Mornings with Lizards

If you read my last blog post you might remember my excitement about a job in Ecuador. Well, due to some funding issues on their end that job has been put on hold indefinitely. When it fell through I wasted zero time determining my next move. I mean, I had been spending my time applying for jobs and playing pickup basketball 4 hours per day in Tallahassee. I needed an income. On the job boards I quickly found and applied for another crew leader position. I ended up getting offered the job a few days later. Such a quick and successful employment search proved that luck was in fact on my side. I left Tallahassee shortly thereafter to start yet another field job, this time in Imperial County, CA.

Imperial Sand Dunes, very near the filming site of some scenes from Star Wars: Return of the Jedi. Jabba the Hutt and the mighty Sarlacc must be close. YES!

Welcome to the Colorado Desert portion of the greater Sonora Desert, a place called the Imperial Valley. It is a land of sand dunes, gravelly "hardpan," rocky peaks, the Mexican border, and oh so many creosote bushes. During my brief tenure here (June and July) the nights were a balmy 80-85 degrees, while the days were as blistering as 118 degrees Fahrenheit. In this land a mid-afternoon breeze felt akin to having a massive array of hairdryers focused directly on your face. On the less arid days I easily achieved full-on "swampin'," as it came to be called. Three interns were crazy enough to sign up for this gig with me: Paulina, Aileen, and Andy. Under the direction of the American Conservation Experience (ACE) and the Bureau of Land Management (BLM) we were given a short 8-week job in the unforgiving desert environment...

It is 4:30AM. GET UP. Your alarm is blaring that song you now hate. Why did you read that stupid Swedish crime novel until 9:30 last night? Ugh. Get up, idiot. Make coffee, quintuple check your things, drink coffee, grab tons of water, and get on the road. Hopefully someone else wants to drive today. TRAIL MIX. You need that too. Must get to the field plot before the 5:30 sunrise! And away we go.

"Hey look, the border fence. Does it actually cross the dunes or does it go around them?"
"A jackrabbit! A kit fox!"
"Why do people live here? There is no water."
"What are those border patrol cars doing?"
"WATERMELON."
"Guys, I just came up with a new word, albatrois: the fancy name for a trio of albatrosses."

Sunrise over the endless creosote bushes.

That is how the workdays usually began: fumbling around to get ready, hopping into the truck, and then a collection of random sights and insights along the way. The research plots we drove out to were seemingly random 300m x 300m squares in the vast desert. The perimeter of each one was flagged off (by us, via GPS), and carefully scoured in 10-meter wide transects by our crew of four. What were we looking for? Lizards, duh. But not just any lizards. These were the BEST lizards. I am talking about the Flat-tailed Horned Lizard (Phrynosoma mcallii). They are among the many varieties of what people call "horny toads" or "horned toads." "Horned lizard" is the most accurate term, since they are lizards, not toads. But only nerds care about that. At work we just called them "flat-tails."

So majestic!

Like stubborn four-legged flapjacks and flapjills, Flat-tailed Horned Lizards do not usually run from predators when threatened. Instead, they remain settled on the sandy griddle, hoping to blend in better than whatever else is cooking in the morning sun. This survival tactic made them easy prey for us lizard catchers, as long as we spotted them, of course. Camouflage is the name of the game for these guys. Many of our sightings occurred when one bolted at the last second to avoid a stomping foot. Others were found dozing out on the open sand, as though they had passed out after a long night of debauchery. That was my favorite way to find them (see picture below). Even if they ran we always managed to track them down. Flat-tails are never going to set any land speed records. Thus they were a breeze to catch. Unlike some species of horned lizard this one cannot squirt blood out from behind its eyes as a last resort. After being captured their sharp horns present the grand finale of their defensive arsenal. A mighty shake of the head could deter most predators, I suppose. But even those efforts were no match for careful human hands, save for a few times. As a crew we found our study species' fruitless attempts at fierceness both hilarious and endearing from day one. By day forty it still had not gotten old.

Ignore previous caption.

The purpose of our job was to contribute to a long term study of population demographics on this imperiled species, not to laugh at them. For this project the BLM chose to implant all adult lizards on the research plots with PIT tags, which are simple microchips with unique ID numbers. The PIT tag is permanent, and the ID number it holds can be read with a scanner at close range. Having an ID allows researchers to follow individual lizards for multiple years, which is incredibly valuable when compiling a multi-year dataset on - you guessed it! - population demographics. All lizards of adequate size get injected with a PIT tag (as painlessly as possible) under the skin on the edge of their soft, white underbelly. Super glue is added to cover the open wound and prevent loss of the PIT tag. In addition to assigning ID numbers we gathered specific data on each individual: length, weight, location, and time of capture, to name a few. In some cases a lot of fluid would ooze from the inflated body cavity of a flat-tail during PIT tag implantation. This necessitated us rehydrating them. In the desert a small loss of fluids spells desiccation, which means death. We gave those unlucky buggers that popped a quick spritz of water to the face. This quickly revealed the surly side of the otherwise mum lizards. Their violent fits of hissing and squirming were passionate and persistent. Water is not something they like on their scaly bodies, as it turns out. I can recall one individual that looked me right in the face as it opened its frowny mouth and hissed like a cat. One or two of them clearly drank the water as it dribbled down their lizard lips. Perhaps our rehydration efforts were not pure torture. During the 10-day survey periods we could count on seeing certain individuals numerous times, while others proved quite elusive. There were likely many that we never saw at all, though my lizarding ego would beg to differ. We found that all plots had unique lizard density and population structure (age/sex ratios, etc.). We can be sure that after so many years of this project all the local lizard populations have developed and  passed down ancient folklore describing the yearly visitors: "Sit down children. See this scar? Before you leave the burrow for the first time you must be warned about the giant demons with the great needle..."

When I found this lil' baby I had a hard time maintaining my composure. Ones this small cannot be PIT tagged. They are too cute.

Of course pancake lizards were not the only creature we encountered in the arid wasteland. All of our plots hosted varying populations of Desert Sidewinders (Crotalus cerastes), which proved to be the most docile animal in the entire desert. They plop themselves in the sand, half-buried and completely motionless. We often spotted their J-shaped tracks and their little cinnamon roll-esque impressions in loose sand. There were a multitude of other animal tracks in addition, including those of Kangaroo rats, beetles, scorpions, other snakes, and many species of lizard. The majority of those animals will come out solely at night, while others are crepuscular, meaning they are most active at the twilight hours of dawn and dusk. During our surveys we could occasionally observe a nocturnal "day owl," but mostly we saw the crepuscular and diurnal critters. Among my favorite animals encountered in the field were the small and colorful Shovel-nosed Snake (Chionactis occipitalis), the harbinger of heat Desert Iguana (Dipsosaurus dorsalis), tail curling Zebra-tailed Lizard (Callisaurus draconoides), clumsy Colorado Fringe-toed Lizard (Uma notata), an awesomely accidental Desert Patch-nosed Snake (Salvadora hexalepis), predatory Red Racer/Coachwhip (Coluber flagellum), and the very smooth Glossy Snake (Arizona elegans). All those animals have their own special adaptations for survival in the desert, whether it be behavioral, physiological, or otherwise. I would go into more detail about observations of each one, except this blog post is already on the lengthy side for my taste.

Early morning Sidewinder just minding its business.

Shovel-nosed Snakes are rarely seen, but we saw three. They are not venomous, despite their vibrant coloration.

Desert Iguanas tend to "waggle" when they run at top speed. This is more of a stationary "co-waggle," so to speak.

One animal that deserves a little more explanation is one I have yet to mention. First, let me set the scene... Imagine you are an innocent, fuzzy, comfortable tarantula. You are going about your day, hunkering down in your safe burrow to avoid the blistering heat. Maybe you choose to read the Spider Sentinel as you sip some tea. BAM, you feel a bolt of lightning hit your abdomen (butt). The immense pain gives way to complete lack of feeling. You are now unable to move. Your body begins to magically levitate, out of your burrow and over the sand and gravel. Now you descend into an unfamiliar burrow. Where on Earth could you be? Have you died and gone to Heaven?

Nope.

Unfortunately this is the fate of a tarantula that has been taken hostage by a female Tarantula Wasp, also called a Tarantula Hawk. The story of the tarantula gets much more sinister after the initial sting and trip to its captor's lair. The wasp, which is freakin' huge, intends to feed this poor soul to its offspring. A single egg is laid atop the tarantula's abdomen. The egg hatches - and mind you the tarantula is still alive in a state of paralysis - and the larval wasp crawls down into the body of its oblivious host. The mission of the larva is a dastardly one. The little baby wasp carefully avoids eating away the vital organs of its living buffet. Everyone knows that tarantula meat goes bad quickly. Eat it live or throw it out. The spider must remain alive until the wasp is satiated. That can take weeks! Then the wasp pupates and flies away of its own accord on fresh new wings. The tarantula's death is slow, painless (after the sting from Mama Wasp), and pretty unappetizing to us non-wasps. During our morning desert walkabouts we saw Tarantula Wasps here and there. The largest ones were MASSIVE, and the smallest ones were of normal wasp size. We never saw one pull a tarantula from its burrow, though we did see plenty of webbed tarantula hideouts, and we always checked for noticeable disturbances at the entrance. Now, I am sure you are curious about the Tarantula Wasp's sting, right? According to the Schmidt Pain Index, only the Bullet Ant (I saw those in the Peruvian Amazon last summer!) has a more painful sting. With that in mind we avoided Tarantula Wasps at all costs. A wasp on the prowl is not to be messed with. I feared them.

Here is the best Tarantula Wasp picture I got. Would you have gone any closer?

Other than wandering the desert with wasps for hours at a time there was not much to do in Imperial County, which should come as no surprise. El Centro, the largest city, is mostly gross, decrepit, and surprisingly agricultural. The Cardenas supermarket was a highlight because of their supply of delicious tortilla chips, mangoes, and horchata. Our "weekends" were 4-day breaks from the action. I mostly stayed around and applied for jobs on those days. Remember, this gig was only 8 weeks long! On our final weekend myself, Aileen, and Andy took a trip down to Ensenada, Mexico. Compared to El Centro, Ensenada was a paradise: ocean beaches, great places to eat, and a less wasteland-ish feeling overall. I ate the greatest burrito in existence, as well as perfect tacos, ceviche, local wine, good tequila, breakfast empanadas, and my daily mango (or two). Beyond the feasting, we also took a bus to La Bufadora, the second largest marine geyser blowhole thing in the world! Waves slowly crept in, people leaned over the edge, and BOOM, the water would spray up violently, then rain down and drench the screaming crowd. I especially enjoyed seeing people with selfie sticks receive a healthy deluge. It was great fun to see water again. I highly recommend visiting Ensenada for anyone considering a quick glimpse of Mexico. The bus down from Tijuana is cheap, and so is everything else once you arrive. Hostal Todos Santos is an amazing place to stay for those choosing to avoid the touristy crap in downtown. The city is safe and the locals are friendly. And obviously the food will not disappoint.

Sand meets water. FINALLY!

La Bufadora doing its thing.

Burrito composed entirely of dreams.

I suppose now is the time to wrap things up. To summarize: I walked in the desert with three brave souls, caught a bunch of goofy lizards, and saw some things I never could have anticipated. This was a really enjoyable summer field position. My crew was incredibly easy to be around, maybe even fun. Okay, they were awesome! I already miss each of them for their company and wealth of inside jokes. Of course I will miss the flat-tails too! Their behaviors were fascinating, but most importantly they made me laugh every single day. There is one more thing I will miss that is harder to explain: being in a landscape so desolate that hardly anyone else bothers to see it. Jobs that bring me into such places are unique. Few people would choose to hike around in a random part of the desert for hours on end. But doing so presents unmatched opportunities for wildlife viewing. We saw things that can only be seen by putting in those hours, day after day. I am thankful for the experience, for seeing what I did. And I am most thankful to know that there is still so much out there that has gone unseen. This is a big reason why I do this type of work. Now I am in the process of finding another job while trying to get my act together and apply for Master's positions. Graduate school is officially in my sights. Wish me luck! Thanks for reading. More pictures below!

Found this Desert Banded Gecko (Coleonyx variegatus) on a rare night hike.

A particularly pretty flat-tail curling her tail for the camera.

Some tracks are obvious.

Coachwhip eating poor Number 16. We waited for the snake to finish eating, then caught and scanned it to determine which of our PIT tagged lizards was in its stomach. SCIENCE.

An accidental digression led us straight to this rare Patch-nosed Snake. Notice the strange upturned scale on its nose.

Sidewinder being sneaky in a burrow.

Probably fresh Shovel-nosed Snake tracks.

Fringe-toed Lizard hiding very poorly.

Blueberry beetle! Actually a type of darkling beetle. Some had a very cloudy abdomen, closely resembling a blueberry.

Lizards like bombing ranges.

Scorpions are rarely seen in the day. This is the only one we saw during work hours.

This is a camel spider, also called a solifuge. I prefer the latter name. This one appeared to have died trying to escape the morning heat.

The valiant field crew navigating the harsh Sonoran Desert in style.