Jan., 1905 | 
THE CONDOR 
23 
The first three days we devoted to exploring the mesquite forest, with most 
gratifying results. In the early morning the medley of bird songs w T as absolutely 
confusing, and the number of individuals of the many species found in this region, 
was far beyond what is usually the case in the lowlands of Arizona, w'here, al- 
though quite a variety of species may often be found, the conditions are not such 
as to support an abundance of animal life of any kind. 
A little later several days were spent in investigating the secrets hidden in 
the giant cactuses. Just north of our camp was a steep, circular hill, apparently 
of volcanic origin, covered with loose, black boulders, and rising abruptly from the 
fertile valley, like an island from the sea, other similar ones, being 
irregularly scattered through the valley. Aside from some thin, straggly larrea 
bushes, and a few small cactuses, the only vegetable growth on the hill was the 
giant cactus (Cereits giganteus), with w r hich huge plants the southern slope was 
thickly covered, there being none upon the opposite side. In working in the mes- 
quites we w r ere always in the shade, and did not suffer much from the heat, but 
out on this hill, exposed to the full glare af the Arizona sun, we found it impossi- 
ble to work except in the early morning and late in the afternoon, being driven to 
shelter in the middle of the day. It is no joke to carry a twenty-foot ladder about 
on level ground, from one cactus to another, but on a steep hillside, stumbling over 
loose boulders, dodging cactus, and with the perspiration running in one’s eyes, a 
person feels that he earns pretty nearly all that he succeeds in getting. The cac- 
tuses on this barren, unattractive looking hill were partiealarly rich in bird life, 
and one or two species were found that did not seem to occur at all out on the flat, 
open mesa, though the elf owls were probably more abundant in the latter locality. 
On June 1 1, while miles from camp, Mr. Stephens and I were caught in a 
thunder shower. I suppose it is right to call it a shower, for it did not last many 
hours, but then the way in rains in Arizona it does not need to continue many 
hours before the heavens are emptied. We plodded back, ankle deep in water, 
along roads where we had kicked up clouds of dust on starting out in the morning; 
and that night the river rose so, that, had not the banks been worn fifteen or more 
feet deep by previous similar occurrences, one camp would have probably been 
washed away, and we would have been obliged to take to the trees. 
Two days later we left this place and started for the Santa Rita Mountains. 
All of one day we drove up the valley of the Santa Cruz, thirty miles or more, 
then, turning to the left, headed straight to the mountains, which we reached 
about noon of June 15. Our camp was pitched near the mouth of what appeared 
to be the best, almost the only, canyon of any size on the west side of the moun- 
tains. It was very broad, with widely extending slopes on either side, running 
up to a low saddle on the divide. The altitude at this point on the divide was 
7400 feet, and at our camp 4500 feet. From the saddle, the mountain on the north 
ran up to a high granite peak, steep and nearly bare of vegetation, to an altitude 
of nearly 10,000 feet. Below the mountains the canyon continued in the shape of 
a deep, sharply defined ravine, extending for miles, but turning sharply to the 
south, so as to run nearly parallel with the range. This ravine was densely 
wooded with sycamore, oak, mesquite and other trees. The whole of the lower parts 
of the mountains were thickly covered with live oaks, and in the higher parts 
there was some, though not a great deal, pine timber. On the west side we found 
the mountains covered nearly everywhere with thick brush, and, in the higher 
parts, exceedingly steep and rough, so that it was impossible to travel in comfort 
anywhere but along the main canyon, and in one or two of its branches. In years 
gone by there was a great deal of timber taken out of these mountains, and traces 
