When we watched the cranes come in last night, I thought the process was very slow. They came in around 6:30 p.m., and didn't land until after 8. By then it was already dark, and I could no longer tell if they were circling, or landed. As they circled, decided whether to land, I was constantly reminded of kids on roller skates playing crack the whip. The birds would all fly out wide and the ones on the end seemed to fall off, but then they would just continue in the arch and circle back the other way. The sound, a unanimous rattling and roar, was the last impression I had from the night before we left to walk back under the clear, star-filled sky.
This morning, we were back to stare at the cranes. They were right were we had left them on river, and still calling out in the dark. According to last night's guide, Carl, they never stop calling, and never really sleep during the night. The sound was different, more sporatic, more individual language. I was able to pick out single birds, or at least pairs. Since it was still dark at 6:15 a.m., which felt like 5:15 a.m., because of daylight savings time, the sounds were the first impressions, too. It seemed as if they were calling to each other to get up and go eat. The group directly in front of our blinds didn't join the others flying until right before we left. I kept noticing smaller groups that would touch down in that one, as if to say, you're missing out-the morning has begun. The roar or the entire group of thousands and thousands was overwhelming. The only thing that compares so far is the roar of a crowd at a baseball game or concert, but this experience adds spirituality.
Brooke Tacker
1 comment:
What a roar it was, Brooke! I like your analogy of the baseball stadium.
By the way, I heard someone in the blind (it was too dark to see who) say they thought that small group of birds in front of the blind was a bunch of Canada geese and ducks. Sleeping in late, I guess!
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