A Canyon Tree Frog perches atop a rock. Look for these critters shortly after monsoons begin — the love the wetness. Highlands Center For Natural History courtesy photo.
By Jill Craig
You can feel it coming. The air thickens and begins to smell like moist soil. The wind picks up, scattering the leaves. Birds become still and quiet. A monsoon is coming.
It comes after a hot morning. If you watch the sky, perhaps you’ll see a thunderhead building, getting taller, getting bigger. Then, suddenly, rain comes battering to earth, as if a giant watering can were tipped over. It kicks up dry dust and soaks everything in sight within seconds.
But, just as suddenly as it begins, it ends. The only evidence it leaves are gushing creeks, a clean swept smell, and dripping pines.
After months of bone-dry weather, monsoons come just in time to replenish the high desert, hills, and valleys creeks. With each microburst, dry hillsides bloom into blankets of late summer wildflowers, carpets of native grasses burst into color — though you have to look closely for a peek into that world — and, right when you get the feeling that summer’s heat will never end, there’s a springtime sense that everything is fresh and new.
Earlier this spring, native oak species (Scrub, Emory, and Grey) dropped their leaves in preparation for a long, hot summer — the norm is fall, but these trees know better. These sad, deceased looking trees now release soft, bursting, pokey leaves that are ready to soak up the late summer sun.
Our beloved (and rarely wet creeks) flow back into life, banked by green carpets of grass, freshly bloomed flowers, and crisp, tall trees.
The portion of Lynx Creek that runs along the eastern portion of the Highlands Center for Natural History is the highlight of all of our summer camps, and truly an oasis for hikers. Fed bit by bit from the lake, the creek runs through Alder, Dogbane, Cottonwood, Ash, and Willow trees. When you walk down to the flowing creek, the temperature drops a few degrees thanks to their shade and the evaporative powers of water.
But until the monsoons arrive, the creek is dry and green with algae. Life is slow and languid, and there’s a sense that every living thing along the creek is holding its breath, waiting for rain. In the meantime, summer is one long, hot day. Then, when the first cloud breaks, releasing torrents of rain, life abounds and rejoices.
One of our most-beloved creek creatures, the Canyon Tree Frog, comes out of hiding to celebrate the wetness. Although they have the ability to absorb moisture through green patches under their legs, these tiny frogs are rarely seen during the hottest parts of the summer. Instead, they hide in cool, tiny fractures in the granite boulders.
Another creek companion in seeming abundance during monsoon season is the Water Strider. These insects are six-legged “true bugs” — which means they have sucking mouthparts — that walk on water. For striders, rain means the new brood won’t need to develop wings; if another water source is near, they can easily make the walk. In drier seasons, however, strider broods develop wings, which they may need to travel to new water sources.
Be it frog or strider, Willow or Alder, creeklife thrives on monsoons. And the creeks themselves flow with clarity and coolness, facilitating shade for weary hikers and sun-drenched campers. For now, our creeks support the eager flora and fauna that live in their waters and along their shores.
For now, thanks to the monsoons, the creeks flow.
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Jill Craig is education director at the Highlands Center for Natural History. She oversees all educational programming for the center and facilitates the Highlands Naturalist Volunteer Program. In her spare time, Jill can be found hiking in the Bradshaw Mountains with her two dogs and husband.