Entering Crane Space

Despite there being some 20,000 sandhill cranes that descend on or around the Monte Vista Wildlife Refuge every year, it’s not always easy to find these ancient birds, which migrate every spring from southern New Mexico to northern Idaho. This year was tougher than most, probably because the unseasonably cold weather had frozen the ponds on the refuge, and the cranes sought their night-time roost elsewhere.

And possibly the increasing crowds that descend on tiny Monte Vista in southern Colorado for the annual festival are making the birds more skittish, sending them off to more remote parts of the valley to avoid humans. Every year I would regularly see them in the fields on the southern edge of the refuge, the cranes close enough to the parking lot to hardly need binoculars to view them. But this year only a few hung out in this popular (for humans) location, and the long-legged birds kept their distance from all the gawkers pointing their long scopes and cameras at them.

Every winter, I count the days until I can drive the 250 miles from Boulder to Monte Vista and welcome the cranes on their migration. For me, it’s a sign that winter is coming to an end, that spring will soon be here, and that the natural order of the seasons and nature is intact.

This year I had an extra reason for wanting to be with the cranes. While I was in Monte Vista, my elderly mother went into the hospital, and I desperately wanted to be uplifted by the cranes, which have been visiting this valley for at least 2,000 years (as dated by a rock petroglyph of a crane). I needed their purity of spirit, their integrity, their strength and willingness to endure through the centuries.

But this year nature’s rhythms seemed disturbed. First came a strong storm that caused high winds and road closures farther north, then an unseasonably late and large snowstorm (that knocked out the electricity in town) and cold temperatures, followed by high winds the next day. It wasn’t until the fourth day that the sun came out and the winds died down, and it was possible to settle down into the crane's territory and give them my full awareness.

It was the last chance to see the birds before we had to head home, and we ended up at the pull-out where in past years the ponds were full of cranes and Canada geese but were now frozen and empty. To the west are the foothills of the San Juans, covered in snow, and across the valley are the rugged Sangre de Cristos (above), gleaming white. Somewhere in this broad mountain valley were thousands of cranes—but where?

There was nothing to do but wait, be patient and pay attention. After a while, I heard their characteristic cry— a hollow kind of honking with a lonely, yearning tone—but very far off. When I lifted my binoculars to the sky, I could just barely make out the cranes flying in groups of four or five, soaring in circles, their wings flashing white against the blue sky when they turned toward the sun. Once I became attuned to them, I started to see many small flocks across the sky, although still very high up. I locked my binoculars onto them and watched as they descended to earth, dropping their legs, opening their wings like parachutes, and softly landed in a field where, I could now see, were hundreds more feeding at the base of the foothills.

Their sound was like heaven, filling up my head and heart. Nature may have gotten a little off course, but the cranes were still here. As long as they were still flying, the world was still alive and rich.

Comments

[shoney]

Beautifully written. Birds can inspire such joy and sadness. I would love to see them in Monte Vista, but dread the crowds. Yes, the world is still alive and rich, my friend.

[Carol]

Thank you Kathy, this is a lovely piece so beautifully written and heartfelt. I am imagining the cranes in flight then landing to feed and it makes me smile to think of them.

[Julene Bair]

I miss the days when a "freak" storm was just that and not a harbinger of climate change. What incredible pictures of the cranes. Studying them against that winter sky, I can easily see why your heart soars along with them whenever you spot them.

[Jennifer Woodhull]

Thanks to your encouragement and patient coaching, I finally got to see the cranes myself this year. Yes, the crowds with their intimidating telephoto setups are disconcerting (and not only to the birds); but our best moment was just before we headed back home, when we pulled into a normally popular turnout on highway 15 to find it totally empty. There, we watched through binoculars as line after line of cranes made their way northwest against the snow-covered Sangre de Cristos. It was utterly breathtaking, and well worth the entire trip. Thank you so much for that gift.

[Kathy Kaiser]

Jennifer, so glad you got to see them. it does take patience sometimes.

[Kathy Kaiser]

Thanks, Julene. I miss the cranes already, and I'll have to wait another year.

[Kathy Kaiser]

Thanks, Carol. I smile every time I think of them.

[Kathy Kaiser]

Shoney, the crowds aren't bad on the weekday. Hope you and Carol get to see them someday. Of course, you have wonderful birds near you.