Joann Merritt's Essays

Sandhill Cranes Revisited
February, 1997

Our first visit to see the Sandhill Cranes flying in to their roost on Salt Lake was exactly as Frances described this memorable event in last moth’s Phalarope.

Our next visit was during January’s “ice age” when the surface of Salt Lake was frozen except for one small patch of water kept open by some ducks, and the sun was obliterated by dark gray clouds. Only the movement of the cranes’ dark-tipped wings made them visible as they descended below the horizon. Otherwise their gray plumage homogenized with the gray hillsides of winter.

Instead of stopping at the lake’s edge the cranes touched down in nearby grassy areas where we assumed they would spend the night. But late arrivals went directly to the center of the frozen lake and were soon joined by the entire flock. We were amazed at how gracefully the cranes landed on ice - definitely unlike the comical slip’n slide antics of ducks attempting the same maneuver. It is said that cranes roost in shallow water to be safe from predators. Perhaps coyotes can’t ice skate any better than ducks can. While the cranes were in the pasture one coyote ambled out of a gully and another one stealthily approached through the grass, but the tall Sandhill Cranes spotted the predators and took to the air en masse. “The bird’s wariness bespeaks intelligent caution rather than weakness or fear” wrote an observer in 1917.

According to John K. Terres, Sandhill Cranes weigh from 5.7 to 14.4 pounds, so averaging ten pounds each for 7800 cranes would come to 78,000 pounds of birds roosting on Salt Lake. It must have been frozen solid to support that much weight.

Our next visit was on a Sunday to watch the cranes’ morning exodus from the roost. Strings of cranes were already in the air by 7:45 A.M., many of them setting down again just across the road, but the majority flying east to greet the rising sun. As the cranes crossed Salt Lake road and the adjacent power lines some of them went into a “dipsy doodle” routine, reminiscent of the tumbling pigeons of Country Club Drive. Burr has watched their early morning departure twice and has not observed this peculiar behavior. Have any of you? Don says maybe they were genuflecting to observe the Sabbath!

A length of the crane’s long windpipe is coiled within the breastbone and thus has been likened to a French horn. The unforgettable call, bugle, trumpet, or whatever word one uses to describe the song of Don Hunter’s “Prairie Loons” is indeed a thrilling sound. Interspersed among the calls of the adult cranes we heard high-pitched trills or whistles that were made by last year’s young whose voices have not yet developed.

Our last look toward Salt Lake revealed some dancing cranes. The morning had been so wonderful that I wanted to break into an impromptu dance myself. Would that I could leap high into the air, bounce nimbly back to earth and finish with a low bow: As springtime nears, the cranes’ dancing will become as wild as their calls, so perhaps I’ll visit Salt Lake yet another time.