Getting refreshed in the wild

Editor's note: John Lawrence Hanson, Ed.D., of Marion teaches U.S. history with an emphasis on environmental issues at Linn-Mar High School.

By John Lawrence Hanson, community contributor

In the dark I was finally able to appreciate the sound of the ancients, voices that spoke from before Iowa was free of glaciers, before man stood upright.

These were the voices of creatures stretching back 9 million years. I was but a blip on the geological record and thoroughly humbled.

In March and April, the world's greatest concentration of cranes gather in south-central Nebraska, chiefly along the Platte River between Grand Island and Kearney. The Sandhill cranes, along with scores of other species, are a spectacle. At peak, the cranes may number 600,000. On my recent trip, the birds were nowhere near peak yet it was a most amazing experience.

A bird watcher probably shouldn't be behind the wheel on I-80 in the middle of Nebraska in the spring. The temptation to stare at the flocks of cranes picking over cornfields and swarming in the sky is too great. Let's say I'm grateful it is a pretty straight road.

My reservation at the Rowe Sanctuary for a spot in a riverside viewing blind had me, and about 60 others from across the country and around the world, assemble in the dark hours. After a brief orientation in the architecturally interesting welcome center, we were divided into three groups. Then, following our guide's red flashlights, we shuffled to the blinds.

The sounds of thousands of cranes were stunning and omnipresent since arriving in the parking lot. But now that I was so near, the chatter was overpowering. In the darkness the whispers and murmuring conversations of my group lessened and then stopped. It was as if the energy and concentration it took to listen intently made speaking impossible.

In the dark I could only hear the great assembly of birds, their voices throbbed like a summer chorus of insects on a sweltering night. As dawn eased gray into the inky scene, the magnitude of the birds became apparent. The effect reminded me of the movie, 'The Longest Day,” when the German soldier looked out past the Norman beaches and saw nothing, and then he saw the armada.

While I wasn't shocked for the sake of my life, I was shocked with joy.

Cranes waded, stretched and flapped wings. Some bounded into the air with a couple of flaps only to touch down again. Were they warming up or finding they had no followers, lost nerve and rejoined the masses? Here and there a small group flew over the braided river. The cacophony continued.

In the cool, breezy dawn, the overcast sky seemed to freeze time. The arrival of the day wasn't discernible. Then, without warning, the volume of the crane chatter doubled and tens of thousands of flying representatives of the age of dinosaurs took flight.

They swirled like a storm, flying and rotating swarms, calling intensely, and gaining altitude. Some smaller groups broke off and flew away, this pattern intensified as the swarms flew higher. I know it already was breezy that morning, but I wanted to believe the air was moved by millions of feathers from long and leggy birds.

I was moved by the experience.

There still is ample time to see the migration in Nebraska. But in Iowa, we too, have access to other birding areas that can stir the soul. The Upper Mississippi National Wildlife Refuge, the Kellerton Grasslands, home of dancing Prairie Chickens, or frankly any stretch of local river or marsh. After a long winter of too much time indoors and staring at screens, birding will provide a powerful tonic. As Calvin Rutstrum said, the wild refreshes.

l Comments: johnlhanson@hotmail.com