Teddy Bear Chollas
I write this from the Anza Borrego State Park, a few hours’ drive northeast from San Diego, twenty-seven miles west of the Salton Sea, in the Colorado Desert within the larger Sonoran
Desert. It’s the largest state park in California, encompassing 640,000 acres. A geologist and archeologists’ playground as one of the Great Basin deserts.
I’ve been here seven times over the years. On this latest visit with my husband, Larry Thorpe, as
we take some of our hikes in the ninety plus heat, I ask myself, what is it about the desert I like
so much? Unlike most of our friends, who travel to exotically gorgeous places out of the country, why do we come to these hot, remote, eroded badland terrains where you have to
work to see the hidden beauty? As we get older, why not search for cruises where all the work is done for you, and you get to follow your guide like a group of well-behaved kindergartners who does all the work and tells you what you’re looking at? I can’t answer that.
Out here in the Colorado Desert it doesn’t take more than a few minutes to get lost in gullied badland washes where not far from your car you can drop dead of dehydration, get bit by a rattlesnake or scorpion, fall off a rocky cliff, or. . . attacked by a Teddy Bear Cholla, or as some
like to call it, the Jumping Cholla and, to be precise – Cylindropuntia bigelovii. (Hoffman’s
teddybear cholla or pink teddybear cholla, Cylindropuntia X Fosbergii, have pin-tan spines and
are known only to occur in Anza Borrego.) I can pronounce neither.
I really like teddy bears, so I was attracted to these very cute, but vicious cacti that grow in
abundant clusters, with stems that break off and fall to the ground to procreate on the wind.
Within seconds he stomped over about three feet of rocky ground to get to where I was and then it happened. The imperceptible thump and his expletive shock of WTF! I pointed to the little devil now attached to his woven shoe like a perfectly placed dart.
On our last trip here in 2019 I walked out into a field to get a closer look at these furry looking
cuties while Larry remained distracted near our car. Standing in a cluster of them, I sensed
more than heard a swish-thump on my ankle and then a sharp sting through my sock, quickly
accompanied by two more: thump, thumps!
I looked down and saw three round spiky spores stuck to my sock and jean pantleg. Startled,
but not frightened, I reached down and grabbed a spore to pull it out. The spore clambered up
my finger like a crab! I lurched my hand back trying to shake it off and felt the sock spores dig
into my ankle. I yelped. Then I yelled, “Hey, Larry!” No response. I could have been attacked by
a random knife thrower for all he knew.
I yelled louder. Finally, he looked up as I screeched: “I can’t move!” He had no idea what I was
bellowing about, and it took a few high-pitched expletives to finally get his attention. I pointed
to my feet, certain that explained all. Finally, he made his way over because it occurred to him
that while I wobbled, I wasn’t moving.
I don’t remember quite how he did it because you’re not supposed to use your hands to try to pull these little devils out because the more you pull, the harder they dig. But it seems he got one thing right: you wrench them out one by one. Back in the car, I felt stupid and relieved. I knew I was one of those who learns by experience.
So here we are back in Anza Borrego, and I am prepared for those little suckers. While we were on the cactus loop trail, featuring beavertail, barrel, fishhook, hedgehog, agave, ocotillo, nipple, yucca, buckhorn and yes, teddy bear or jumping cholla Cactaceae, I warned Larry about what happened to me on our last trip. Not only had he forgotten, but my dire warning that those
little angry spores were all over where we were clambering fell on deaf ears. He smiled that smile I know so well. “Don’t worry, I know what I’m doing!”
Within seconds he stomped over about three feet of rocky ground to get to where I was and then it happened. The imperceptible thump and his expletive shock of WTF! I pointed to the little devil now attached to his woven shoe like a perfectly placed dart.
“See? See? Don’t you remember? I told you!” I regressed to ten years old when I used to out-
run my older brother with gleeful revenge.
So, why do I still like to come to the desert? It’s remote and scary and full of incredible hidden
beauty, not to mention lots of surprising moments.
All my novels end with some sort of encounter between my evil character and the natural world: a river, a bear, a wild cat, a cliff, and poison.
I’m thinking my next ending will feature the Teddy Bear Cholla!