Coyote Canyon
Lower Willows

The attractions of Lower Willows are the fresh waters of Coyote Creek running through it and the color, density and variety of the surrounding vegetation. What more would you like? In some places, the vegetation is so dense it is impassable, unless you were to cut your way through, which is, of course, illegal in a state park.

Lower Willows attracts birds and animals, and it attracts people. I don't consider a year to be a good year unless I have been to some part of Lower Willows at least once or twice. The birds and animals drink the water of Coyote Creek. Mourning doves and quail scratch around looking for seeds to eat. The phainopepla (a cheerful crested bird – the males black, the females gray) feast on the colorful berries of the mistletoe, a plant-killing parasite. The phainopepla, flying to other plants, carry the mistletoe seeds, depositing them in their droppings, producing more mistletoe. Cactus wrens nest in the cactus and ocotillo. It's easy to spot old nests. Phoebes search for the insects that are attracted to the water. Loner birds like the Virginia rail and the sora inhabit the thickest part of the willows where they are seldom seen but frequently heard.

Coyote Creek flows down from the Santa Rosa Mountains. Leaving the Collins Valley, it flows through a narrow space between two ridges. This is a very green area full of trees and shrubs like the desert willow, hence the name, Lower Willows. It is joined here by small creeks that start in places like Salvador and Cougar canyons.

Downstream, the willows and other plants grow densely along the creek for more than a mile. Coming up from the Borrego Valley on the jeep road, you may not notice them where the creek skirts Ocotillo Flat. People who follow the jeep trail don't notice the willows until confronted by them at Second Crossing.

I often prefer to leave the jeep trail at First Crossing and follow Coyote Creek upstream. Finding Coyote Creek is a bit of a trick because the creek water as it flows toward Borrego Valley eventually is absorbed into the sand, but you never can be sure exactly where. If you are there after a recent rain in the mountains, the creek water could flow all the way to First Crossing or beyond.

I walk from First Crossing along the route of the Ocotillo Flat riding and hiking trail, but where the trail turns toward the hills, I cling to Coyote Creek. Down where the creek ends, it is easy enough to walk in the shallow water, assuming your boots are leather and not canvas. The water gradually becomes deeper and the willows, cattails and other plants become more dense as I move along, and I move to the creek banks.

In a dry year, with a poor spring for wildflowers, I can almost be sure to find at least a few flowers along Coyote Creek. On a recent Saturday visit in such a spring, the plants I saw included some large examples of Brittlebush (Encelia), one large Arizona Lupine, a few Sand Verbena and brown-eyed evening primrose. I also encountered a pair of killdeer enjoying the cool water of the creek. Killdeer, shorebirds who are known to enjoy golf courses, are regular residents of Lower Willows.

The closure, in 2000, of the jeep trail at Ocotillo Flat just below Third Crossing gave me the opportunity to walk into the Third Crossing area and enjoy it for a full night all alone. I camped about thirty yards from Coyote Creek. The night air was full of the quacking of frogs and the trilling of toads. At one point they seemed to quiet down, and then they started in again. A coyote howled as he walked by, I assume after just having killed something.

At daylight, it was a pleasure to look at the morning glow in the eastern sky. Later I saw a sleepy-looking phainopepla, belly full of mistletoe berries, perched on a high naked branch of a catclaw. I came across mourning doves, birds that always wait until I am just a few feet from them before they start squeaking and beating their wings and flying hurriedly away, always managing to scare the hell out of me.

In the early 1990s, heavy rains caused Coyote Creek to go wild. For several years previous, the creek was meek and gentle. The banks beside the creek bed and the creek itself afforded space for walking. But after the rainy years, the foliage grew more dense and the water more intense. Walking through the thickets of Lower Willows, about Third Crossing, became more of a challenge.

But times changed. While horseback riders could remain in the creek as they always have, walkers escape the wettest part of the walk by taking a steep cliff-side trail. When I followed this trail, I noticed that instead of putting me into the thick of Lower Willows it put me outside of it where I could enjoy a broad overview. From somewhere down in the middle of the willows, I could hear water splashing so I knew Coyote Creek was there. I also made a mental note that if I ever decided to try to backpack in the Collins Valley by way of this trail I should carry a pack that attaches tightly to my body. The trail is steep one.

Soon the cliff trail led me down to a broad and sandy plain beside the creek where the plant obstacles were not so bad. Undoubtedly, this is one of the prettiest areas in the park. But soon the trail brought me face to face with the creek again. I saw no other way to get to Collins Valley but to walk into the creek.

Fortunately, I came prepared. I unzipped the pantlegs from my pants, and I removed my boots, changing to rubber sandals. Then, I was ready. Or so I thought.

At first, it seemed perfect. It was me against the creek, and I had won. Or did that toad who growled at me as I passed his hiding place in the rushes know something that I didn't?

All was fine and beautiful for a while. I enjoyed the sound of the brook, the splashes of dappled sunlight here and there, and the plants, especially the green clover that grew next to the creek. In one pool, there was even a plant that grew on the water.

When I reached the place where tributaries from Cougar and Salvador canyons reach the stream, I began to notice that with each step I took the mud (which was soft and becoming deeper and deeper, reaching my calves) seemed more and more reluctant to release my feet and sandals. I began to struggle. Then, a misstep caused me to lose my balance and I fell over backward, landing on my rear in a puddle.

Thus began a battle between the mud and me that would continue until I stepped out of the willows and into the Collins Valley. By that time, I was carrying not just my boots but my sandals as well. They and my feet and lower legs were covered with the soft black mud of the creek. I don't know the content of the black mud, but it rinsed off easily when I finally got to where the creek water was clear.

Near the end of the trail, I caught up with a trio of tired-looking young men, one with bleeding legs and feet. They wanted to know how far it was to the end of the trail. I pointed across the top of the mesquite to the tall flat-topped mountain to the west. "We're just about there," I told them. "That mountain stands above Cougar and Indian canyons. It's a landmark."

They looked relieved.