By KAREN MADORIN
Like clockwork, every year starting in February and ending in April, sandhill cranes migrate to the North Platte River in mid-Nebraska. Once I learn a quarter million long-legged, pointy beaked, dancing birds have landed for their annual feeding marathon that fuels their final journey to the tundra, we join them for a day. We watch them float on thermals, eat fallen corn, or practice courtship rituals in Nebraska farm fields. Even if I couldn’t see them, listening to their throaty rattles that sound similar to squeezing an empty dish detergent bottle would make the journey worthwhile.
This year’s influx started early so by the first week in March, biologists announced the appearance of at least 274,000 cranes. Upon reaching our destination on March 3rd, we drove our usual routes searching for sandhill flocks. Disappointment on steroids!
Despite the slow start, Monday morning offered a better chapter to our ongoing saga. We left Kearney at dawn under pink, lavender, and blue crane-filled skies. Hordes of long-necked birds trailing skinny legs flew lazily across a cloud-filled canvas. Even though the thermometer registered 33 degrees, we lowered windows to capture every note of that prehistoric Spring song.
Each visit, we expand our search area, seeking fresh fields and flocks. This year, we found a new road edging the Platte, with only one other car to share the view. We enjoyed spying grassy, track-filled islands in the river where cranes roost overnight in order to hear predators sneaking up. This advance warning system allows them to escape hungry critters desiring a tasty ribeye from the sky.
Speaking of predators, we noted a scruffy bald eagle lurking atop a power pole, hoping to snag a weakened crane. Based on this raptor’s rough condition, it struggled to find satisfying meals. As much as I love eagles, I rooted for the cranes to escape this hunter.
In addition to predators, other migratory flocks journey north with cranes. A local alerted us to look for arctic terns. For a moment, we thought we’d spied these unique creatures cruising from one sandy island to another in the river. These speedy dudes made photos nearly impossible. After I snapped a shot, our hopes were dashed upon realizing this was a flock of gulls in bright morning light. So much for adding a lifer to our birding list.
Along one sandy avenue, developers crafted a wood blind with peep holes for viewing cranes that flock around a pond paralleling the Platte. We stopped long enough to watch a crane bathe. In decades of sandhill viewing, this was a first. That crazy bird enjoyed every dip and dunk, rising gleefully to shake dry in a crazy mist. Once satisfied it cleared any remaining droplets, it started over again. I wondered if it recently arrived and had travel dust to scrub away. Nearby cranes ignored it until its gyrations intruded into their space.
Over decades, I’ve photographed thousands of cranes. Despite many saved pics, I can’t wait to zoom in again, wondering how often I get the same birds year after year. No matter, I’ll be ready next spring when cranes arrowing across Western Kansas invite me to join them once again along the Platte.