Eight juvenile Whooping Cranes who have travelled (behind an ultral-light plane) from Wisconsin to Florida to spend the winter were ready, willing and able to fly this morning. A nice little group of spectators were at the San Marcos de Apalache Historic State Park, in St. Marks, Florida, bright and early to witness this amazing event.
When the ultra-light plane with the whooping cranes following it comes into your view (with a grown man flying the plane wearing a bird suit), it makes your heart stop. I have never seen such a dedicated bunch of folks like those at Operation Migration. Their one and only goal is to preserve this amazing endangered species. I have been coming to see this for many years, and it only gets better and better. I love what they do.
Operation Migration's website: http://operationmigration.org/
An intruder!
And, off they go to spend the winter at their new home at the St. Marks National Wildlife Refuge. When the weather gets warmer, they will fly back to Wisconsin - then migrate to Florida by themselves next winter.
There is always a second pilot. If one of the birds drops out or becomes wayward, he goes and brings it back. This is that second pilot.
I was very happy to be here, to say the least. I am glad that I am afforded the opportunity to witness this amazing event first hand (one of the perks of living in Florida).
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After another day of breathtaking birdwatching, I had another great vegan meal; this time at a vegan restaurant called Sweet Pea. DELICIOUS!
This is a really charming place near downtown Tallahassee. It was super clean and had nice people running it. It was a great dining experience!
They had beautiful mosaic tables.
Potatoes, tofu scramble, cornbread and kale (but, I thought it was collard greens!)
Take a few minutes and read the below from lead pilot Brooke Pennypacker, as he expresses what it is to lead these birds to Florida; it is very heartfelt. Operation Migration's dedication is just unsurpassed.
FROM OPERATION MIGRATION's WEBSITE:
A Chinese proverb says “the longest distance in a
great journey is the first step.” An OM proverb says, ”The longest distance in
a journey is the last step” as the ever friendly weather gods push the prospects
for the St Marks Flyover further and further across the first page of the 2014
calendar. And as everyone knows, close only counts in horse shoes and hand
grenades. But there must be a proverb somewhere that says something to the
effect that the second to last step in a long journey is so fast that if you
blink you’ll miss it because that’s the way the last flight went.
Richard and I launched into the dark morning sky
for the short flight to the pen while I wondered if there was such a thing as
real day light in this part of the country. We rotate leads and this would be
my last of the year, so I naturally expected a glorious morning filled, like the
first one after the biblical creation, with all the benevolent colors of nature
in attendance, nurturing clear emotions of hope, accomplishment and promise
while a celestial band played wistfully in the distance. Not!
Before I could call my broker and instruct him to
sell my stock in sunscreen, I was in front of the pen waiving my magic glove for
the release as Geoff and Colleen swung open the pen panels for the second to
last time and out roared that amazing cloud of white….like white doves from a
magician’s top hat. The chicks were obviously as intent as I was to get the
whole thing over with. We climbed together up towards a dark canopy and,
assisted by a slight tailwind, we slid across the subdued, uninspiring landscape
leading from Georgia to Florida.
But no matter. Today’s flight was not about the
below but about the above. I sat blessed with a ringside seat watching in
relaxed awe as the birds did their thing, moving with and about the trike wing
with the accomplished grace mixed with a touch of insecure awkwardness of young
ballerinas on stage at their first recital. First all eight on the left wing,
then three and then four shifting over to the right. And after a while one slid
directly in front of me, so close I could almost reach out and touch its tail as
his wings cranked rhythmically in the warm air and his head looked side to side
for acknowledgement. “Yes, #7. You’re very special. Now get your butt back in
line with the others.”
How far these chicks have come since they were
simple passengers contained in those little egg time capsules collected from the
abandoned nests at Necedah and sent to Patuxent for their official beginnings.
And amazingly, all the offspring of parents that have also made this journey
years ago behind these strange aircraft. Then there are the faces…. the ones
belonging to all the dedicated and skilled people who made this moment
possible. Who truly cared. Some thoughts, if allowed, have the power to
overwhelm and so can only be permitted to seep into one’s consciousness a little
at a time, especially if one is sitting two thousand feet above good ol’ Mother
Earth. If our flight log books were filled with awe instead of just hours, they
would be full indeed.
Soon we were down, birds in the pen and again
airborne to hangar the trikes. There is but a millisecond, maybe two, to savor
the magic of my last lead for there is the next thing to be done, to scramble
towards, always in ear shot of the ticking clock and its attendant
responsibilities. Preparations for the next day’s Flyover and the day after
that and the day after that…. all crowding out the present and turning it into
the past with such speed that you wonder if it ever existed at all. But I guess
“last leads” are like that. One step at a time.
_________________________________
MORE BEAUTIFUL WORDS FROM OPERATION MIGRATION's WEBSITE:
_________________________________
MORE BEAUTIFUL WORDS FROM OPERATION MIGRATION's WEBSITE:
Life is not measured by the number of breaths we take
– but by the moments that take our breath
away.
Maya Angelou
As the sun rose in the cloudy early morning sky
over the secluded salt-marsh, three costumed handlers made their way from the
blind out to the pen. The clouds began to break, and then opened just enough
for the brilliant sun to shine through in a stream of light. It took a moment
to catch my breath at the sight of it all. To our left several yards away in
the salt-marsh, two adult Whooping Cranes from last year’s migration ‘class’
stood poised and alert. But to them, there must have been something familiar in
the sight of the white costumed figures, for neither bird seemed alarmed, and
both returned to feeding nearby. Two cranes in the wild. Two among a mere 400 or so in the wild: again my breath
caught at the sight of their splendor.
It was the second day of the flyover attempt at St.
Marks National Wildlife Refuge, and we awaited the arrival of eight juvenile
Whooping Cranes at the end of their first migration. It was an enormous honor
and privilege to join two Operation Migration team members Joe Duff and Heather
Ray in this, the final chapter, calling the young cranes down from the
ultralight into the safety of their pen, where they would learn their final
lessons before spring and their first wild migration north, on their own.
Out of the cloudy northeastern sky they came into
view, first the trike, then eight small dots in pursuit, then two loud calls
from the stretched, taut bodies of the wild Whoopers nearby as the noise from
the trikes spread over the salt-marsh. “Breathe, Christine”, whispered Heather,
as the juvenile cranes swept around and around, high above the pen, chirping in
alarmed response as the ultralight and its costumed pilot gradually spiraled to
an altitude beyond their reach. From Joe’s megaphone nearby came the brood
call, a come-home signal to the young birds.
As their focus and attention transferred from the
aircraft which they had followed for 1100 miles from Wisconsin, the brood calls
and the promise of food and fresh water in this new place gradually won the
juveniles over, and they began to land. The wooosssh of their powerful wings as
they came in just over my head was as thrilling a moment as I can recall – an
endangered species, trusting us to help them take the final step to freedom,
into the wild.
The three of us began to coax the somewhat anxious
cranes into the top-net section of the pen, a safe haven for them for a few days
until they are vet-checked and more acclimated to their new surroundings. Six
cooperative birds walked cautiously into the smaller section of the three acre
pen, while two had other ideas. They had not landed with the others, but
instead, joined the wild adults. Joe and Heather left to coax them slowly back
to the pen, and after a short time, with encouraging chirps from their buddies,
they rejoined their comrades. Shortly after, the two wild cranes did their own
flyover and skimmed the top-net pen, calling loudly.
I chose to see it as welcoming – and the excited
frog-like adolescent croaks from the penned new arrivals supported my
assumption. Hearing the exchange was another moment for me – and a tear or two
of gratitude and joy rolled down my cheek – gratitude for the Operation
Migration reintroduction project; gratitude for the vision and risk the pilots
take every time they fly their mission and for the personal sacrifices the
entire team makes throughout the year; gratitude that St. Marks National
Wildlife Refuge has made a place for these birds to winter; joy that we three
today bore witness to the success of the project as two wild cranes stood close
at hand to welcome the newcomers; and finally, joy and gratitude that our
collective effort to right the wrongs committed inadvertently years ago to the
detriment of this magnificent species, has met with some success.
Let it continue to be so.
Christine
Barnes