Sandhill cranes flew in flocks that varied in size. They often glided like kites instead of flapping their wings to fly.
A spectacular avian migration occurs with concentration in the American Midwest at the end of each year. The sound of loud bugling calls signals one to search the sky for flocks of sandhill cranes. Flying at impressive heights, thousands of sandhill cranes migrate south to their winter residencies at this time. During their travels, the cranes need to make some stops in order to feed and to roost. I recently made travels of my own to visit one of these stops.
This year I made a few trips down to Jasper-Pulaski Fish & Wildlife Area in Indiana, which is a well-known stopover site for migrating sandhill cranes. I had heard about the birds’ sunset arrival being quite an event, so sunset was the time I chose to be there, and I was not disappointed.
At the start of sunset, before even reaching the specially-marked sandhill crane viewing area, the cranes could be seen flying in from all corners of the sky. The uniformly gray birds with blushes of orangey hues looked like specks of pepper in the distance, which was a humorously deceiving appearance because with their long legs and long necks, the birds can stand at four to five feet tall, and they have a wing span exceeding six feet. These earlier flocks were usually made up of smaller numbers of cranes and heightened the palpable excitement among birders who themselves had flocked from far and wide in order to experience some migratory bird beauty.
I stood on the tall viewing deck built specifically for sandhill crane viewing, bracing the cold and watching the cranes steadily emerge in larger flocks. One right after the other, the flocks arrived in waves that stretched across the sky. Some flocks flew in straight rows and arrow formations while others appeared as jumbled masses. Sometimes they appeared as all of the above, morphing from one flight formation into another. They were all heading for this specific damp, grassy field that the viewing deck overlooked. I was watching the flocks pour in against the cotton candy clouds in the south when a soft, white downy feather wafted down—a piece of one individual sandhill crane that might as well have been a falling star.
At sunset, thousands of sandhill cranes appeared from every direction in the sky and flocked to the open field to feed and to roost.
When the sandhill cranes flew closer to the viewing deck, I was able to catch a few glimpses of their red crowns. The signature marking adorning the birds’ foreheads is not due to red feathers but a patch of red skin. For a time, with the setting sun angled just so, the cranes’ feathers reflected a fiery glow. Their wingbeats seemed to originate from little effort. And if they did not feel like beating their wings, the cranes glided. When they neared their landing, they stretched their legs outward and made an even descension to the marshy earth below.
The calling did not stop. And I am happy that it did not. Sandhill crane calls are otherworldly. They are an ancient, quavering, large-scale warble. On any given day and at any given location, I will often hear sandhill cranes before I see them. To hear thousands of cranes calling at once and up close was amazing. The sound alone was worth the trip.
On the ground, the sandhill cranes stretched and preened. Many sipped water that had pooled in low spots from recent rains. Others kept their long beaks to the ground, picking up seeds and insects. The surrounding harvested farm fields offered remnants of grain that these omnivores are also known to enjoy. A few bursts of isolated scuffles occurred. Some cranes held their heads up high in order to project a song that was loud and clear and often sung in duets. And then there were a few sandhill cranes who could be seen with their heads angled behind them and buried in their shoulders, finally getting some much-needed sleep.
When it started to get dark, the sandhill cranes became quieter as they settled into the field.
By the time darkness truly descended, only one or two sandhill cranes at a time continued to fly in. The majority was already standing in the field as a mass of modern-day dinosaurs with calls growing increasingly quieter. The cranes and the deer that were with them blended into the background as an indistinguishable blur. I reluctantly peeled away from the fence below the viewing deck where I had eventually positioned myself in order to be on the level of those who had landed and headed back to the parking lot.
In a sky that was filled with birds moments earlier, blackness revealed glimmering stars and an enormous moon. Venus, Jupiter, and Saturn were three more extraterrestrial spots of brightness to observe. Trees and darkness kept the field of sandhill cranes hidden from the road. The birds instantly became a secret, albeit a well-known secret. To anyone driving by and unaware of the incredible migration underway, they would have been deprived of the knowledge of the amazement that lay just beyond what was visible.