-holed beyond that, at least as far as we went. At around five miles, we found the turnoff for a gravel road that goes to Arivaca Lake, but that road was also bumpy and slow, even with the big F-250 4x4 truck we were using. After a couple of miles, we realized that by the time we got to the lake, we would have no time to even stop and might still be late for Thanksgiving dinner. So we turned around and headed for Brown Canyon. Poking our way slowly back over the road, we pulled over to let a KTM Adventure 990 pass ... sigh.

We had been invited to dinner by Charles and Sharon who live in Brown Canyon. Charles is on the refuge staff and invited us to Thanksgiving the day after we arrived. He and his wife, Sharon, traditionally host volunteers on Thanksgiving. This year, however, we were the only ones to attend. Chuck and Betty were off to Phoenix to her brother's house and Craig and Evelyn  had gone home to Albuquerque.

Brown Canyon is a rather special part of the refuge. It is on the slope of Baboquivari and is a much different habitat from the grasslands. There are several refuge buildings in the canyon and Charles and Sharon live in one of them. The entrance road is about 15 miles from the main refuge entrance and then it is 4.5 miles of dirt road into the canyon to get to their house. The first part of the road is fairly wide and flat, but it gets rougher the further you go. Once we reached the refuge locked gate, it got narrow and steep with deep wash-outs, no problem for the truck, but at one point I wondered if we were on the right road, then just as I thought about turning around, we reached the house. (I find it hard to believe that Charles makes that commute to the refuge five days a week.)

We Thought It Would Be A Smooth Ride Into Brown Canyon

The house they live in is called the Harm House, named after Ray Harm, a wildlife artist who lived in the house and was instrumental in making Brown Canyon part of the refuge (more on that in a later journal). The house is pretty special, adobe with a big porch overlooking the canyon, large rooms and totally off the grid. Charles and Sharon are dependent on solar and backup generator for electricity and have propane brought in for heat and cooking. They have been up there for about five years.

Harm House

After a tour of the house we sat down for a traditional Thanksgiving dinner with all the fixings, enough food for ten people rather than four. They had many tales of wildlife in the canyon, including the resident mountain lions who come by on a regular basis mostly along the creek below the house, but sometimes on the porch. Between dinner and dessert we took a short walk up the canyon to a natural dam on the creek, complete with clear flowing water, unusual to us having seen little surface water on the refuge. The creek bed comes down the canyon and the water appears and disappears depending on the depth of the bedrock. At this point there is a rhyolite dike, a seam of hard rock, and the water backs up behind it and has worn a path through. Not a lot of water flows through, but just the right amount. Near the dam are a set of pictographs under a ledge. These are not publicized, so their location remains unsaid. Lots of ancient hand prints, quite small, telling a very old story.

It was back for dessert and more stories. Ellen brought her apple crisp, which was well received, and Sharon had made a chocolate cheesecake. The sun had gone behind the mountain so we took our leave, hoping to get out of the canyon and the dirt roads before dark. They loaded us up with leftovers and off we went, making it back to the main road just as it got dark. It was our first nighttime driving on the refuge and I'm glad we had the truck.