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As I mentioned previously, I grew up in the Tucson area. The city lies in the Sonoran Desert which covers parts of Arizona, California and the state of Sonora in Mexico. The Sonoran Desert is the largest and hottest desert in North America and yet it is also the wettest desert—receiving anywhere from 3” to 15” a year depending on location. That doesn’t sound like much rain, but it is for an arid area. If the soaring temperatures didn’t cause so much evaporation the area might not qualify as a desert at all. There are some scientists who say that most of the Sonoran Desert supports too much life, both flora and fauna, to be a true desert. We’ll leave the arguments to them, suffice it to say it is a land of extremes.

Do you think of sand dunes when I say desert? There are few dunes in the Sonoran Desert, and none around Tucson. This area is dominated by tall, columnar Saguaro cacti that can reach heights over 30’, ground-hugging, flat-padded Prickly Pear cacti, and Mesquite and Palo Verde trees. And that’s just at the lower elevations; there are twenty-seven mountain ranges in Southern Arizona that qualify as Sky Islands. These high elevation outposts support vegetation from desert scrub at their base to oak forests—even pine and aspen at the top.

The Saguaros are so majestic and such an important part of the ecosystem that two large sections of land around Tucson were set aside as the Saguaro National Monument in 1933 (later upgraded to a National Park in 1994). It’s a good thing the land was preserved otherwise we would’ve lost an amazingly vibrant and diverse habitat to the blades of development. Although the number will change in the future as the state sells off and swaps land, currently only 15% of Arizona is privately owned. That does not mean the land is pristine or untouched, in fact most of the landscape today is the result of hundreds of years of overgrazing and shortsighted farming techniques.

I’ll leave the challenging environmental concerns for now, let’s talk about rain. The average yearly rainfall for Tucson is 12” though it has been years since that number has actually been recorded. Scientists have calculated that if all the precipitation that fell from clouds reached the ground, Tucson would get almost 200” of rain a year. Remember earlier how I mentioned the Sonoran Desert was the hottest in North America? Well, the air can be so hot that rain evaporates before it hits the ground, a phenomenon called virga. There is nothing more frustrating than standing outside in the summer smelling rain and watching it fall in gray sheets from the sky but never feeling it on your skin.

Speaking of rain—it is doing so right now. Not all that common of event around here but it is to be expected in the winter. Tucson is proud to have two main seasons: summer and winter. Winter is like most of the north country’s fall so nothing to complain about there. Summer is hot but dry (mostly), and that makes all the difference. Good thing Arizona doesn’t observe Daylight Savings Time, we’d never know when to change the clock since fall and spring are considered minor seasons. Tucson may not have a colorful fall or a long spring but it does have another season, Monsoon.

Monsoon literally means “wind shift” and all Tucsonans anxiously await the summer day when the wind changes from the north to the south. The humid southern air comes from the Sea of Cortez bringing much-needed moisture. It is our favorite time of the year, July through September. Oh, those days can be hot and miserably humid, but when the black clouds roll in and unleash their fury of thunder, lightning, rain and sometimes hail, the temperature dives. The storms deliver half of Tucson’s annual rainfall in a few short weeks. The storms are less frequent and bring less rain these days; Tucson has been in a drought for over ten years now. In Ohio farmers compare the height of their corn, in Tucson people compare the amount of water in their rain gauges. Rain is measured in the tenths of an inch out here, and every tenth is welcomed.

I grew up wandering the canyons and hills of the Santa Catalina Mountains where the Hohokam people lived over 4,000 years ago, where the Spanish are rumored to have buried piles of gold in a long-lost mine, where the Apaches raided and terrorized the hardy settlers, where the Butterfield Stage Company operated. Over this storied and beautifully rugged terrain I hiked and rode my horses, stopping often to look for pottery shards, lithics, petrogylphs, pithouses, and even gold. The aptly named Cañada del Oro (Canyon of Gold) wound through the desert near my house, and although I searched for the shiny stuff, my real treasure was water, not gold. The river rarely ran but when it did—oh, the fun.

My numerous hours in the desert were highlighted by several special memories. Once I was hiking alone (a no-no but trust me, I knew this area like the back of my hand), following only a game trail. Ahead of me I spotted a White-tailed Deer and her fawn. We were on the same trail and I was limited in my options by a steep cliff wall to my right. Even though I was well behind them and downwind, the mother deer was quite nervous and kept twitching her ears toward the top of the cliff. I soon realized that we were being watched by a mountain lion. As hard as I tried I never caught a full look at it, only a brief flash of tawny fur and the sound of a few pebbles dropping from the ledge. I carefully took my leave of the deer and wished them the best of luck; the baby would’ve made an easy target and a good meal.

My second treasured encounter was just after sunset. My dog Shelby and I were returning to the car by cutting through the Sutherland Wash. It was in a rather narrow spot and from the opposing hillside came a high pitched cry. It sounded like a Red-tailed Hawk but it was at ground level. Finally, roughly 30’ feet behind us a bobcat burst out of the brush. She issued a call that was soon answered by several voices. Crashing down the hillside came three small, spotted kittens. After a brief reunion they all padded off down the wash disappearing into the shadows. My trusty canine companion hid behind me shaking the whole time and had to be carried back to the car. So much for hiking with protection! Truthfully, I am glad Shelby was quiet and that she did not leave my side even though as a shepherd mix she far outweighed the bobcat.

Lastly, before leaving for a month-long solo backpacking trip through Europe I headed out to the hills again. My thoughts occupied me as I wandered up the trail I had traversed so many times before. A rustling in a small mesquite tree halted my feet. In the shade of the tree crouched a Red-tailed Hawk devouring a Gila Monster, a large venomous lizard. The lizard was on its back and the hawk’s sharp bill sliced into and tore off chunks of flesh. Awed, I watched, holding my breath. Here was the high soaring, keen-eyed, large raptor feeding on its prey. Standing almost two feet tall the busy bird was amazing. At some point I must have made a noise, for the hawk swiftly swiveled its head and the black eye looked me over. For a half-second we eyed each other, then the hawk flapped its massive wings and lunged for the sky. The thick branches of the mesquite foiled the bird only briefly and soon it was high in the air. On my way back down, one of the few times I have retraced my steps while hiking (I hate going the same way twice), I noticed the lizard was gone. I have often wondered if the hawk returned to reclaim its dinner or if it was some taken by some other resourceful creature?

I can never do justice to the incredible Sonoran Desert where I grew up, I can only try. Ed Abbey, Charles Bowden and Barbara Kingsolver have all done an admirable job through their writing. Linda Ronstadt and her musical family sang about their Tucson home as did Lalo Guerrero (considered by many to be the Father of Chicano music). Ted DeGrazia expressed his love for the Sonoran Desert and her people through his art. All of them present a different aspect of the area and their unique views are as diverse as the desert itself.