I LOVE WHERE I live. I mean, really love it. I love it to the point where it feels more like an extension of who I am than simply a place I happen to be. Even though I grew up some 5,000 miles away in a thoroughly different environment, the environment that I now call home has become home in the deepest sense of the word. And I’m not referring to the building-home I live within. I mean the world outside. The real world! When I peer out the window each morning, and when I step onto the front step and gaze upward, I still have to mentally pinch myself that this is where I am. Every single day without fail it blows me away.
Of course, this home I’ve chosen isn’t perfect, few places are. The human part of it – the town I live above – is not a quiet place. The jarring sounds of industry and traffic and sirens seldom fade. And it can be ridiculously busy. But such flaws are easy to see beyond, especially with so many natural riches so accessibly close. Within a fifty steps of my front door I can have the wild earth directly beneath my feet.
Scenically, my home has much to offer. Rising above my house is a rugged, crag-lined, flat-topped mesa – a miniature mountain that in certain conditions definitely looks (and feels) like a Big Mountain.
And across the valley rise the foothills of the Rockies, a folded land that swells upward into the high country. Without doubt the summits and forests and valleys of the foothills are good to look at. More scenic than the London suburbs that I came from by far! It’s a fine backdrop to live to.
But this homeland is so much more than just a ‘pretty’ landscape. Appearance is a superficial thing. Real beauty goes many layers deeper. What makes this land so special is that it’s a living land, that it exists beyond the anthropocentric world, that it is overflowing with life, and that when I step into it it’s like pulling a blanket of living energy tight around me. And goodness how doing this stirs my soul! How alive and complete it makes me feel!
A living landscape, of course, is full of living things. And over the twenty-plus years I’ve lived here I’ve been fortunate to have enjoyed a great many memorable encounters. The purpose for writing this blog is to share photographs of a few of them. I’ll be honest though, I’m not much of a wildlife photographer. I seldom have the right zoom lens attached to my camera at the right time, and the majority of my local outings are undertaken without a camera. (Locally, I prefer to travel light and free.) Because of this, many of the most memorable encounters have gone unrecorded. And yet, more by luck than by skill, I have still grabbed a few portraits of my neighbours…
I’d originally planned to share the best wildlife shots I’ve taken from right across Colorado, but when I began gathering them I discovered I had more images than I’d realised. Too many for a single blog. So, instead, I’m limiting this to encounters close to home, from my backyard itself, as well as from the mesa directly above my house – ‘my’ much-cherished extended backyard, the mountain I now know better than any other place on the planet.
I thought I’d start with the neighbour I encounter more often than any other: mule deer. There are hundreds on the mesa – they’re so common I see them pretty much every day. They even frequently loiter in my backyard, often sleeping there.
This first photo (above) shows a solitary mule deer buck, spotted one snowy October morning during a run. I paused what I was doing for fifteen or so minutes to watch.
The deer was industriously knocking snow off thickets with its antlers, then nibbling on twigs and leaves.
The buck was aware of me, but untroubled by my presence. I was on trail, he was off it, with thick mountain mahogany entanglements between us. These photos – as with most of the photos to follow – were taken by zoom lens. The ethics of wildlife photography are critically important, as are the ethics of sharing this home with our neighbours. If an animal alters its behaviour because of us, because we’ve deliberately moved too close, then we are not being responsible visitors, neighbours or photographers; instead, we are being disrespectful, selfish and harmful.
The next photo remains a favourite for how it sums up how embedded within nature my home often is.
This has happened many times. We often catch our neighbours going about their lives right outside our windows. We’ve lost many hours of sleep over the years to deer rummaging and feeding, and to aromatic skunks wandering by, and to raccoons ‘partying’ through the night directly outside! We’ve even had deer sleep within two body lengths of where are doing the same, such as in the photo below, shot through a window from my bed at a much-used deer bed.
Arguably the finest backyard deer encounter occurred in June ten years ago when a doe gave birth to two fawns.
We missed the birth itself, but my daughter spotted the event only a few minutes after it must have happened. Thanks to her, we did get to watch the mother push out the afterbirth, and the fawns take their first wobbly steps, and the Mum lick them all over before guiding them into the security and shelter of the long grass at our yard’s end.
It truly was an enchanting episode… and not without one moment of humour. It’s possible it was the doe’s first pregnancy. I suggest this because her expression of utter confusion after birth as she looked behind herself at the newly-arrived fawns was unforgettable. I hate anthropomorphizing, but really, her face said: “What the f*** just happened!” Her awe and shock seemed palpable at the time!
The Mother and fawns remained in the backyard for several days. We were happy to stay away and give them the space they needed for as long as they needed it. It felt like a privilege to be in a position to cede ‘possession’ of a small plot of land to such deserving occupants.
Among the many other residents in the backyard that I treasure are these, pictured below: western terrestrial garter snakes.
Warm afternoons late in March and April are the best times for seeing them. Over the years, their numbers have been growing, and this year provided a special treat. Going down my yard I noticed this amorous couple (above) quivering and coiled with passion. I darted back to the house for my camera.
Nearby, in a sun-warmed spot among a jumble of basalt boulders, was an even more notable sight, a snake ball, consisting of at least twelve garter snakes, or possibly more. It was hard to tell where one ended and another began!
The coil slipping through a crack in the rocks (below) felt too artistic not to photograph!
These snakes are not venomous and are sometimes fondly called the ‘gardener’s snake’. They have an appetite for small rodents and insects, so-called ‘pests’ which might otherwise eat home-grown garden veggies. My opinion on that though: does any creature deserve to be called a pest? I don’t think so. Even mosquitoes serve a purpose.
On the other hand, I do understand why some people recoil at snakes, at even at a photograph of a snake. But, sorry, I’m not one of them! Just look at this attractive fellow peering though long grass. In my view, beautiful!
And then there were these three young garter snakes peeking out nervously from within a crack!
Small creatures like garter snakes DO have good reason to be nervous. Hungry predators often settle in the trees directly overhead:
Like this great horned owl, perched in an ash.
Note those fierce curved talons! As the owl stared down at me I felt its predatory nature… even experienced the slightest tinge of fear and doubt, along with gratitude that I wasn’t small and furry or scaly.
A red tailed hawk, photographed just last week. We’ve seen a fair variety of hawks over the years, settling on poles down the yard and up in the trees, and circling in the sky. Their evocative piercing cries get to me every time. It is not a sound of the suburbs!
There are smaller predators, too. Like this praying mantis:
I find these miniature ‘aliens’ utterly fascinating – they are a wonderfully different ‘take’ on what life can be. Amazingly, there are over 2,400 different species of mantis. If this fact alone – that one single insect can come in so many variations – doesn’t inspire awe at the rich diversity of life on our finite planet, then nothing will.
Our backyard has plenty of canines passing through. I’ve spotted foxes aplenty, although the photographs I’ve grabbed have typically been blurry and poor. But this fox, photographed at White Ranch up in the foothills (only five miles from home in a straight line) seems worth including:
I saw it from a distance and had time to swap lenses on my camera. It was curious, although didn’t come quite as close as this shot makes it appear! I was seated on a bench in camp, keeping still, the fox was up-slope, and it neared to roughly twenty feet. Some campers feed wild animals, clearly NOT the right thing to do. Maybe this one had been fed. But I wasn’t about to. Eventually the fox decided it wanted nothing to do with me and continued on its way.
I’ve occasionally spotted coyotes in the backyard, too, but as with foxes haven’t grabbed any reasonably good photos – although this one of a mangy-looking coyote scratching itself (along with a companion magpie) feels worth sharing.
I’ve seen them even more frequently up on the mesa. The most photogenic moment occurred when I saw a pack of seven standing on an elevated outcrop, in silhouette, howling, their fur backlit by a golden sunset occurring directly behind them. Did I have my camera with me on that occasion though? No, of course not!
But over the years I have grabbed a fair few distant pictures, such as this…
A lone coyote: a watchful sentinel of the mesa. Coyotes are almost always present if one takes the time to stop moving and stare hard into the landscape to seek them out.
This photo (above) makes it look as though the coyote is stalking the mule deer, although I doubt that was the case. Most likely, both coyote and deer were simply aware of, and avoiding, me.
My clearest coyote photos came in December last year when I spotted this one wandering by.
I was sitting still beside a rock and the coyote hadn’t spotted me as it trotted along. It stopped to survey the mesa, allowing a reasonable zoom shot. It looked gloriously and completely at home.
Of course, in winter it’s easy to see where they’ve been!
And it’s easy to see that I frequently share the mesa with larger predators, too:
Despite the thousands of hours I’ve spent on the mesa at all times of day, and even during the evening and dawn hours that are prime time for lion activity, I’ve still not seen one. Only the tracks. But I have no doubt I’ve been seen!
I have seen plenty of another (potentially) dangerous neighbour…
A western prairie rattlesnake, coiled on the trail ahead. Rattlers are worth being aware of, but they’re not to be feared or hated as vehemently as some people fear and hate them. Truth is, they belong in this environment and they serve a purpose in the area’s rich web of live. And they typically go out of their way to get out of our way. When they can’t, they usually (and very politely) announce themselves with their unmistakable rattle. I’ve had many encounters over the decades, none negative for either me or the snake. Perhaps because I wander our shared home with as much respect as I can muster for what might be hiding in the grass or along the trail.
There are many other reptiles present in the area, including:
Bird life is extremely plentiful and varied up on the mesa. I have some clear favourites, starting with…
Red-winged blackbird. Their evocative song is the first real announcement of spring. This blackbird was perched beside one of the seasonal ponds atop the mesa in late-day light early one March. (Here’s a sample I found of the song: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xe243Sw_hao )
I treasure hearing and seeing western meadowlark even more. Their tuneful song has possibly become my favourite sound in nature! It prompts so many good emotions, soaring optimism especially. ( https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Sk4S2spFdcs )
Another sign of spring are herons, this one (below) probably hunting amphibians in one of the seasonal pools.
And then there are the ravens, well regarded for their intelligence. Somehow they do exude an aura of immense wisdom.
The birds I value seeing most are eagles. I haven’t yet achieved a bald eagle photo from the mesa, but have grabbed a few of golden eagles…
On the winter’s day pictured above I just about had time to fix the zoom lens in place after seeing two golden eagles soaring along the mesa’s craggy edge in my direction. I was able to grab a couple of shots as they swooped by. The very next day, I spotted another from a distance, perched on a rock.
Eagles are extremely sensitive to disturbance, especially when nesting, and because of it the Bald and Golden Eagle Protection Act carries with it a fine for individuals of $100,000. This covers a broad a range of violations considered detrimental to an eagle, including approaching it in any way and ‘disturbing’ it. I’ve been involved in a few online ‘scraps’ with people who don’t seem to see a problem with flying their drones where our eagles nest, even though it violates drone flying regulations on the mesa and, far more importantly, the Eagle Protection Act. I’ll always speak up for these birds. They belong on the hill above my home. Drones do not.
Eagles hunt for a variety of prey, including the multitude of cottontail rabbits up on the mesa. What with eagles, hawks, owls, coyotes, foxes, raccoons, rattlesnakes, lions and even occasional black bears passing through, life can be a precarious for small mammals! And yet there are lots of them! Thousands!
Prairie dogs and gophers also have to keep a wary eye out. Being able to photograph them up close takes real luck!
And make no mistake, life on the living mesa IS often perilous, harsh and indifferent, and frequently very, very real.
A mule deer carcass, no doubt after a lion, or coyotes, or eagles, or ravens and crows, or even rodents, have been at work. This loss of life for the deer, though, is clearly a gain for others.
It’s horrific, maybe… but death is reality, an inevitable and unavoidable part of life. Death happens every day, but life goes on. The mule deer population up on my backyard mountain remains relatively healthy, despite natural predation, despite a huge increase in two-legged visitors in recent years, and despite seasonal conditions that are regularly rough on life.
New generations arrive, grow, struggle, flourish. Life continues.
And from my own experiences, the rewards from being able to witness all this life – and pull it tight about me – remain huge. If anything, the rewards have grown stronger each year. The connection and belonging I now feel with this living land adds an extra value to being alive that I would never once have imagined.
These photos I’ve shared present only the narrowest of snapshots of the life to be found in ‘my’ backyard. The reality is greater by a magnitude that cannot easily be conveyed. Plus, consider this: I’ve only shared a select few animal images. There’s an entire plant world, too, and a microbiotic world, and these worlds are even richer in variety and abundance. And that’s here, in an arid steppe-like climate where life is comparatively sparse. Think about how rich the entire natural world is across all environments! Personally, thinking about this takes me right back to how I feel every single morning when I step outside: blown away with gratitude and awe.
Well, I hope I’ve done enough with these photos to support the argument I made right back at the start: that this land, like many such places, is so much more than mere scenery. Appearance isn’t the part that matters most. It’s a living land, and we share it with living neighbours. Approach any natural place from that perspective, rather than from a human-centric ‘what-can-I-get-out-of-it’ perspective, and it will likely come to seem even more meaningful and valuable.
