Winter Visitors: The Sandhill Cranes

Dawn breaks cold and clear across the ripening cornfields surrounding the boggy morass of Willcox Playa in southeastern Arizona. Soon the valley begins to stir. House lights dim as farmers finish their coffee and head for the fields to complete the fall harvest. As the sun brightens the eastern sky, what began as a single bird's distant trill grows into a mighty warbling chorus, reverberating throughout the swamp. Arizona's most regal winter visitors are about to start a new day.

Each fall, thousands upon thousands of sandhill cranes, those magnificent close cousins of the endangered whooping crane, migrate south from as far away as the Arctic to bask in Arizona's desert warmth and gorge on grain crops, particularly in the spacious Sulphur Springs Valley. Like the southward flight of human "snowbirds," the crane migration soars to a peak in January when northland blizzards are likely to be their worst. By midMarch, the sandhills gather into flocks and start the return journey to cooler climes. Sandhill cranes are giant wading birds, with ash-gray plumage sprinkled with (PRECEDING PANEL, PAGES 38 AND 39) Sandhill cranes in flight. Each year about 12,000 of the great birds winter in the Willcox area. JAMES TALLON (INSET, PAGE 39) A bright red crown distinguishes the greater sandhill. (LEFT) Foraging for seeds and grain, sandhills sometimes invade farmers' fields. BOTH BY BOB WHITAKER (FOLLOWING PANEL, PAGES 42 AND 43) Cranes over Willcox Playa at dusk. JAMES TALLON reddish-brown stains. Greater sandhills weigh between 8 and 14 pounds, and stand four feet high, while the lesser species, also called "little brown cranes," scale 7 pounds or less. An adult Canadian version will weigh between 7 and 11 pounds. The most distinguishing feature of the stately sandhills is the bright red crown. Although occasionally mistaken for herons, cranes are easy to recognize in the air. They fly with neck extended, rather than crooked, and their melodious call can be heard miles away. As any sport hunter will agree, the sandhill's slow, lumbering wingbeats are misleading. The powerful seven-foot wingspan of a greater sandhill propels the ungainly-looking bird at speeds up to 40 miles per hour. Arizonans, like other Americans, historically paid little heed to these seasonal visitors. By contrast, in Japan a related redcrested crane is revered as a national treasure. It was not until populations of the larger whooping cranes had been reduced to the threshold of extinction in the 1960s that our nation became craneconscious. Today the giant whoopers are making a solid comeback, thanks in part to a novel technique of placing whooping-crane eggs in the nests of the more abundant sandhills, who then become surrogate parents for the orphan offspring. Actually, sandhill cranes were rare in Arizona prior to the 1960s. Although turnof-the-century authors described fair numbers of both greater and lesser sandhills migrating down the Colorado River to its silt-laden delta, few other sightings were reported. Later, flights to Mexico's Sea of Cortes diminished as croplands developed on the Colorado River Indian Reservation near Parker. This effectively "shortstopped" the birds before they reached the brackish river mouth. Then, in 1960, a pioneering squadron of cranes drifted over from the Rio Grande Valley in New Mexico to discover the wintering paradise of southeastern Arizona's Willcox Playa. Conditions were ideal for the red-crowned waders. The 10-milelong playa is a barren lake bed. During World War II, the seasonally dry "sink" was used as a bombing range. It remains government property and is closed to public entry. The fact that no human habitation borders the marshy shoreline appeals to the wary cranes. Today, fields of corn and alfalfa surround the playa, while the desert itself

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produces a smorgasbord of seeds and insects for the sandhills to feast upon. Early on, the trilling message of this new-found bonanza spread through crane circles. By 1970 the wintering population had blossomed to 850 greater, lesser, and Canadian cranes. Last year Dave Brown, an author-ity on cranes and coauthor of The Sandhill Crane in Arizona, estimated that wintering flocks in Willcox Playa alone numbered 12,000 birds.

The greater sandhill cranes that wing their way into the playa are part of a population of 22,000 that nests in the Rocky Mountain states, primarily Idaho, Utah, Wyoming, and Colorado.

The smaller kinds-lesser sandhills and Canadian cranes-migrate much farther. They belong to a midcontinent group of 300,000 that stems from the Canadian provinces, Alaska, and even distant Siberia.

How do the citizens of Willcox and the Sulphur Springs Valley view the crane invasion?

"In general, quite favorably," sums up Jack Robison, affable pecan grower whose irrigated groves lie east of the playa. "The sandhills have added a regal touch to our valley that is unique in Arizona."

The sandhill symphony also is music to the ears of bird lovers.

But not all Sulphur Springs farmers are elated. Farmers planting winter wheat and oats have suffered major crop depredations by the gluttonous birds, which can eat the profits out of a field in short order. Fortunately, they do not pose a problem for corn and maize growers.

"Cranes won't land in a field of standing corn or maize for two reasons," explains Robison. "First, they can't keep an eye out for predators in tall grain. Second, the sharp stalks hurt their wings when they try to lift off. So they're limited to eating waste grain left on the ground after the pickers finish."

Robison helps maintain peace in the valley by coming up with ideas to alleviate crane problems.

"Whenever I hear of a farmer suffering crop damage, I hustle over with advice. Generally, all it takes to discourage the birds from feeding in wheat and oat fields is for the farmer to install an automatic 'scare gun' that explodes every five minutes like a shotgun blast.

"A friend of mine farming near the playa planted a field of sod, which the cranes began digging up. I helped him set up a noise cannon, and the problem ended."

Recently farmers near the playa have switched almost entirely from wheat and oats to corn and maize, a trend that has greatly reduced the complaints.

"In all fairness, we can't blame the cranes for liking our beautiful valley," concludes Robison. "After all, we created the environment that attracts them. When I first began farming here 33 years ago, there wasn't a crane to be seen, and not even many ducks. Now we have both, and we should enjoy them."

Bird biologist Dave Brown points out that there is economic value to the longlegged visitors because bird-watchers and crane hunters spend money for supplies, lodging, and other services.

Crop plundering by cranes is somewhat more serious along the Colorado River, where Brown estimates between 1,500 and 2,000 mostly greater sandhills spend the winter.

"Winter wheat is important on the Colorado River Indian Reservation, and those fields pull in lots of cranes. The good news is that river farmers, too, are learning to use automatic cannon blasts to chase off the birds," says Brown.

The now-retired Arizona Game and Fish Department biologist says a limited, permit-only hunting season on cranes has proven popular in the Willcox Playa area where sandhill populations continue to increase. The first such hunt was conducted in 1981.

"It is carefully managed and limited to 300 hunters," explains Brown. "Last year 200 birds were taken, with no adverse effect on crane populations."

Hunting is not permitted along the Colorado River, where bird populations at best are just holding their own. "The same no-hunting rule applies to the few sandhills wintering along the lower Gila River," Brown adds.

Since the first North American sandhill was spotted by 18th century explorers on

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The mud flats of Hudson Bay, the population levels of the majestic cranes have had their ups and downs. The fact that the birds are now thriving in Arizona is reassuring proof that not all of nature is on a downslide.

A declining water table at Willcox Playa could spell problems for cranes in the future by reducing the extent of irrigated croplands. Should this occur, the sandhills likely would be forced to find other winter retreats, perhaps opting for sloughs and fields in northern Sonora, Mexico.

But such a calamity isn't about to happen. The giant birds have found their way into the hearts of the local populace, and corrective measures would surely prevent such an exodus.

Like those harbingers of spring, the famed swallows of San Juan Capistrano, the first sandhills and their trilling notes proclaim the arrival of crisp autumn days in southeastern Arizona. For farmers and nature lovers alike, there is no more thrilling sound.