My wife thinks I’m crazy, but in addition to mountains and oceans, I love the desert.

I love the wide, empty spaces where there are no humans for as far as you can see. I love the singing of coyotes, the smell of sage and desert sunsets. I love the weird critters that have adapted to desert life, and I love the freedom to shoot a rifle without bothering a single human being.

I love the Mojave Desert of Southern California, the 40 Mile Desert of Nevada and the Sonoran Desert of Arizona. I even love the San Joaquin Desert of the Great Central Valley.

Desert? In the Central Valley?

Ironically, before the introduction of dams and irrigation, the Central Valley was a desert most of the year, except when inundated by the annual springtime floods. With the advent of major dams, the yearly floods became less frequent, and millions of acres of land were converted to bountiful farms.

Tulare Lake, north of Bakersfield, was roughly the size of Lake Tahoe, and now it’s gone. Owens Lake, east of the Sierras, was so big it supported paddle-wheel steamboats that crossed the lake daily delivering supplies to mines on the other side. It’s gone, too.

Some old-timers can recall when local kids caught horned toads for pets and you had to watch for a rattler in the haystacks. Even in the 1960s, before completion of the California Aqueduct, there were vast reaches of alkali flats along what is now Interstate 5.

There are still a few remnants of the San Joaquin Desert, and they teem with critters that don’t exist except in a desert.

Last weekend, a buddy, Hercules, and I were up in one of the coast range canyons that connect to the valley when we spotted what looked like a scrawny pheasant standing near the road. Herc had never seen one, and I don’t think he believed me when I told him it was a roadrunner. We stopped the truck about 30 feet from the bird and walked toward it. Sure enough, it ran out of sight.

The hills to our west have become a de facto refuge for desert critters that formerly lived in the San Joaquin Desert. In addition to roadrunners, there are horned toads, rattlesnakes, king snakes, jackrabbits, cottontails, brush rabbits, scorpions, mountain lions, bobcats, deer, elk, golden eagles and shrikes. And there are coyotes that try to make a meal out of the roadrunners.

If you’d like a sample of the desert environment, several public roads cross the hills and provide opportunities for wildlife viewing. Carnegie State Vehicular Recreation Area is on Corral Hollow Road southwest of Tracy. It has 1,500 acres and is open to camping, with 23 spaces available on a first-come, first-served basis.

Frank Raines Park is on Del Puerto Canyon Road west of Patterson and has public access and campsites. It’s closed at the moment, due to high fire danger, so check it out on Google before you go.

A little farther south, San Luis Reservoir State Recreation Area on Pacheco Pass has lots of campsites, boating and great fishing. It’s probably at San Luis that you’ll stand the best chance of seeing tule elk and wild hogs.

Right now, the hills are hot and dry, and the critters mostly come out at night. As teenagers, we used to ride the paved roads at night to find the rattlers that crawl out on the asphalt to get warm.

This is also just about the beginning of the annual tarantula migration. Male tarantulas are on the move, seeking females for breeding seasons. Be on the lookout for tarantulas if you’re driving the coast range hills at dusk. If I spot tarantulas, I usually stop and shoo them across the road with a piece of cardboard so they won’t get squished.

They also make great pets and can live for years in a home terrarium, although now it’s easier to buy them on the Internet. No kidding — Tarantulas.com will guarantee live delivery to your door. Leave the wild ones in the wild.

There you have it, desert critters in your backyard. All you have to do is get out there and introduce yourself to them.

Until next week, Tight Lines.

• To comment on Tight Lines, direct messages to Sports Editor Ike Dodson at 239-6351, ext. 306, or e-mail ike@sunpost.net.