Epic (Fail) Crane Adventure

I know better. I really do. I have been led astray on many an epic nature adventure.

There was the “whale watching spot” in Northern California at the height of the season where we saw exactly zero whales.

Then there was that time in 1995 I drove with friends to a bog to see 100,000 bats fly out of a barn at dusk. Turns out, we were mosquito bait. After a very hot, stuffy lecture (“bats weigh 1/4 ounce so you can mail three on a first class postage stamp”) we sat on lawn chairs being swarmed by mosquitoes and yes, I do believe there were also bats flying around.

So yesterday, when I saw some amazing nature porn on Facebook, photos of sandhill cranes that were just so stunning you would do almost anything to see such a sight, and an article in the local paper saying that 1,500-4,000 sandhill cranes rise out of the wetlands in the Sherburne National Wildlife Refuge every morning at dawn, I couldn’t help myself.

(Looking more closely at the photos now, which include super close ups and large groups of birds, I see the photographer is a complete professional, Jeff Moravec, and he was there not in the morning but as the cranes gathered in late afternoon, and not in the wetlands but in what looks like nearby farm fields where they glean during the day.)

I left the house this morning at 4:45 a.m. The last time I left the house that early was– never. Not to catch a plane, pick someone up from a flight, take someone to the hospital, see an eclipse, never. I was well aware of the factors against this trip. 1) I didn’t know where I was going exactly; 2) it was dark; 3) these birds like to hide.

I did manage to get to the Sherburne National Wildlife Refuge and find a map at the headquarters and then find a service road on 175th Avenue. I would not describe it, as they did in the article, as “the lot off 175th Avenue” Nor would I describe the service road as “a gravel road.”  It was more dirt and sand. But it was completely dark, so I figured it might be gravel. And it was the only thing close to a lot I could find on the refuge side of the road. The big thing that worried me was the lack of other cars. The complete lack of other vehicles, ranger or otherwise.

There were no signs, either. Not at headquarters, or anywhere. Nothing about cranes. It was a nice walk– temps in the 50s and the light just coming up. It was completely silent. (No chortling of sandhill cranes.) I went about three miles, and did think when I got to this spot where there was a great tree and a gate, that these were the kind of wetlands that sand hill cranes love. But I kept going because, well, I didn’t see or hear any sand hill cranes. And I was looking for the 800-acre St. Francis Pool. (Here is a picture of the gate and tree, in case you go there to see the cranes and want to stop before you’re way past them.)

I was about a mile past the spot– but very near a large expanse of water–  when I heard some chortling. I saw several groups of three, family groups I imagine, and then, about a mile behind me, I saw a few strings of sandhill cranes flying up and out, maybe 40 in all.

Nice photo, huh?

I did not see or hear 11,500. Nope. Not 1,500 either. Not even 100. And– let me be clear– the groups I did see were quite far away. Too far to photograph with my telephoto lens.

I did get photos of leaves, some cool hollow logs, and the not very impressive sunrise.

I heard an owl.

I saw a deer running really fast in the dark.

Starting out, I actually thought: “I wonder if this will be better than my experience this summer being close to wild horses. I mean, people make 10,000 cranes out of paper. It’s a lot of cranes. This will be maybe 11,500 cranes! It will be so cool!”

Wild horses win. (To be fair, being right up next to wild horses probably always win.)

After I got back to “the parking lot,” this very good thing happened. I got in my car and for some reason glanced back at the “gravel road.” And there was my wallet lying on the ground. It was wet and gravelly, as if it had been there since before dawn.

I did not lose my wallet. I am so glad about that I can’t tell you. It made my day, really.