Story and photo
by Phil Clark
Lake Powell Chronicle

As the dawn breaks in the Sonoran Desert, I hear chirps from a bird I know well. It makes countless patterns of sounds, imitating other birds while giving the sense of an entire chorus of birds.  I’m camping alone.  It is keeping me company.  

I remember when we used to live in Phoenix and a local landscaper told me that in Spanish, the bird’s name was “bird of 100 songs”, or pajaro de cien canciones. Indeed, this bird we know as the Northern Mockingbird has a vast repertoire of songs. I’ll name my bird friend Hector.

Getting out of the tent, it is a bit chilly this morning, even for southern Arizona standards.  I don my down jacket, the one I had since the El Niño of 1983, and pull a wool hat over my forehead.  I make myself some breakfast burritos from scratch.  

Sitting in the lawn chair, facing the sun, I sip my coffee and listen – listen to the sounds of the desert. Listen to no sound at all, just the hissing in my ears. It’s nice to relax after the long drive.

The Sonoran Desert has two rainy seasons: the summer downpours and the gentle winter rains. This year has been an El Niño – another exceptionally wet winter. Before I left Page, I kept getting pollen alerts for southern Arizona. I knew there should be good wildflower blooms this year. A cold front passed through yesterday as I drove from Page and dropped rain most of the way to where I camped.  
The drizzle stopped long enough to pitch a tent and set up camp. As I set up camp, a full rainbow and part of a second one made an appearance. I marvel at the beauty of how one end of the colors ends at a nearby green hill. I think rainbows are blessings. Could there be a pot of gold? 

 
As the sun shines on the landscape, I realize that the landscape around me is a green carpet of budding plants, maturing after a wet winter, ready to pop with color, in all directions. This morning it seems as if they are too cold to open yet. As the sun rises, so does the wind.  

After breakfast, I start to wander across the landscape. There are no trails. Just rock formations and saguaros. Jagged peaks of granite and rhyolite emerge from the green “sea” as islands. The greenery gives way to yellow patches of flowers. At least three kinds of yellow flowers including the Arizona poppy, a yellow version of its California cousin.

I let my eyes take me from one patch to another and my camera follows. Around the end of a ridge, sheltered from the wind, I find my pot of gold! The first carpet of flowers!  The bright yellow at the base of the stark rock cliffs give the scene a sense of drama, as if nature was trumpeting that spring was here.   

Walking further across the landscape, from canyon to canyon, ridge to ridge, more flowers appear. Hector keeps chirping as if a flock of birds was with me. Not too far ahead I see a dark purple tint in the expanses of rock fragments. A flower I’ve known to be Scorpionweed for its purple stalk unfurling its blooms as would the tail of the arachnid. I am not disappointed. This is a great year for southern Arizona wildflowers!

Taking my gaze off of the ground, I see the blue of the sky is accented with the scarlet blooms of ocotillo, growing at the ends of the spiny stems covered with tiny green leaves.  

Walking over another ridge I see that it is covered with tiny white flowers, barely higher than the gravelly ground itself. Scattered within the white is the bluish purple of lupine, standing tall, as if protecting its smaller cousins. Wandering further I see a field of orange Globemallow to balance out all the yellow I’ve seen today.  

Then I notice the fragrance. A subtle perfume that only nature can create. I fill my lungs with the clean, fragrant air.  The background of the rock islands adds to the color of the landscape.  
Hector welcomes me back to camp as I take the day pack off and relax in the lawn chair. Time to start supper.

As sun sets, the wind dies down and I warm up in the sun, much like a lizard. I bask in the sun and in the satisfaction of having found a showy display of flowers.

More are scattered across southern Arizona. Tomorrow, I’ll move camp to another place and take my chances as to what I might find. It’s more fun to explore and take chances on where to go. Fewer people. More solitude. Life in the desert is beautiful. Life is good.