"There is nothing so eloquent as a rattlesnake's tail"

The temporary respite in triple-digit temps here in the Palm Springs valley has revitalised both man and beast. Energized pets, dining alfresco under the balmy evening skies, and a sudden desire to don hiking shoes after a searing-summer outdoor reprieve.

Crack of dawn this final-day-of-August, my stalwart hiking companion, Mary Pat Anderson, and I set the alarm and hit the trail at our favorite spot, the Coachella Valley Preserve. Striding through the dessicated landscape, we appraised the end-of-summer vista, comparing the parched terrain to the vibrant display we savored this springtime.

I was surprised to realize the canyon still blooms, from the ubiquitous creosote bush—an Indian favorite, to the Dr. Seuss-like Desert Trumpet, its Lilliputian yellow flowers topping bulbous stems that appear to have swallowed without chewing.

Stepping carefully over the swarming ant hills—who persist in perilously excavating under hikers' heels, we spied a few lizards and, thanks to Mary Pat's keen eye, even a baby Short-Horned Lizard hunkering down in an admirably successful effort to be inconspicuous.  This photo is of an adult we stumbled over during a springtime Preserve ramble; the baby is only about 2 inches. They closely resemble miniature Triceratops.

Traversing the ribbon of trail high atop Bee-Rock Mesa, we stop to admire the verdant oases of California fan palms clustered below, further evidence of our resilient desert flora. I looked in vain for a glimpse of the desert fox we met during our last hike here in June. What a treat that was.

Looking down the steep staircase at the end of the ridge—thoughtfully created to scale the hillside—we notice a pair of hikers motionless about half way down. Wondering if they were waiting for us to descend first, we clamber down slowly, grasping the wiggling wire rail for support.

"Be careful. There's a rattler on the steps!" The surprising warning stops us in our tracks. Seems they disturbed a rattlesnake who defensively coiled himself into attack mode. Mary Pat and I quickly leave the wooden steps and slither slopeward to get a closer look.

Sure enough. A resplendent specimen with the distinctive triangular head is tucked defensively under a step; coming down he would have been invisible until too late.

Tongue flicking, the snake ominously sounds his infamous rattles at the four encroaching humans impeding his progress. I was glad to see he appears sleek and healthy although it's a mystery how he can thrive in such a seemingly inhospitable terrain. Guess there are a few less lizards in his territory.

After soaking in the memorable sight, we reluctantly part ways and leave the reptile to calm down.

"I think it's amazing that we were warned about the snake," Mary Pat observes. We silently contemplate the odd timing—an out-of-season hike and only one other couple on the trail. Aren't we the lucky ones?