Annual Midwest Crane Count

It was 3:15 a.m. when the alarm went off.  I looked out the window to see rain sheeting but short of a blizzard, we crane counters are expected to show up.

My clothes were all laid out, so I dressed quickly and went downstairs, but I was still sleepy and drank two cups of tea before I remembered I should have laid off liquids. There would be no place to pee until almost 8:00.  I packed the essentials:  a piece of fruit, a granola bar, binoculars, clipboard, pencils and the crane count paperwork.  I threw on my orange hat and winter coat.  Turkey hunting season begins today and there's no point in taking a chance. Liquids be damned, I made a cappuccino to go.

Gary pulled himself out of bed and moved his van so I could get my car out.  He went back to bed.  Rascal Cat never stirred.  His internal alarm clock was working just fine, thank you.

We had worked out the route two days before. In the dark and rain, I drove Highway G west to Highway 47 north to Highway F west to Highway I south to Highway XX west to Maple Grove and there I was at site 13. I never saw another vehicle all the way.

At 5:00 a.m., I was early by half an hour, so I amused myself with a sudoku puzzle by flashlight.  Then it was 5:30, time to count. On a good spring morning, I would be outside, but the rain didn't allow that. Lights off, the windows cracked open, I listened.

The robins were awake, of course.  Next to rouse themselves were the red-winged blackbirds.  Whrrrrrr.  They were followed by sparrows, then crows.  The three houses in the lane were dark. Nothing going on there.

Finally at 5:56, I heard the unmistakable sound of sandhill cranes waking up, but it didn't do me any good, they were far away to the south, outside of my site.  We are only to count what is in the boundaries.  So I listened and watched. When the rain let up and became a mist, I walked outside for a while, but all I spotted was a red-tailed hawk.

At 6:30, I started the car and drove the two miles to the north side of site 13.  There was nothing going on at the Embarrass River so I turned around and parked beside the road, still Highway XX.  All the roads had narrow verges and deep drops into ditches, so when I could see a car coming, I turned on the lights to avoid a crash. Raindrops sparkled on the brush and wire fencing.

In the distance, I could hear the honking of hundreds of Canada geese and from time to time, a flock took off.

Finally, three cranes flew over a field.  One landed and strolled around.  And that was the end of my count.

At 7:30, I packed it in and drove to New London and the Mosquito Hill Nature Center where I turned in my little report.  I talked to Steve, the naturalist, who had the primo uno site, a perfect crane marsh, one I've counted twice.  His form showed 75 cranes.  But I'm not jealous.  Well, not much.

We counters drank coffee, tea and juice, toasted up some bagels and talked about birding around the world. I got advice on birding the Bear River preserve in Utah.

Then I came home, just as Gary was getting out of bed.