Sand Crane Festival

22 August 2012
8:39 PM

Sunrise at	6:02 AM	in direction	60°	East-northeast
Sunset at	9:43 PM	in direction	299°	West-northwest

Duration of day: 15 hours, 41 minutes (6 minutes, 49 seconds shorter than yesterday)

Creamer's Field is a reserve for migratory birds, kept free of development so geese, loons, and cranes can stop in their historic rest spot.  They gather here in the spring, rest for a few weeks and then make the last leg up to the arctic tundra in small groups.

Each Fall Fairbanks holds the Sand Crane Festival at Creamer's Field because going south is a whole different enterprise.  I am not 100% sure about the order of migration for the large birds, but in the spring the geese are first, followed by the cranes and I find myself waiting patiently for the song of the loon each year.  I think it is reversed going south, although the loons do not seem to gather and prepare for the flight in the same way.  Right now the cranes are combining flight groups as they begin to match strength and skill for flying formations.  They test the waters by forming long V formations.  On the first real day of muster, Tuesday, I saw some were struggling to keep up.  They will rest longer and go with the last groups, but all will be gone soon - too soon.

One part of me is in awe of their beauty, intelligence, and determination as they sort through who is best in what grouping.  Then the vanguard will leave, followed by several other waves.  Then those who have tarried north will finally come in.  Somehow it seems a few strong, experienced ones remain to guide them south again.  Once the cranes are gone, the geese go through the same process, but I don't see their planning for the flight nearly as elaborate and I also think their migratory groups are smaller.  It's an amazing, amazing time of year.

The other part of me feels sad because soon it will be just us, the Chickadees, Grouse, Gray Jays, and Ravens.  There are others, but in the Interior, these are the hardiest that endure strongly through the winter.  The gulls have already left and the last robin I saw was probably the first week of August.  The smaller birds only rest for a day or two and then take another comparatively short hop south.  Because they don't cover the same distance, they must time their migration to ensure insects, seeds, and berries are still available. They are the not the marathon flyers.

A wood thrush, probably on its way south, fell into our yard two days ago.  I wonder if it didn't see the fence and flew into it it.  I don't think it was the dogs; I would expect them to have killed or maimed it and there was no blood on its body.  I discovered it lying quietly and thought it was dead.  I was about to move it when it attempted to fly.  That got the dog's attention. It flapped up for a short distance and couldn't breach the fence, falling back to the ground.  I kept them away, moving it to the other side of the fence.  I then went and got a cat carrier to keep it warm and safe over night, hoping it could mend.  It seemed viable and very brave, to let me handle it without having a heart attack, attempting to eat, trying to recover.  But, its little legs stuck straight out the back.  By the next day there was no improvement - something was not quite right and it was clear it wouldn't get better on its own.  We have good wildlife rehabilitation efforts here in Fairbanks, so I took it to Mt McKinley Animal Hospital where the avian vet does intake.  If the results of the x-rays determine an injured animal can be helped, it is then transferred to a rehab home.  Our wood thrush had a broken back, an injury beyond the skill of avian vets.

I grieve for that little bird that let me gather it up to get it away from the dogs, tried to eat from the seeds I put in a safe cage away from cats, but whose brave, brave little spirit was greater than its damaged body.