Sunset of the Cranes

For the day's events leading to this sunset, please begin here.

Sandhill Cranes at Sunset
Jasper-Pulaski Fish and Wildlife Area
Medaryville, Indiana

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A Day with the Cranes

Paired for Life

From behind us, a rosy sun emerged above the stand of pines, glowing warmly on our backs and upon the breasts of the gathering birds, casting their gray feathers countless shades from icy white to slate blue, and lavender to silver. Growing steadily in size as more arrived from their overnight roosts in the marsh, the massing in the field stood around a shallow puddle, facing the warming rays, their red foreheads ablaze. Across the brightening sky, the stars stepped back and hundreds of tiny, dark specks became the long chains of the noisy birds, drawn to gather here each morning, and whose distant rattling calls began to fill the quiet of a cold, November dawn.

Ritual of the Dance

Those already on the ground danced and displayed, calling to their partners, standing with their young. While hundreds more dropped from the sky, joining the assembly from every direction. Out of perfectly synchronized spirals above the field, large groups turning as one, banking their 6-8 foot wingspans, landed--small parachutists floating gracefully to the grass. Then, they too, danced with their mate, this partner paired for life and tireless traveling companion. Barely heard between their constant calls, as the thousands of cranes filled Goose Pasture, was the airy whistle of the juvenile birds, this flight, their first of many.

The Arrival of One Hundred

Goose Pasture,
Jasper-Pulaski Fish and Wildlife Area

For several hours, birds continued to arrive--in pairs, small family groups and even great strings. Then forming large flocks facing the sun and with a few effortless steps, they took noisily to the air, flying low and calling out above the tower. We watched them leave for the surrounding fields, their necks stretched forward and black legs trailing, red foreheads brilliant in mid-morning sun, dancers' toes pointed, nails curled. They did not seem to mind the flurry of camera shutters, as all locked onto their steady orange eyes, and wide wings took them from view.

Greater Sandhill Crane, Grus canadensis, in flight

Flying off to the fields to feed

Later that day, we drove the nearby roads and easily spotted groups of them, standing in contrast to the dark, fertile soil, gleaning spilled corn from the expansive harvested fields, miles beyond Goose Pasture. Great flocks soared overhead reaching extreme heights, riding thermals, wing-to-wing as afternoon skies turned to blue.

To Soar

Those that remained in the pasture for the day lined the grassy edge of the narrow drainage ditch--stepping in for a great, splashy bath; stepping out and preening in the warm, mid-day sun. With their long, dark bills, they probed the tender ground, raked the tall grass snagging small tidbits--earthworms, insects, and a small mouse-like mammal, which, with its discovery, became the object of much envy. Cranes beside the shallow puddle dozed in a one-legged stance, head tucked behind a wing. An occasional flutter would erupt from the otherwise calm crowd, and the pairs of cranes danced once again, bowing and raising their bills.

Caring for those lovely feathers

"Whatcha find, a shrew?"

Adult and juvenile cranes

Two pairs dancing

Looking out across Goose Pasture and the thousands of cranes gathered there that afternoon, each one just a part of this great migration, I could not help but think back to my first crane sighting, just months before, while we traveled through northern Michigan.
How we struggled to find just the few, and reveled in catching a distant glimpse as they hurried out of sight, and hid themselves deep within the refuge.
How their hollow, rattled call in that vast, empty wilderness carried an almost melancholy air.

More than merely time between two places, I have come to understand that it is this great gathering together in migration that defines the Sandhill Crane.

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Sunrise of the Sandhill Crane

Sunrise
Jasper-Pulaski Fish & Wildlife Area
Medaryville, Indiana

We drove alone in the dark, down the straight, narrow roads of a small, rural community in northern Indiana, its massive fields of shortly cropped corn still covered in wisps of early morning fog. Aside from small blinking lights on distant towers and a scattering of stars above, the clear sky in total black on this day in late November had let every bit of yesterday’s warm afternoon escape.
Fueled with anticipation, I almost did not feel the cold.

Sandhill Cranes in predawn sky

It was a race to be the first—to arrive at this site before dawn and watch the gathering of the sandhill cranes. From their nighttime roosts in the nearby marshes, each morning at sunrise thousands of the large, migratory birds assemble in Goose Pasture of Jasper-Pulaski Fish and Wildlife Area, and then fly off to feed for the day in the harvested fields before returning to the pasture at sunset, and flying off again to the marsh.

The lot was empty as we pulled in.
Beyond a row of pines, I could see the grassy field and the shadowy form of the tall, wooden deck overlooking it, its weathered platform and long rails waiting for the day’s crowds to arrive. At the peak of the cranes’ 3 to 4 week stopover along this route of their southern migration, numbers can reach between 15,ooo and 30,000 birds. Predictably, birdwatchers arrive by the busload.
Dimming our lights and silently pressing the car doors closed, we assembled ourselves in the dark—jackets, hats, and mittens—and made our way quietly down the paved trail to the observation tower. A light covering of frost had been left on each stair, and in the predawn light I clung to the safety of the rail, feeling my way along, climbing carefully to the top.

Goose Pasture

As far as I could see, the pasture was still empty.
Fog hung in the low areas, curling around the bases of trees where the field met the woods in the distance. A small drainage ditch trimmed in tall grasses and filled with the white mist ran at an angle toward the back and broke the space into two sections, one, uncut and tangled brown; the other in front, short and green. Behind me, the starlit sky hinted of a pink dawn. A distant farmhouse sat quietly by, with windows softly glowing.
And from deep within the safe and grassy space, day began with the voice of a single sandhill crane.

return of the cranes at sunrise

(all photos click to enlarge)

Greater Sandhill Crane, Grus canadensis

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To See a Crane

We quickly pulled as far as we could to the side, wheels barely dipping off the paved highway, while heavily-loaded logging trucks pushed tall walls of air ahead of their massive profiles rocking the car, and I wrestled free of my seatbelt, scrambling for binoculars and camera.
The graceful birds stepping along the horizon, then crossing the crest of the hill to an unseen field beyond, barely visible against the gray sky where it met a well-worn pasture and several weathered barns could only have been the cranes.
Until then, an image seen only in others’ pictures—illustrations to stories told of their great flocks in migration, partners paired for life, dances of courtship seen only by those of the northern plains, the birds with the prehistoric past.
In an instant they were gone, and I was left holding a foggy lens, still missing that crisp, clear view so desired of the tall bird with the crimson forehead, the long, dark bill.

Bracken Fern

Miles later, we entered Seney NWR—a great attraction of Michigan’s Upper Peninsula encompassing 95,000 acres of wetland, shallow pools, and deciduous and coniferous woods. Still bearing the scars of the lumbering trade, this previously exploited land is now managed for wildlife. Preserved within a tall glass case inside the visitor center, beside a fabricated tree from which the great owls of the north woods peered down with lifelike golden eyes, a Sandhill Crane stood, motionless in the characteristic pose straddling her fuzzy young colt. There, for one who might never have the privilege of seeing one walk in the wild.
I stood and stared from the other side of the glass.

Then, slipped out the back onto the short walking trail circling several pools. The woods smelled of Balsam, their quiet darkness interrupted only by sunny stands of paper birch and poplar, their light leaves quivering in a cool breeze. Afternoon sun set aglow fields filled with the tawny tones of Bracken fern and goldenrod. The last of summer’s water lilies dotted the clear amber water, tannin-stained of Hemlock bark and White Pine. And dragonflies big and small soared over open spaces. Seney’s wilderness is home to black bear and gray wolf, marten, bobcat and moose.
In the shallow edge water beside one of many small islands, providing safe and secluded nesting sites for the hundreds that gather here, a family of Trumpeter swans dabbled within view of the walking trail.
But, still I saw no cranes.

Seney NWR

Large darner, Aeshna sp., eating smaller red dragonfly

Pool along the Pineridge Nature Trail

Trumpeter swan cygnet (L) and adult (R)

Returning to the car, and with instructions from the staff and parting good wishes for successful sightings, we drove the seven-mile, single dirt lane auto tour--a fine thread stitched in a winding path across Seney’s vast wilderness fabric, with scattered pull-outs for pauses, and a suggested time to be taken, one hour.

Marshland Wildlife Drive

A young loon, his head still in brown velvet, beads of water slipping from his back, dove and disappeared again into deeper water. Herds of swans napped in the shallows. A beaver broke the stillness with a loud, “crack.”

Common Loon, juvenile

And, wading beside a distant island, breaking the expanse of rippled blue, stood 2 tall, gray birds--afternoon sun on each crimson forehead, with the long, dark bill of the Sandhill Crane.

Sandhill Cranes wading

By evening, we found our way to an access road--closed to vehicles but taking a biker or hiker deeper into the refuge, where we left the car and set off on the less-worn path. The pool was large and littered with logging remains, its glowing banks stained the same amber shade as the waters around us. An enormous puddled plain, where faded stems of grasses hid the tall birds well.
And we sat at sunset watching, as, above us, others joined them.
In pairs, calling their rattled song, to one who would have the privilege to see a crane.

Gray's Creek

Sandhill Cranes on a puddled plain