A Primordial Adventure

Twenty-four hours ago I was enjoying a delicious breakfast at The Farmer’s Daughter’s Cafe in downtown Grand Island, NE with Peggy and Donna Olson. Earlier, and I mean earlier, we had been standing in the freezing cold at Plautz Crane viewing area south of Sheldon, NE along with thirty or so fellow birders waiting patiently for the Sandhill Cranes, which were already waking as the  chorus of their voices made plainly evident, to take flight and wind their way into the waiting sunrise. We were not disappointed. 

They began in smallish groups, not just from the direction of the rattling bugle call that directed our attention, but from all over the southern and western sky. Some in small groups of less than ten. Others in huge swaths too numerous to be counted.

As the sky grew lighter in the east more birds took flight. I found myself envious of the watchers with their professional cameras and long lenses. What fantastic shots they must be getting! My iPhone would have to be sufficient for this trip. But no, an attempt to get the best shot would surely impede the experience in it’s entirety. And that experience became more and more awe inspiring as it continued. More birds, More birds. More birds. All silhouetted against the early morning sunrise. All calling to us as they passed overhead, some joltingly loud and near!

More people came to share this primordial experience. Strangers with blankets and thermoses of coffee. Youngsters bundled in grandparents arms. Teenagers, who now, I can only suppose, wished they had taken their parents suggestion to bundle up more thoroughly. All enthralled, all captivated.

We were told at the Crane Trust Nature Center on Friday that there are hundreds of thousands more birds this year than last. This flight through Nebraska, this particular area with so many islands, wetlands, fields with native grasses for protection, and cultivated and harvested row crops for sustenance is essential to their existence. They stay here in wave after wave for three weeks at a time, gaining enough weight to see them though to their destinations farther north, some to Siberia. For ten million years they and their ancestors have continued this journey. Let’s hope for ten million more.

On Friday evening in a blind with a group from the Crane Trust we had watched them land in the shallows of the Platte River. There was one Whooping Crane among the thousands of Sandhill Cranes. It’s white quite evident against the dusk color of the others. We also witnessed two bald eagles circling, some Red-tailed Hawks disputing over a captured bit of …something! Wild geese with one snow goose in tow and then! Wow! An entire skein of Snow Geese unmistakable as the setting sun reflected their soaring forms against the grey eastern sky. With more and more cranes arriving the island they created in the river extend from the east to the west of our viewing area. And then it was too dark to see, but we could hear them all the way to our waiting cars.

 Ethereal! Elemental! Mystical! Spectacular!