Voices of the Flyway

Read, listen, and engage with the stories and art from those who love whooping cranes.

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George Archibald

Liz Smith

Dave Brandt

Sara Zimorski

Ornithologist

Story | George Archibald

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Scientist

Story | Liz Smith

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Biologist

Story | Dave Brandt

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Biologist

Story | Sara Zimorski

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Ornithologist

Essay | George Archibald

My Life with Whooping Cranes

Ever since my childhood, I have been captivated by birds. When I was eight years old, my classroom was a one-room schoolhouse in rural Nova Scotia, where first through sixth graders shared the same space. Every week, we would listen to a half-hour radio program. Shortly after the June 1954 discovery of the breeding grounds of whooping cranes in northern Canada, this program sparked a profound and enduring fascination within me.

Radio actors portrayed conversations between a mating pair of cranes that had just returned to their wilderness breeding grounds in Northern Canada. Reflecting on their 2,500-mile migration from their wintering grounds in Texas, they shared a sense of relief for having survived encounters with guns and power lines along the way. They had constructed a nest, and nurtured two eggs, but the roar of a circling aircraft shattered the tranquility.

Overwhelmed with fear, the female crane's distressed cry pierced the air, exclaiming, “They have found us! They’ll shoot us and collect our eggs for a museum.” The male comforted her. “No dear, they are researchers from Wood Buffalo National Park. They will study and protect us.”

Years later, I embarked on a PhD in ornithology at Cornell University, where I delved into the realm of crane behavior. I soon discovered that despite their striking visual similarities, male and female cranes showed subtle differences in their postures and vocalizations, particularly during a harmonious duet named the "unison call." As a pair vocalizes together, for a half a minute or more, the male calls lower and longer than the more rapid and higher-pitched females’ cries. They walk slowly while duetting, with necks and beaks extended upward, and wings elevated, in turkey-strut fashion. Spending countless hours watching these fascinating crane courtships, I developed a deeper understanding of the intricate evolutionary relationships among them.

During those years, I traveled several times to the Patuxent Wildlife Research Center in Maryland, where the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service managed a captive group of whooping cranes. There, I came to know a young female named Tex, the progeny of a captive pair from the San Antonio Zoo. Having been hand-reared, Tex exhibited an affinity for her human keepers, but failed to establish meaningful connections with her fellow cranes. During her time at Patuxent, she never laid an egg.

In 1973, inspired by the words of Aldo Leopold, who eloquently depicted the decline of cranes and fostered a deep understanding of the challenges they faced around the world, fellow Cornell graduate student Ron Sauey and I established the International Crane Foundation (ICF). Our first headquarters was on Ron's parent's farm, nestled in the picturesque landscapes in the town of Baraboo, Wisconsin. Notably, this location held historic significance since it was a mere ten miles away from the very land that ignited Aldo Leopold's creative spirit, leading him to write his renowned literary work, "A Sand County Almanac."

Three years later, feeling disheartened by Tex's inability to reproduce, my colleagues at Patuxent agreed to send the human-imprinted whooping crane to ICF. Recognizing the significance of this opportunity, I took on the responsibility of working closely with Tex, seven days a week, from dawn until dusk, between mid-March and late May. I hoped that by spending time and dancing with her, like a male crane, we could simulate a pair bond, which would trigger ovulation, providing a chance to artificially inseminate her.

After six long years filled with setbacks and disappointments, we finally had a breakthrough in 1982. One of her eggs hatched a chick! We named him Gee Whiz. However, our elation was short-lived. Tragedy struck three weeks later when a raiding raccoon got into the enclosure during the night and killed Tex.

Nevertheless, Tex’s legacy endured in Gee Whiz. Throughout his 38-year lifetime, Gee Whiz accomplished something truly extraordinary—he fathered 23 offspring. Each one of his descendants, in turn, contributed to the preservation of the whooping crane population, adding nearly 200 majestic birds to grace the world with their elegant dances.

In 1989, a strategic decision was made to prevent an overconcentration of captive whooping Cranes in a single location. Twenty-two cranes residing at Patuxent were transferred to ICF. A gifted scientist named Robert Horwich played a pivotal role during this period. Horwich perfected a revolutionary rearing technique that involved crane keepers donning a specially crafted costume featuring a hand puppet designed to resemble a crane, along with a loose white costume that cleverly concealed the human form.

From 1993 to the present day, costume-reared cranes nurtured at Patuxent, ICF, and elsewhere, have played a vital role in the reintroduction experiments conducted in Florida, Wisconsin, and Louisiana. Acting as essential breeding stock, they have paved the way for restoring whooping crane populations.

We chose Wisconsin as an experimental site for introductions because its vast wetlands were near the former Illinois wetlands and tallgrass prairies once inhabited by nesting whooping cranes. These introductions started in 2001 and continue to this day as an ongoing conservation initiative. A gifted team of biologists has carried on the work with captive cranes at ICF and in the wild, and over these last few decades, I have dedicated much of my time to fundraising and to conservation programs overseas.

In the spring of 2019, I was elated when the arrival of the three whooping cranes less than six miles from my home in Baraboo provided me with the opportunity to once again view the majestic birds up close. Spirit, a two-year-old female raised by captive crane parents, was the first to arrive on a 40-acre wetland called Bump Marsh. Several weeks later, she was joined by two costume-reared yearlings, Cloud and his sister Sheena.

A busy county road bordered Bump Marsh near its north side, where they roosted at night. They frequently ventured to the wheat, corn, and soybean fields on the opposite sides of the road to feed on waste grains and earthworms. Many of us were concerned about them crossing the road. But they impressively learned to navigate traffic, albeit encountering several close calls during their pursuits of each other and the sandhill cranes that were also in the area.

Cloud and Sheena formed a close bond, engaging in unison calls and constructing a nest in a shallow pond within Bump Marsh. The sibling pair often pursued Spirit, who stayed on the periphery. The following spring, they showed a heightened level of intolerance toward both Spirit and the sandhills. They engaged in frequent copulation and constructed multiple nests.

Later that spring, all three molted their feathers. Unable to fly for the next six weeks, they traversed the road and spent extended periods in the fields, raising concerns about potential predation by coyotes. After their new flight feathers grew in, they migrated together, returning to the same region in western Kentucky where they had wintered the previous year. Although most of the whooping cranes in the new eastern migratory population winter in southwest Indiana and northern Alabama, some spend the season as far south as Florida and west to the Mississippi River. 

In 2020, the trio arrived at Bump Marsh in early March, just as COVID-19 swept across the planet. The previous year, I’d lived from a suitcase for 200 days while circling the globe three times, fundraising for crane conservation, giving talks, and sharing quality time with colleagues. Now I, like everyone else, was grounded at home. I quickly reverted to my field biologist days, closely studying the whooping cranes and up to six pairs of sandhill cranes inhabiting Bump Marsh.

Cloud and Sheena frequently copulated and chased Spirit. On March 21, Cloud shifted his allegiance to Spirit and copulated with her while Sheena stood nearby. The new pair attacked Sheena, built a nest in the pond, and laid two eggs around April 3. One was infertile. The other hatched a month later. Spirit often incubated at night. During the day, the pair shared incubation duties, with one bird on the eggs while the other fed in the fields. Cloud often chased Sheena and the sandhills, both on the ground and in the air.

During the first 10 days after the chick hatched, they remained in the center of the wetland where they trampled down vegetation, perhaps to reveal food and help their chick navigate. They tore apart muskrat mounds and fed on the insects inside. They brooded their chick both at the nest and on the flattened mounds.

Hoping to discourage them from walking across the road with their chick, I attached bright yellow tape to fence posts across the north end of the wetland. They ignored the tape and soon led their fast-growing youngster to the fields.

Mike Forsberg came to Wisconsin in May 2020 to photograph the whooping cranes. He often worked from a small blind, or from his truck’s window, capturing the daily lives of the cranes who had been my constant company. On May 21, Mike positioned himself beside the road north of Bump Marsh, aiming to photograph Cloud, Spirit, and their precious chick. Sheena was somewhere in the vicinity as well. As fate would have it, a pair of sandhill cranes emerged from the more wooded section of the marsh, leading their two tiny chicks into the cornfields adjacent to the road, right within view of the whooping cranes. While Spirit maintained some distance from the sandhills, Cloud and Sheena took flight and landed near the family, asserting their presence through posturing and unison calls.

In a sudden turn of events, the female sandhill flew directly at Sheena and landed on her back. Cloud chased away the male sandhill. Undeterred, the female sandhill bravely held her ground, protecting her chicks while Sheena gradually retreated. After a few minutes, Cloud joined Spirit and their chick, while the male sandhill returned to his family. Mike captured the dramatic encounter with his camera, preserving the intensity of the encounter.

During May and June, Spirit devoted her attention to safeguarding her chick, while Cloud persisted in pursuing Sheena and the sandhill cranes. Tragically, the chick vanished mere days before taking its first flight, presumably falling victim to a predator, perhaps a coyote or raccoon. In contrast, the sandhills continued to forage in the field they shared with the whooping cranes, maintaining their distance and successfully raising both of their chicks to independence.

As winter approached, the three adult whooping cranes once again reunited to spend the season together in their familiar Kentucky wintering grounds.

In March 2021, they returned to Bump Marsh. Once again, Cloud and Spirit diligently built a nest in the pond and laid two eggs. However, during the third week of incubation, an unfortunate turn of events unfolded. Cloud was returning from his feeding excursions in the fields when Spirit staggered away from the nest and stood nearby, eventually tucking her head under the feathers of her right shoulder. Regrettably, she never returned to the nest. I reasoned that a predator had likely taken the eggs.

Whooping crane researcher Hillary Thompson investigated the situation. She approached the nest and found the eggs intact but stone cold. She brought them back to ICF and placed them in an incubator. One egg proved to be nonviable, but the other miraculously held a live chick, which subsequently hatched. We named the male Fog, who was successfully raised by costumed researchers.

Spirit turned out to have an infected eye. I suspected a peck from Sheena, but its cause remained a mystery. For the next 45 days, she stayed in the marsh with her head tucked under her right shoulder, creating a bloodstain on her feathers. In the meantime, Sheena vigorously courted her brother Cloud, who continued to chase her away. He returned to Spirit. The pair danced and copulated, maintaining a strong bond despite her infirmity. I was prepared to catch her when she fell or seemed unable to fly.

Fortunately, Spirit made a remarkable recovery, although her right eye was irreparably damaged. In Cloud's absence, she would pivot in circles to gain a sense of her surroundings. Yet, when Cloud was present, she exhibited a fascinating behavior, seemingly able to perceive her environment as if she had full vision in both eyes.

Meanwhile, ICF researchers decided to capture Sheena and release her in a wetland in eastern Wisconsin, where she would have the opportunity to encounter several eligible bachelors. Astonishingly, three days later, she returned to Bump Marsh and reunited with Cloud and Spirit. Soon afterward, the trio again embarked on their southbound migratory journey together.

The spring of 2022 proved to be a profoundly challenging period in my life. My dear wife, Kyoko, was in the last stages of her courageous fight against leukemia. Amidst this difficult time, photographer Mike Forsberg arrived to continue his work capturing the majestic return of the cranes. He and I were surprised when only Cloud and Sheena showed up. The signal from Spirit’s telemetry device indicated that she was still in western Kentucky, raising concerns that she might be dead.

On March 21, much to our relief and delight, Spirit made a triumphant return. Her arrival brought a glimmer of brightness, helping to uplift my spirits in the wake of Kyoko's passing ten days earlier.

Cloud and Spirit constructed a nest and successfully laid two fertile eggs. One of the eggs was collected by Hillary for further conservation efforts, resulting in the hatching of a crane that would be raised for eventual release into the wild. We were happy to learn that the remaining egg hatched in the wild. However, our joy was short-lived, as the chick tragically vanished after a mere nine days. This setback extended beyond the whooping cranes, as none of the sandhill cranes were able to successfully rear a juvenile that year either.

In 2023, ICF crane researcher Tran Triet documented through outstanding photographs the activities at Cloud and Spirit’s nest. One early morning, before their egg hatched, Cloud flew away to feed, leaving Spirit alone. A coyote approached the nest. Suddenly, a sandhill from a neighboring pair landed near the predator. Spirit and the sandhill called loudly in unison, causing the coyote to retreat. When the sandhill left and Cloud returned to take his turn incubating, Spirit danced vigorously around the nest. Their egg hatched and the chick thrived for 40 days before it disappeared. A second egg had previously been collected to be reared in captivity.

We hope that the whooping cranes will keep learning to better defend themselves and their offspring from the predators roaming along the edges of our modernizing world and agricultural lands. Will the ones brought up in the wild be more successful than their captive-reared parents? Only time will tell. I have faith that the tenacity of Spirit will prevail and that somehow a self-sustaining migratory population will again flourish east of the Mississippi. The aspirations ignited in me as schoolboy, captivated by the drama of the cranes in northern Canada, continue to live on.

 

 

 

 

Scientist

Essay | LIZ SMITH

How about the Habitat

It was the vast, endless panorama of salt marshes, tidal ponds, and coastal horizons and the faraway views of North America’s tallest bird—a whooping crane—through my father’s binoculars that captured my heart and soul. I was 10 years old, and we were on a boat tour of the Texas Gulf Coast’s Aransas National Wildlife Refuge.

We were not sneaking up on the crane and its companions foraging along the coast. The captain of our boat, the Whooping Crane, spared little vocal restraint as he relayed the cranes’ natural history and current plight over the microphone. Of the 15 species of cranes in the world, he said, the whooping crane was the rarest.

Watching the birds forage, we were struck by their scarcity. Only 43 cranes—the entire remaining world population—were counted in Texas that year. (A century and a half earlier, their population numbered as many as 10,000.) Little did I know back then in the mid-1960s that I would be working on the cranes’ recovery when the total increased tenfold, passing the 430 mark in 2017.

They say that once you see whooping cranes, something inside of you changes. Watching others encounter them for the first time, I sense the same awe and admiration. If you are lucky enough to view them at close range, you will find no mutual admiration in that fierce direct gaze through their rich golden eyes and alert posture. You know that they know you are in their territory, their world, and you are not welcome. Yet, we are mesmerized and deeply affected, carrying a sense of guilt for the impact our species has had on theirs.

At the beginning of the 20th century, little was known about whooping cranes, aside from the locations they once inhabited, which were documented by hunters' and collectors' kill records. The last nesting pair in the United States was killed for their skins and eggs in a shallow prairie wetland in northern Iowa in 1894.

No one yet knew where the surviving cranes nested. But each year a small group returned to their wintering grounds in what became Aransas National Wildlife Refuge, which was founded in 1937 when only 18 whooping cranes were counted. Biologists noted that they were exceptionally wary of people and difficult to observe without disturbing them. Through diligent efforts, the scientists began studying the birds’ foraging behaviors and describing their movements through the salt marshes and tidal flats and into the upland grasslands and wetlands.

In 1946, National Audubon Society biologist Robert Porter Allen was tasked with learning everything he could about whooping cranes to gather crucial information for their recovery. He was a very disciplined professional and many of his findings still hold true today. For him, it wasn't just about science; he was genuinely passionate about his work, and his admiration for the species was deeply intertwined with his concern for its future.

After several years of research, he endeavored to locate the birds’ breeding grounds in Canada. Unfortunately, he wasn’t present on the 1954 flight when whooping cranes were first discovered in Wood Buffalo National Park. But the next summer, he led the ground survey that confirmed they were nesting there and made his first sighting of two adults on June 24, 1955—two days before I was born. I am motivated by Allen’s conviction to do all that we can to save the species. He understood their wildness and feisty nature, and he felt it in himself. He inspired many of us by sharing his determination to make a positive difference for the crane’s future.

Many biologists have worked tirelessly to save whooping cranes. As the 21st century began, the field saw a changing of the guard with the retirement of both co-chairs of the International Whooping Crane Recovery Team. Still, the cranes appeared to be making progress, with their numbers rising from the lows of the 1940s and 1950s to 264 by 2010. However, extended droughts on their wintering grounds forced them to move more frequently across a broader landscape in search of food and water.

A severe drought in Texas during the winter of 2008 and 2009 resulted in a federal court case over state water diversions in the reported deaths of an estimated 23 whooping cranes. As I sat in the courtroom day after day, I began to wonder how much we didn’t know or couldn’t definitely prove about the whooping crane’s wintering needs and their patterns of expansion. It takes a multipronged approach, ranging from legal to voluntary actions, to effect successful conservation. That courtroom experience reinforced in me how important good science is to effective conservation.

Despite the cranes’ innate ability to successfully reproduce and raise their young, they continue to face the loss of habitat that is necessary for their population to expand, as well as unnecessary deaths from shootings and power line strikes. Addressing these primary threats to their recovery requires a comprehensive approach.

 Through the combined efforts of the International Crane Foundation and partners in coastal Texas, we focus on habitat conservation and restoration and finding solutions to the effects of sea-level rise on habitat availability. We have worked with federal partners, research universities, and fellow nongovernmental organizations to identify and prioritize key areas that would serve as current and future habitat for whooping cranes and support a healthy coastal ecosystem.

Together, we developed the first habitat suitability model for the current wintering range, which resulted in several successful land acquisitions and conservation deals. Two other habitat suitability models have been developed that encompass a broader swath of the coast, and it appears that there is enough habitat to support a recovered population of whooping cranes—if we do not lose any more to residential, commercial, and industrial development in the coastal wetlands and adjacent low prairies and if that habitat is healthy. The remaining habitat is also threatened by accelerating coastal submergence due to sea-level rise. Therefore, we must plan for the seawater’s intrusion into adjacent low-lying prairies and swales to ensure that sufficient habitat remains for cranes and other wildlife communities.

Since coastal Texas is 80-percent privately owned, building relationships with landowners is crucial. I always look forward to opening a ranch gate and experiencing the strong land ethic and pride the owners were raised with and continue to practice today. However, the stability of oil and gas extraction, which once supported their extensive land holdings, is less reliable than before, and alternative uses of the land are changing the native landscape. Understanding the balance between effective habitat management and economic viability will be crucial in furthering conservation discussions.

Many of my favorite projects involve candid dialogues with landowners and managers. I have learned to do more listening than talking. Based on conversations with 85 percent of the landowners in the whooping cranes’ wintering range, we developed a brochure highlighting five practices that can help landowners maintain and enhance their land to protect cranes. My biggest takeaway from these discussions was a response to the question, “What do you do differently now that you host whooping cranes on your property?” The answer was, “I believe we have whooping cranes because of what we've already been doing!” This response has shaped my perspective ever since, reinforcing the awareness that we don't have all the answers or a complete understanding without maintaining these relationships.

Having resiliency means being able to overcome challenges and adapt to changing conditions. Whooping cranes are long-lived and produce only a few offspring during their lifetime, investing nearly a year in raising each one. In theory, they can maintain stable populations if they have enough high-quality habitat. However, when this balance is disrupted by a significant decline in number or loss of essential habitat, recovery is not guaranteed unless the causes are addressed.

We are tackling the habitat availability problem through our private landowner initiatives and also working to prevent crane shootings. Indiscriminate hunting decimated the whooping crane population until the Migratory Bird Treaty Act of 1918 and Endangered Species Act of 1973 were passed to prohibit the killing of protected species. We depend on the legal system to enforce these laws and prosecute offenders. Yet there have been recent efforts to weaken or eliminate the landmark statutes. The concerned public must be vigilant in conveying the importance of these laws to our government representatives and collectively urge officials to uphold them.

Our engagement role cannot not stop here. We must continue to promote awareness about whooping cranes, encouraging the appreciation of their intrinsic value, and advocating personal responsibility in protecting them from harm. Nothing drove this point home more for me than when I learned about the illegal shooting of a whooping crane I had been studying in the wild. It was difficult to be in a courtroom with a defendant who—beyond facing fines and a temporary suspension of their hunting privileges—showed little remorse for the killing of the endangered bird. In every whooping crane shooting case, we establish personal communications with the judges and district attorneys in the federal judicial system and provide them with information. We also alert fellow conservation groups and make sure they are present at public hearings to show support for the species’ protection.

Taking these approaches ensures that the people who are making decisions on behalf of the cranes know we have a personal commitment to save the species. Our outreach efforts include educating hunters about the cranes’ endangered status and their significance as a unique American treasure, helping to reduce accidental shootings.

We are proud to work with federal and state partners to produce an informative booklet every year that we distribute to hunting guides and lodges prior to hunting season and the arrival of the whooping cranes in the fall. I like nothing better than to hear from a guide that one of our crane pairs has returned with a cinnamon-colored juvenile and that the hunting party observed the parents teaching their young one how to forage for food and eat a blue crab.

Birds in flight are one of most majestic sights we can enjoy, and with their seven and a half foot wingspan, whooping cranes truly rule the winds’ currents. Watching their powerful strokes at takeoff and the rhythmic sequence they sustain as the juveniles follow their parents across the marshes, captures one’s full attention.

The mechanics of their flight are equally fascinating. The black feathers on their wing tips are strong enough to withstand the wind’s forces and control their flight. They fly lower when they are taking off or landing but the air space between can become a collision course in rain and fog. They are also inexperienced in navigating over power lines, and while we don’t know how many cranes die from collisions, we can minimize these deaths by marking the lines in their flyways and wintering grounds.

I felt such a loss as I waited by a freshly killed whooping crane who had misjudged the height of the power lines in an urbanizing neighborhood. His two winter companions landed in a nearby field and did not move for hours. I could not shake the feeling that this should not have happened. However, immediate actions were taken to mark the lines around the area in preparation for the cranes to return the next winter. I feel a deep resolve to ensure that more power lines are marked in their winter home and encourage others to help in this effort so that whooping cranes continue to grace our skies and landscape.

As I look across the expanse of Aransas’s natural coastal vista, I still feel the same deep awe and amazement as the 10-year-old girl leaning toward the marsh and those faraway cranes. That experience forged in me an enduring relationship with the cranes and the landscape, and it became my life’s work. I reflect on the seagrass meadows that have replaced the salt marshes and the salt marshes that have replaced the intertidal flats. Sea-level rise has shifted the habitat mosaic, yet it still thrives with crustaceans, fish, and a diversity of birds.

I have watched whooping cranes return year after year, bringing their surviving young, and teaching them how to live on the coast’s bounty. Now, their young are bringing their own families. They are spreading across the landscape, and increasingly overlapping with our built environment, which poses new challenges to their survival.

Biologist

Essay | Dave Brandt

Fate often guides us down unexpected paths.

In late March 1996, I embarked on one such journey when my supervisor asked me to travel to Nebraska for an unprecedented event. A severe blizzard had hit the Central Platte River Valley on March 24, coinciding with the peak migration period for sandhill cranes, resulting in the deaths of several thousand birds. Five days later, I was in Nebraska, measuring and recording morphometric data on these casualties, comparing them with data from two decades earlier on a smaller sample of birds.

This experience marked a turning point in my career. I had spent four years training as a waterfowl biologist and had moved to the Prairie Pothole Region of North Dakota, known as the "duck factory," to pursue that goal. Instead, over the next 12 years, I found myself capturing sandhill cranes, attaching radio transmitters to them, and tracking their movements. This work led me to dedicate much of my 34-year career as a wildlife biologist to studying North America's two crane species: sandhill cranes and whooping cranes.

The Platte River in central Nebraska is designated as critical habitat for whooping cranes through the Endangered Species Act. Despite spending two and a half to three months each spring along the river, I only encountered a handful of whooping cranes during my years there. At the time, the Aransas-Wood Buffalo population of wild whooping cranes numbered around 130 to 150. The lack of baseline information on these critically endangered birds was striking. It baffled me that modern technology had not been used to track these cranes and gather essential data for their conservation.

Many discussions with colleagues at the Platte River Trust centered around the absence of tracking studies for whooping cranes. My friend and colleague, Felipe Chavez Ramirez, who had been involved in crane conservation longer than I had, frequently joined these conversations. With a Doctorate in studying wintering whooping cranes and experience with non-migratory sandhill cranes in Cuba, Felipe's passion for crane conservation was evident. I like to think our not-always-sober discussions played a small part in his relentless pursuit to make the whooping crane tracking project a reality. His efforts to secure permits and permissions were crucial. Given my experience with sandhill cranes and tracking technology, I was invited to join the capture and marking efforts that began in 2009. Despite challenging days in the field, I am deeply grateful to Felipe for helping expand the scientific community's knowledge of these majestic birds. Fifteen years later, I remain in awe of their grace and beauty.

At heart, I am an unapologetic hunter, particularly an avid waterfowl hunter, so my background differs from many who appreciate cranes in Nebraska and beyond. The same skills that made me a successful hunter also helped me capture one of nature's most elusive birds. However, cranes differ significantly from ducks, and "craniacs" (as I call crane watchers) are a far cry from duck hunters. During my journey with cranes, my perspective as a hunter broadened through interactions with passionate non-hunters who shared my enthusiasm for cranes. Along the way, I made lifelong friends, uncovered scientific discoveries, and built bridges between different groups united by a common goal: conserving the species we all cherish.

Catching wild cranes is challenging, and the endangered status of whooping cranes adds to the difficulty. While juvenile whooping cranes had been successfully captured and marked in the late 1970s by running down flightless young birds on their breeding grounds, no adults from the Aransas-Wood Buffalo population had ever been captured and marked. The initial attempts to capture adults on their wintering grounds in 2009 were laborious, with only one adult and one juvenile successfully fitted with transmitters. The second year yielded only one adult capture. The natural challenges of flooding, food overabundance, and hurricanes always made fieldwork interesting, but after two years of limited success, it was clear a new capture technique was needed. In the winter of 2011-2012, we developed and perfected a method that ensnared the lower leg of targeted birds at baited sites. This setup, triggered remotely, allowed personnel to remain at a safe distance. Combining this mechanically actuated snare with well-hidden trappers and a severe drought that forced whooping cranes to visit inland freshwater ponds, we successfully captured and marked 11 adult cranes in just seven days.

This method has been used successfully for years, with the most recent captures occurring in 2022. Juvenile cranes were also captured and marked on their nesting grounds using techniques similar to those from the 1970s. Ethical researchers must recognize the impact of attaching transmitters or other markers to animals, as these can encumber the animal for much of its life. Our goal was always to minimize potential impacts on whooping cranes, knowing that changes in behavior could affect the data collected and that the transmitter would remain on the bird long after its functional life had ended. Given that similar transmitters had been used on sandhill cranes for years without significant adverse effects, we were as confident as possible embarking on this new endeavor. Nonetheless, marking animals always involves a struggle of conscience.

Wildlife research technologies are often adapted from more profitable human applications. This is true for the advanced tracking technologies used to monitor the Aransas-Wood Buffalo population of whooping cranes. Initially, transmitters mounted on their legs relied on orbiting satellites to collect GPS location data every 4-5 hours and transmit it to earthbound computers every few days. The latest technology leverages the cellular network to collect the same GPS data but transmits it via the cellular system whenever the birds are near cell towers.

This advancement reduces energy consumption, enabling a base GPS collection schedule of every 15 minutes and more intensive data collection (every 10-30 seconds) when the transmitter detects the bird is in flight. Although the sheer volume of data can overwhelm traditional analytical software, the ability to pinpoint a bird's location within 10-15 feet and monitor its behavior in near real-time offers unprecedented insights into how these birds interact with their environment. This data allows us to explore questions such as: How do whooping cranes react to wind turbine facilities during migration? What happens if they encounter a blizzard while migrating to or from their breeding grounds? How are they distributing themselves in response to the encroachment of black mangroves on their wintering grounds?

The data now available can shed light on these and many other questions about whooping cranes. The information is so detailed that it has been used for investigative purposes. For instance, when several whooping cranes were shot in Oklahoma, one of them had an active transmitter. Data from that transmitter helped determine the exact time and location of the crime, aiding in the prosecution of the perpetrators. To date, more than 185 transmitters collecting precise GPS data have been deployed on Aransas-Wood Buffalo whooping cranes, providing unparalleled insight into their annual cycle and behavior.

Reflecting on my time with the great white crane, I realize that capturing adult whooping cranes required tapping into the basic instincts of a human hunter. The skills needed to capture wildlife are similar to those used to harvest animals for sustenance—scouting, tracking, locating natural pinch points, and identifying attractive spots are all critical for success.

I had the extraordinary privilege of spending countless hours among one of our rarest birds in their natural habitats. Few experiences stir the soul more than sitting in a salt marsh before dawn, listening as it comes alive with the rising sun. The trumpeting of whooping crane pairs, families, and groups of subadults seems to greet the sun as they leave their roosting ponds to begin their daily routines. This symphony is occasionally interrupted by the whistles of passing wigeon or the calls of terns and gulls. Observing parents feed a blue crab or wolfberry to their colt, knowing the extensive journey they completed to enjoy such bounty, is a rare privilege. Holding a member of a species once reduced to fewer than 25 individuals is an experience only a handful of people will ever know. Witnessing a magnificent species rebound from the brink of extinction, and knowing that with our help, it may continue to flourish and grow, is something everyone can share and, maybe more importantly, pass on to those who follow in our footsteps.

 

Biologist

Essay | Sara Zimorski

Sweat, blood, and tears. 

The cliché is actually “blood, sweat, and tears,” but in southwest Louisiana, where the heat and humidity can make it feel like summer almost all year round, sweat is a constant. Working with whooping cranes has indeed involved plenty of blood and tears as well, especially in my experience with L7-11, a 13-year-old female whooping crane in the reintroduced nonmigratory population established in Louisiana. She has been the focus of much of our conservation efforts. We've taken blood samples from her to monitor her health, and she's drawn blood from us in her efforts to defend her nest and chicks. Tears have been shed in moments of frustration, disappointment, and deep sadness over the trials she has faced.

In Louisiana, we began with just 10 whooping cranes—juveniles hatched and reared in captivity for release into a state where they hadn't been for more than six decades. They arrived in February 2011, when they were about nine months old, just six weeks after I started my job as a biologist with the Louisiana Department of Wildlife and Fisheries. It was exciting to begin a new job—a new project to restore whooping cranes—but it was also stressful and a lot of hard work.

The goal of the project is to establish a self-sustaining population of approximately 120 cranes, including 30 reproductive pairs, maintained for a decade without additional restocking. This objective is part of the broader recovery goals for the species. Historically there were both resident and migratory whooping cranes in Louisiana, but by March 1950 only one crane remained. Biologists captured that last crane at what would later become the White Lake Wetlands Conservation Area and transported her to the Aransas National Wildlife Refuge, hoping that she would join the small migratory flock there. Louisiana was whooper-less for the next 60 years until the arrival of those first 10 birds in 2011.

 

They were older than we would have preferred, having remained in captivity while final permits and approvals were processed. Soon after their release, a drought began, drying up the marshes. Although some mortalities were expected, the drought and a number of other factors took a severe toll on them. Two cranes were shot, and a third companion disappeared at the same time—likely also shot. Another was found sick and later euthanized. Only minimal remains were recovered for two others who died from unknown causes. By fall, only three of the original 10 survived.

In early December 2011, we received a second cohort of 16 younger juveniles—around six months old, with fully grown wings but still in their brown juvenile plumage. The habitat conditions had improved with the marsh replenished by rain, and we had refined our release strategy based on previous experience. Although we can’t definitively attribute improved survival to specific changes, these cranes fared better. The birds seemed to choose and spend time in more favorable habitats, likely partly due to the improved conditions as well as the adjustments in our protocols, including better visual barriers and reduced disturbance.

Among these new arrivals was L7-11, who would soon become known for her tenacity. After spending the first fall, winter, and spring in the White Lake marsh, she and six others flew north in early July, settling on private property in Avoyelles and Rapides parishes. We established contact with the landowners and kept in touch with them to monitor the birds. In late December 2013, L7-11’s group returned to the White Lake marsh, and she paired with a male, L8-11. Even though the male in a whooping crane pair usually picks and establishes the couple’s territory, she led him back north to Avoyelles Parish, where they settled on a smaller farm owned by the son of one of the original landowners.

L7-11 and L8-11 established their breeding territory and, in late March 2014, became the first whooping cranes to nest and lay eggs in Louisiana since 1939. The landowner was initially curious and slightly concerned about how the cranes might affect his property, but we reassured him that their presence would not negatively impact his operations. With permission, we set up a small blind to monitor the nest in three-hour sessions throughout the day. Unfortunately, their first clutch of eggs did not hatch—the eggs were infertile.

This was disappointing but not unusual, as the birds were young, only three years old, and it was their first nesting attempt. We were pleased when they renested 18 days later, but those eggs were also infertile. The same pattern continued in 2015 and 2016 with four nests and eight eggs, but no successful hatching. In 2017, we decided to try introducing a close-to-hatching egg from captivity to give L7-11 and L8-11 the experience of raising a chick. We had successfully used this approach with a whooping crane pair in Wisconsin that eventually began producing their own fertile eggs.

On April 12, 2017, we approached the nest with a pipped egg, meaning the chick has begun to break through the shell. We had to hold back the defensive parents with brooms while we replaced their eggs with the one that we’d brought. The birds resumed incubation, and the egg successfully hatched the next day. We were thrilled that our plan had worked, and so were the landowner and the farmer of the property, who along with us had grown disappointed with each nesting failure.

Tragically, a few weeks later, torrential rains flooded the farm. The landowner called me, and I knew it wasn’t going to be good news. The adults were calling, flying, and walking around the levees and submerged farm roads, searching for the chick, but it was gone. We felt devastated.

We figured that was it for the year. After all, the pair had sat full-term on a first nest, almost full-term on a second nest, and then they had been raising a chick for two and a half weeks. But we underestimated the persistence and determination of L7-11 and L8-11 because in mid-May they started a third nest. Unfortunately, it wound up failing too.

In July 2018, I received another call from the landowner. Several weeks earlier, when the water was drained from the crawfish fields, the cranes had left his property and moved three miles southwest to a different property. But one of the cranes was back and behaving strangely. It was calling constantly and acting more skittish and nervous than in the past. I checked the GPS transmitter data for the male and saw that it had failed to send data as scheduled that day. The last point from the previous day was in the fields where they had recently been spending time. We investigated and discovered that L8-11 was dead. He had been shot by a farmworker who claimed not to know that he had mistaken the whooping crane for another waterbird eating his crawfish.

I informed the landowner and farmer who had come to know and care for these birds over the past four years and promised to keep them posted as the case was investigated and eventually prosecuted.
Now alone, L7-11 moved south to Jefferson Davis Parish and later paired with a young crane, L11-17. Again, she led her partner to her territory, where they attempted to nest, though it failed. However, when we examined the eggs, we found that one of them had been fertile. L7-11’s persistence continued with her new mate, and they tried for a second time that spring, also unsuccessfully. Rinse and repeat in 2020, and again, there was at least one fertile egg, though none hatched. While the continued lack of success was discouraging, we also now had a bit of hope because at least some of the eggs were fertile.

Mid-February 2021 brought a deep freeze and ice storm that caused the entire flooded crawfish field to freeze solid and resulted in the birds abandoning their nest. Two weeks later, they renested, and a month after that, an aerial survey found L7-11 and her mate had successfully hatched two new chicks!

As that spring progressed and both chicks grew and remained alive, we started to believe L7-11’s determination and fierceness were going to finally pay off. Indeed, it did when both chicks fledged, a rather unusual occurrence for whooping cranes, who most often only succeed in raising a single chick. The following year, L7-11 and L11-17 fledged another single chick, and did the same in 2023.

The landowner, who in the early years, was still working a full-time job, had retired and was spending more time on the property. He became a close partner helping to monitor the birds and sending me text messages and photos almost every week documenting the progress and growth of the chicks and saving us time that could be spent monitoring other pairs and families.

Extraordinarily, L7-11 and L11-17 had fledged 80 percent of the chicks they hatched—four out of five in four years—making them one of the most reproductively successful pairs of cranes in our population. And if that wasn’t enough, after fledging their chick in 2023, they did something that has never been documented before in whooping cranes: they renested.

The chick that had hatched earlier that season, LW3-23, hung around the farm, though separate from its parents for 11 days after the renest began. Unfortunately, the nesting attempt failed, but LW3-23 survived. It was later found with an adopted set of crane parents nine miles northeast on the farm where L7-11 had initially spent her time as a young crane. Of all the directions LW3-23 could have gone when first venturing out on its own, it somehow ended up on that farm, where there happened to be a welcoming pair of adult cranes, and where it was spotted and reported to me by the son of the landowner we’d worked with for so long.

L7-11 and her mate’s success likely springs from an innate instinct, a drive to breed and reproduce, but the truth is many of the pairs in our reintroduced population are not successful for reasons we don’t fully understand, and frankly some don’t seem to really have that drive. So, I can’t help but attribute some of L7-11’s success to her sheer will, her persistence, and her determination. There’s just something a little extra special about L7-11.

Ornithologist

Essay | George Archibald

My Life with Whooping Cranes

Ever since my childhood, I have been captivated by birds. When I was eight years old, my classroom was a one-room schoolhouse in rural Nova Scotia, where first through sixth graders shared the same space. Every week, we would listen to a half-hour radio program. Shortly after the June 1954 discovery of the breeding grounds of whooping cranes in northern Canada, this program sparked a profound and enduring fascination within me.

Radio actors portrayed conversations between a mating pair of cranes that had just returned to their wilderness breeding grounds in Northern Canada. Reflecting on their 2,500-mile migration from their wintering grounds in Texas, they shared a sense of relief for having survived encounters with guns and power lines along the way. They had constructed a nest, and nurtured two eggs, but the roar of a circling aircraft shattered the tranquility.

Overwhelmed with fear, the female crane's distressed cry pierced the air, exclaiming, “They have found us! They’ll shoot us and collect our eggs for a museum.” The male comforted her. “No dear, they are researchers from Wood Buffalo National Park. They will study and protect us.”

Years later, I embarked on a PhD in ornithology at Cornell University, where I delved into the realm of crane behavior. I soon discovered that despite their striking visual similarities, male and female cranes showed subtle differences in their postures and vocalizations, particularly during a harmonious duet named the "unison call." As a pair vocalizes together, for a half a minute or more, the male calls lower and longer than the more rapid and higher-pitched females’ cries. They walk slowly while duetting, with necks and beaks extended upward, and wings elevated, in turkey-strut fashion. Spending countless hours watching these fascinating crane courtships, I developed a deeper understanding of the intricate evolutionary relationships among them.

During those years, I traveled several times to the Patuxent Wildlife Research Center in Maryland, where the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service managed a captive group of whooping cranes. There, I came to know a young female named Tex, the progeny of a captive pair from the San Antonio Zoo. Having been hand-reared, Tex exhibited an affinity for her human keepers, but failed to establish meaningful connections with her fellow cranes. During her time at Patuxent, she never laid an egg.

In 1973, inspired by the words of Aldo Leopold, who eloquently depicted the decline of cranes and fostered a deep understanding of the challenges they faced around the world, fellow Cornell graduate student Ron Sauey and I established the International Crane Foundation (ICF). Our first headquarters was on Ron's parent's farm, nestled in the picturesque landscapes in the town of Baraboo, Wisconsin. Notably, this location held historic significance since it was a mere ten miles away from the very land that ignited Aldo Leopold's creative spirit, leading him to write his renowned literary work, "A Sand County Almanac."

Three years later, feeling disheartened by Tex's inability to reproduce, my colleagues at Patuxent agreed to send the human-imprinted whooping crane to ICF. Recognizing the significance of this opportunity, I took on the responsibility of working closely with Tex, seven days a week, from dawn until dusk, between mid-March and late May. I hoped that by spending time and dancing with her, like a male crane, we could simulate a pair bond, which would trigger ovulation, providing a chance to artificially inseminate her.

After six long years filled with setbacks and disappointments, we finally had a breakthrough in 1982. One of her eggs hatched a chick! We named him Gee Whiz. However, our elation was short-lived. Tragedy struck three weeks later when a raiding raccoon got into the enclosure during the night and killed Tex.

Nevertheless, Tex’s legacy endured in Gee Whiz. Throughout his 38-year lifetime, Gee Whiz accomplished something truly extraordinary—he fathered 23 offspring. Each one of his descendants, in turn, contributed to the preservation of the whooping crane population, adding nearly 200 majestic birds to grace the world with their elegant dances.

In 1989, a strategic decision was made to prevent an overconcentration of captive whooping Cranes in a single location. Twenty-two cranes residing at Patuxent were transferred to ICF. A gifted scientist named Robert Horwich played a pivotal role during this period. Horwich perfected a revolutionary rearing technique that involved crane keepers donning a specially crafted costume featuring a hand puppet designed to resemble a crane, along with a loose white costume that cleverly concealed the human form.

From 1993 to the present day, costume-reared cranes nurtured at Patuxent, ICF, and elsewhere, have played a vital role in the reintroduction experiments conducted in Florida, Wisconsin, and Louisiana. Acting as essential breeding stock, they have paved the way for restoring whooping crane populations.

We chose Wisconsin as an experimental site for introductions because its vast wetlands were near the former Illinois wetlands and tallgrass prairies once inhabited by nesting whooping cranes. These introductions started in 2001 and continue to this day as an ongoing conservation initiative. A gifted team of biologists has carried on the work with captive cranes at ICF and in the wild, and over these last few decades, I have dedicated much of my time to fundraising and to conservation programs overseas.

In the spring of 2019, I was elated when the arrival of the three whooping cranes less than six miles from my home in Baraboo provided me with the opportunity to once again view the majestic birds up close. Spirit, a two-year-old female raised by captive crane parents, was the first to arrive on a 40-acre wetland called Bump Marsh. Several weeks later, she was joined by two costume-reared yearlings, Cloud and his sister Sheena.

A busy county road bordered Bump Marsh near its north side, where they roosted at night. They frequently ventured to the wheat, corn, and soybean fields on the opposite sides of the road to feed on waste grains and earthworms. Many of us were concerned about them crossing the road. But they impressively learned to navigate traffic, albeit encountering several close calls during their pursuits of each other and the sandhill cranes that were also in the area.

Cloud and Sheena formed a close bond, engaging in unison calls and constructing a nest in a shallow pond within Bump Marsh. The sibling pair often pursued Spirit, who stayed on the periphery. The following spring, they showed a heightened level of intolerance toward both Spirit and the sandhills. They engaged in frequent copulation and constructed multiple nests.

Later that spring, all three molted their feathers. Unable to fly for the next six weeks, they traversed the road and spent extended periods in the fields, raising concerns about potential predation by coyotes. After their new flight feathers grew in, they migrated together, returning to the same region in western Kentucky where they had wintered the previous year. Although most of the whooping cranes in the new eastern migratory population winter in southwest Indiana and northern Alabama, some spend the season as far south as Florida and west to the Mississippi River. 

In 2020, the trio arrived at Bump Marsh in early March, just as COVID-19 swept across the planet. The previous year, I’d lived from a suitcase for 200 days while circling the globe three times, fundraising for crane conservation, giving talks, and sharing quality time with colleagues. Now I, like everyone else, was grounded at home. I quickly reverted to my field biologist days, closely studying the whooping cranes and up to six pairs of sandhill cranes inhabiting Bump Marsh.

Cloud and Sheena frequently copulated and chased Spirit. On March 21, Cloud shifted his allegiance to Spirit and copulated with her while Sheena stood nearby. The new pair attacked Sheena, built a nest in the pond, and laid two eggs around April 3. One was infertile. The other hatched a month later. Spirit often incubated at night. During the day, the pair shared incubation duties, with one bird on the eggs while the other fed in the fields. Cloud often chased Sheena and the sandhills, both on the ground and in the air.

During the first 10 days after the chick hatched, they remained in the center of the wetland where they trampled down vegetation, perhaps to reveal food and help their chick navigate. They tore apart muskrat mounds and fed on the insects inside. They brooded their chick both at the nest and on the flattened mounds.

Hoping to discourage them from walking across the road with their chick, I attached bright yellow tape to fence posts across the north end of the wetland. They ignored the tape and soon led their fast-growing youngster to the fields.

Mike Forsberg came to Wisconsin in May 2020 to photograph the whooping cranes. He often worked from a small blind, or from his truck’s window, capturing the daily lives of the cranes who had been my constant company. On May 21, Mike positioned himself beside the road north of Bump Marsh, aiming to photograph Cloud, Spirit, and their precious chick. Sheena was somewhere in the vicinity as well. As fate would have it, a pair of sandhill cranes emerged from the more wooded section of the marsh, leading their two tiny chicks into the cornfields adjacent to the road, right within view of the whooping cranes. While Spirit maintained some distance from the sandhills, Cloud and Sheena took flight and landed near the family, asserting their presence through posturing and unison calls.

In a sudden turn of events, the female sandhill flew directly at Sheena and landed on her back. Cloud chased away the male sandhill. Undeterred, the female sandhill bravely held her ground, protecting her chicks while Sheena gradually retreated. After a few minutes, Cloud joined Spirit and their chick, while the male sandhill returned to his family. Mike captured the dramatic encounter with his camera, preserving the intensity of the encounter.

During May and June, Spirit devoted her attention to safeguarding her chick, while Cloud persisted in pursuing Sheena and the sandhill cranes. Tragically, the chick vanished mere days before taking its first flight, presumably falling victim to a predator, perhaps a coyote or raccoon. In contrast, the sandhills continued to forage in the field they shared with the whooping cranes, maintaining their distance and successfully raising both of their chicks to independence.

As winter approached, the three adult whooping cranes once again reunited to spend the season together in their familiar Kentucky wintering grounds.

In March 2021, they returned to Bump Marsh. Once again, Cloud and Spirit diligently built a nest in the pond and laid two eggs. However, during the third week of incubation, an unfortunate turn of events unfolded. Cloud was returning from his feeding excursions in the fields when Spirit staggered away from the nest and stood nearby, eventually tucking her head under the feathers of her right shoulder. Regrettably, she never returned to the nest. I reasoned that a predator had likely taken the eggs.

Whooping crane researcher Hillary Thompson investigated the situation. She approached the nest and found the eggs intact but stone cold. She brought them back to ICF and placed them in an incubator. One egg proved to be nonviable, but the other miraculously held a live chick, which subsequently hatched. We named the male Fog, who was successfully raised by costumed researchers.

Spirit turned out to have an infected eye. I suspected a peck from Sheena, but its cause remained a mystery. For the next 45 days, she stayed in the marsh with her head tucked under her right shoulder, creating a bloodstain on her feathers. In the meantime, Sheena vigorously courted her brother Cloud, who continued to chase her away. He returned to Spirit. The pair danced and copulated, maintaining a strong bond despite her infirmity. I was prepared to catch her when she fell or seemed unable to fly.

Fortunately, Spirit made a remarkable recovery, although her right eye was irreparably damaged. In Cloud's absence, she would pivot in circles to gain a sense of her surroundings. Yet, when Cloud was present, she exhibited a fascinating behavior, seemingly able to perceive her environment as if she had full vision in both eyes.

Meanwhile, ICF researchers decided to capture Sheena and release her in a wetland in eastern Wisconsin, where she would have the opportunity to encounter several eligible bachelors. Astonishingly, three days later, she returned to Bump Marsh and reunited with Cloud and Spirit. Soon afterward, the trio again embarked on their southbound migratory journey together.

The spring of 2022 proved to be a profoundly challenging period in my life. My dear wife, Kyoko, was in the last stages of her courageous fight against leukemia. Amidst this difficult time, photographer Mike Forsberg arrived to continue his work capturing the majestic return of the cranes. He and I were surprised when only Cloud and Sheena showed up. The signal from Spirit’s telemetry device indicated that she was still in western Kentucky, raising concerns that she might be dead.

On March 21, much to our relief and delight, Spirit made a triumphant return. Her arrival brought a glimmer of brightness, helping to uplift my spirits in the wake of Kyoko's passing ten days earlier.

Cloud and Spirit constructed a nest and successfully laid two fertile eggs. One of the eggs was collected by Hillary for further conservation efforts, resulting in the hatching of a crane that would be raised for eventual release into the wild. We were happy to learn that the remaining egg hatched in the wild. However, our joy was short-lived, as the chick tragically vanished after a mere nine days. This setback extended beyond the whooping cranes, as none of the sandhill cranes were able to successfully rear a juvenile that year either.

In 2023, ICF crane researcher Tran Triet documented through outstanding photographs the activities at Cloud and Spirit’s nest. One early morning, before their egg hatched, Cloud flew away to feed, leaving Spirit alone. A coyote approached the nest. Suddenly, a sandhill from a neighboring pair landed near the predator. Spirit and the sandhill called loudly in unison, causing the coyote to retreat. When the sandhill left and Cloud returned to take his turn incubating, Spirit danced vigorously around the nest. Their egg hatched and the chick thrived for 40 days before it disappeared. A second egg had previously been collected to be reared in captivity.

We hope that the whooping cranes will keep learning to better defend themselves and their offspring from the predators roaming along the edges of our modernizing world and agricultural lands. Will the ones brought up in the wild be more successful than their captive-reared parents? Only time will tell. I have faith that the tenacity of Spirit will prevail and that somehow a self-sustaining migratory population will again flourish east of the Mississippi. The aspirations ignited in me as schoolboy, captivated by the drama of the cranes in northern Canada, continue to live on.

 

 

 

 

Scientist

Essay | LIZ SMITH

How about the Habitat

It was the vast, endless panorama of salt marshes, tidal ponds, and coastal horizons and the faraway views of North America’s tallest bird—a whooping crane—through my father’s binoculars that captured my heart and soul. I was 10 years old, and we were on a boat tour of the Texas Gulf Coast’s Aransas National Wildlife Refuge.

We were not sneaking up on the crane and its companions foraging along the coast. The captain of our boat, the Whooping Crane, spared little vocal restraint as he relayed the cranes’ natural history and current plight over the microphone. Of the 15 species of cranes in the world, he said, the whooping crane was the rarest.

Watching the birds forage, we were struck by their scarcity. Only 43 cranes—the entire remaining world population—were counted in Texas that year. (A century and a half earlier, their population numbered as many as 10,000.) Little did I know back then in the mid-1960s that I would be working on the cranes’ recovery when the total increased tenfold, passing the 430 mark in 2017.

They say that once you see whooping cranes, something inside of you changes. Watching others encounter them for the first time, I sense the same awe and admiration. If you are lucky enough to view them at close range, you will find no mutual admiration in that fierce direct gaze through their rich golden eyes and alert posture. You know that they know you are in their territory, their world, and you are not welcome. Yet, we are mesmerized and deeply affected, carrying a sense of guilt for the impact our species has had on theirs.

At the beginning of the 20th century, little was known about whooping cranes, aside from the locations they once inhabited, which were documented by hunters' and collectors' kill records. The last nesting pair in the United States was killed for their skins and eggs in a shallow prairie wetland in northern Iowa in 1894.

No one yet knew where the surviving cranes nested. But each year a small group returned to their wintering grounds in what became Aransas National Wildlife Refuge, which was founded in 1937 when only 18 whooping cranes were counted. Biologists noted that they were exceptionally wary of people and difficult to observe without disturbing them. Through diligent efforts, the scientists began studying the birds’ foraging behaviors and describing their movements through the salt marshes and tidal flats and into the upland grasslands and wetlands.

In 1946, National Audubon Society biologist Robert Porter Allen was tasked with learning everything he could about whooping cranes to gather crucial information for their recovery. He was a very disciplined professional and many of his findings still hold true today. For him, it wasn't just about science; he was genuinely passionate about his work, and his admiration for the species was deeply intertwined with his concern for its future.

After several years of research, he endeavored to locate the birds’ breeding grounds in Canada. Unfortunately, he wasn’t present on the 1954 flight when whooping cranes were first discovered in Wood Buffalo National Park. But the next summer, he led the ground survey that confirmed they were nesting there and made his first sighting of two adults on June 24, 1955—two days before I was born. I am motivated by Allen’s conviction to do all that we can to save the species. He understood their wildness and feisty nature, and he felt it in himself. He inspired many of us by sharing his determination to make a positive difference for the crane’s future.

Many biologists have worked tirelessly to save whooping cranes. As the 21st century began, the field saw a changing of the guard with the retirement of both co-chairs of the International Whooping Crane Recovery Team. Still, the cranes appeared to be making progress, with their numbers rising from the lows of the 1940s and 1950s to 264 by 2010. However, extended droughts on their wintering grounds forced them to move more frequently across a broader landscape in search of food and water.

A severe drought in Texas during the winter of 2008 and 2009 resulted in a federal court case over state water diversions in the reported deaths of an estimated 23 whooping cranes. As I sat in the courtroom day after day, I began to wonder how much we didn’t know or couldn’t definitely prove about the whooping crane’s wintering needs and their patterns of expansion. It takes a multipronged approach, ranging from legal to voluntary actions, to effect successful conservation. That courtroom experience reinforced in me how important good science is to effective conservation.

Despite the cranes’ innate ability to successfully reproduce and raise their young, they continue to face the loss of habitat that is necessary for their population to expand, as well as unnecessary deaths from shootings and power line strikes. Addressing these primary threats to their recovery requires a comprehensive approach.

 Through the combined efforts of the International Crane Foundation and partners in coastal Texas, we focus on habitat conservation and restoration and finding solutions to the effects of sea-level rise on habitat availability. We have worked with federal partners, research universities, and fellow nongovernmental organizations to identify and prioritize key areas that would serve as current and future habitat for whooping cranes and support a healthy coastal ecosystem.

Together, we developed the first habitat suitability model for the current wintering range, which resulted in several successful land acquisitions and conservation deals. Two other habitat suitability models have been developed that encompass a broader swath of the coast, and it appears that there is enough habitat to support a recovered population of whooping cranes—if we do not lose any more to residential, commercial, and industrial development in the coastal wetlands and adjacent low prairies and if that habitat is healthy. The remaining habitat is also threatened by accelerating coastal submergence due to sea-level rise. Therefore, we must plan for the seawater’s intrusion into adjacent low-lying prairies and swales to ensure that sufficient habitat remains for cranes and other wildlife communities.

Since coastal Texas is 80-percent privately owned, building relationships with landowners is crucial. I always look forward to opening a ranch gate and experiencing the strong land ethic and pride the owners were raised with and continue to practice today. However, the stability of oil and gas extraction, which once supported their extensive land holdings, is less reliable than before, and alternative uses of the land are changing the native landscape. Understanding the balance between effective habitat management and economic viability will be crucial in furthering conservation discussions.

Many of my favorite projects involve candid dialogues with landowners and managers. I have learned to do more listening than talking. Based on conversations with 85 percent of the landowners in the whooping cranes’ wintering range, we developed a brochure highlighting five practices that can help landowners maintain and enhance their land to protect cranes. My biggest takeaway from these discussions was a response to the question, “What do you do differently now that you host whooping cranes on your property?” The answer was, “I believe we have whooping cranes because of what we've already been doing!” This response has shaped my perspective ever since, reinforcing the awareness that we don't have all the answers or a complete understanding without maintaining these relationships.

Having resiliency means being able to overcome challenges and adapt to changing conditions. Whooping cranes are long-lived and produce only a few offspring during their lifetime, investing nearly a year in raising each one. In theory, they can maintain stable populations if they have enough high-quality habitat. However, when this balance is disrupted by a significant decline in number or loss of essential habitat, recovery is not guaranteed unless the causes are addressed.

We are tackling the habitat availability problem through our private landowner initiatives and also working to prevent crane shootings. Indiscriminate hunting decimated the whooping crane population until the Migratory Bird Treaty Act of 1918 and Endangered Species Act of 1973 were passed to prohibit the killing of protected species. We depend on the legal system to enforce these laws and prosecute offenders. Yet there have been recent efforts to weaken or eliminate the landmark statutes. The concerned public must be vigilant in conveying the importance of these laws to our government representatives and collectively urge officials to uphold them.

Our engagement role cannot not stop here. We must continue to promote awareness about whooping cranes, encouraging the appreciation of their intrinsic value, and advocating personal responsibility in protecting them from harm. Nothing drove this point home more for me than when I learned about the illegal shooting of a whooping crane I had been studying in the wild. It was difficult to be in a courtroom with a defendant who—beyond facing fines and a temporary suspension of their hunting privileges—showed little remorse for the killing of the endangered bird. In every whooping crane shooting case, we establish personal communications with the judges and district attorneys in the federal judicial system and provide them with information. We also alert fellow conservation groups and make sure they are present at public hearings to show support for the species’ protection.

Taking these approaches ensures that the people who are making decisions on behalf of the cranes know we have a personal commitment to save the species. Our outreach efforts include educating hunters about the cranes’ endangered status and their significance as a unique American treasure, helping to reduce accidental shootings.

We are proud to work with federal and state partners to produce an informative booklet every year that we distribute to hunting guides and lodges prior to hunting season and the arrival of the whooping cranes in the fall. I like nothing better than to hear from a guide that one of our crane pairs has returned with a cinnamon-colored juvenile and that the hunting party observed the parents teaching their young one how to forage for food and eat a blue crab.

Birds in flight are one of most majestic sights we can enjoy, and with their seven and a half foot wingspan, whooping cranes truly rule the winds’ currents. Watching their powerful strokes at takeoff and the rhythmic sequence they sustain as the juveniles follow their parents across the marshes, captures one’s full attention.

The mechanics of their flight are equally fascinating. The black feathers on their wing tips are strong enough to withstand the wind’s forces and control their flight. They fly lower when they are taking off or landing but the air space between can become a collision course in rain and fog. They are also inexperienced in navigating over power lines, and while we don’t know how many cranes die from collisions, we can minimize these deaths by marking the lines in their flyways and wintering grounds.

I felt such a loss as I waited by a freshly killed whooping crane who had misjudged the height of the power lines in an urbanizing neighborhood. His two winter companions landed in a nearby field and did not move for hours. I could not shake the feeling that this should not have happened. However, immediate actions were taken to mark the lines around the area in preparation for the cranes to return the next winter. I feel a deep resolve to ensure that more power lines are marked in their winter home and encourage others to help in this effort so that whooping cranes continue to grace our skies and landscape.

As I look across the expanse of Aransas’s natural coastal vista, I still feel the same deep awe and amazement as the 10-year-old girl leaning toward the marsh and those faraway cranes. That experience forged in me an enduring relationship with the cranes and the landscape, and it became my life’s work. I reflect on the seagrass meadows that have replaced the salt marshes and the salt marshes that have replaced the intertidal flats. Sea-level rise has shifted the habitat mosaic, yet it still thrives with crustaceans, fish, and a diversity of birds.

I have watched whooping cranes return year after year, bringing their surviving young, and teaching them how to live on the coast’s bounty. Now, their young are bringing their own families. They are spreading across the landscape, and increasingly overlapping with our built environment, which poses new challenges to their survival.

Biologist

Essay | Dave Brandt

Fate often guides us down unexpected paths.

In late March 1996, I embarked on one such journey when my supervisor asked me to travel to Nebraska for an unprecedented event. A severe blizzard had hit the Central Platte River Valley on March 24, coinciding with the peak migration period for sandhill cranes, resulting in the deaths of several thousand birds. Five days later, I was in Nebraska, measuring and recording morphometric data on these casualties, comparing them with data from two decades earlier on a smaller sample of birds.

This experience marked a turning point in my career. I had spent four years training as a waterfowl biologist and had moved to the Prairie Pothole Region of North Dakota, known as the "duck factory," to pursue that goal. Instead, over the next 12 years, I found myself capturing sandhill cranes, attaching radio transmitters to them, and tracking their movements. This work led me to dedicate much of my 34-year career as a wildlife biologist to studying North America's two crane species: sandhill cranes and whooping cranes.

The Platte River in central Nebraska is designated as critical habitat for whooping cranes through the Endangered Species Act. Despite spending two and a half to three months each spring along the river, I only encountered a handful of whooping cranes during my years there. At the time, the Aransas-Wood Buffalo population of wild whooping cranes numbered around 130 to 150. The lack of baseline information on these critically endangered birds was striking. It baffled me that modern technology had not been used to track these cranes and gather essential data for their conservation.

Many discussions with colleagues at the Platte River Trust centered around the absence of tracking studies for whooping cranes. My friend and colleague, Felipe Chavez Ramirez, who had been involved in crane conservation longer than I had, frequently joined these conversations. With a Doctorate in studying wintering whooping cranes and experience with non-migratory sandhill cranes in Cuba, Felipe's passion for crane conservation was evident. I like to think our not-always-sober discussions played a small part in his relentless pursuit to make the whooping crane tracking project a reality. His efforts to secure permits and permissions were crucial. Given my experience with sandhill cranes and tracking technology, I was invited to join the capture and marking efforts that began in 2009. Despite challenging days in the field, I am deeply grateful to Felipe for helping expand the scientific community's knowledge of these majestic birds. Fifteen years later, I remain in awe of their grace and beauty.

At heart, I am an unapologetic hunter, particularly an avid waterfowl hunter, so my background differs from many who appreciate cranes in Nebraska and beyond. The same skills that made me a successful hunter also helped me capture one of nature's most elusive birds. However, cranes differ significantly from ducks, and "craniacs" (as I call crane watchers) are a far cry from duck hunters. During my journey with cranes, my perspective as a hunter broadened through interactions with passionate non-hunters who shared my enthusiasm for cranes. Along the way, I made lifelong friends, uncovered scientific discoveries, and built bridges between different groups united by a common goal: conserving the species we all cherish.

Catching wild cranes is challenging, and the endangered status of whooping cranes adds to the difficulty. While juvenile whooping cranes had been successfully captured and marked in the late 1970s by running down flightless young birds on their breeding grounds, no adults from the Aransas-Wood Buffalo population had ever been captured and marked. The initial attempts to capture adults on their wintering grounds in 2009 were laborious, with only one adult and one juvenile successfully fitted with transmitters. The second year yielded only one adult capture. The natural challenges of flooding, food overabundance, and hurricanes always made fieldwork interesting, but after two years of limited success, it was clear a new capture technique was needed. In the winter of 2011-2012, we developed and perfected a method that ensnared the lower leg of targeted birds at baited sites. This setup, triggered remotely, allowed personnel to remain at a safe distance. Combining this mechanically actuated snare with well-hidden trappers and a severe drought that forced whooping cranes to visit inland freshwater ponds, we successfully captured and marked 11 adult cranes in just seven days.

This method has been used successfully for years, with the most recent captures occurring in 2022. Juvenile cranes were also captured and marked on their nesting grounds using techniques similar to those from the 1970s. Ethical researchers must recognize the impact of attaching transmitters or other markers to animals, as these can encumber the animal for much of its life. Our goal was always to minimize potential impacts on whooping cranes, knowing that changes in behavior could affect the data collected and that the transmitter would remain on the bird long after its functional life had ended. Given that similar transmitters had been used on sandhill cranes for years without significant adverse effects, we were as confident as possible embarking on this new endeavor. Nonetheless, marking animals always involves a struggle of conscience.

Wildlife research technologies are often adapted from more profitable human applications. This is true for the advanced tracking technologies used to monitor the Aransas-Wood Buffalo population of whooping cranes. Initially, transmitters mounted on their legs relied on orbiting satellites to collect GPS location data every 4-5 hours and transmit it to earthbound computers every few days. The latest technology leverages the cellular network to collect the same GPS data but transmits it via the cellular system whenever the birds are near cell towers.

This advancement reduces energy consumption, enabling a base GPS collection schedule of every 15 minutes and more intensive data collection (every 10-30 seconds) when the transmitter detects the bird is in flight. Although the sheer volume of data can overwhelm traditional analytical software, the ability to pinpoint a bird's location within 10-15 feet and monitor its behavior in near real-time offers unprecedented insights into how these birds interact with their environment. This data allows us to explore questions such as: How do whooping cranes react to wind turbine facilities during migration? What happens if they encounter a blizzard while migrating to or from their breeding grounds? How are they distributing themselves in response to the encroachment of black mangroves on their wintering grounds?

The data now available can shed light on these and many other questions about whooping cranes. The information is so detailed that it has been used for investigative purposes. For instance, when several whooping cranes were shot in Oklahoma, one of them had an active transmitter. Data from that transmitter helped determine the exact time and location of the crime, aiding in the prosecution of the perpetrators. To date, more than 185 transmitters collecting precise GPS data have been deployed on Aransas-Wood Buffalo whooping cranes, providing unparalleled insight into their annual cycle and behavior.

Reflecting on my time with the great white crane, I realize that capturing adult whooping cranes required tapping into the basic instincts of a human hunter. The skills needed to capture wildlife are similar to those used to harvest animals for sustenance—scouting, tracking, locating natural pinch points, and identifying attractive spots are all critical for success.

I had the extraordinary privilege of spending countless hours among one of our rarest birds in their natural habitats. Few experiences stir the soul more than sitting in a salt marsh before dawn, listening as it comes alive with the rising sun. The trumpeting of whooping crane pairs, families, and groups of subadults seems to greet the sun as they leave their roosting ponds to begin their daily routines. This symphony is occasionally interrupted by the whistles of passing wigeon or the calls of terns and gulls. Observing parents feed a blue crab or wolfberry to their colt, knowing the extensive journey they completed to enjoy such bounty, is a rare privilege. Holding a member of a species once reduced to fewer than 25 individuals is an experience only a handful of people will ever know. Witnessing a magnificent species rebound from the brink of extinction, and knowing that with our help, it may continue to flourish and grow, is something everyone can share and, maybe more importantly, pass on to those who follow in our footsteps.

 

Biologist

Essay | Sara Zimorski

Sweat, blood, and tears. 

The cliché is actually “blood, sweat, and tears,” but in southwest Louisiana, where the heat and humidity can make it feel like summer almost all year round, sweat is a constant. Working with whooping cranes has indeed involved plenty of blood and tears as well, especially in my experience with L7-11, a 13-year-old female whooping crane in the reintroduced nonmigratory population established in Louisiana. She has been the focus of much of our conservation efforts. We've taken blood samples from her to monitor her health, and she's drawn blood from us in her efforts to defend her nest and chicks. Tears have been shed in moments of frustration, disappointment, and deep sadness over the trials she has faced.

In Louisiana, we began with just 10 whooping cranes—juveniles hatched and reared in captivity for release into a state where they hadn't been for more than six decades. They arrived in February 2011, when they were about nine months old, just six weeks after I started my job as a biologist with the Louisiana Department of Wildlife and Fisheries. It was exciting to begin a new job—a new project to restore whooping cranes—but it was also stressful and a lot of hard work.

The goal of the project is to establish a self-sustaining population of approximately 120 cranes, including 30 reproductive pairs, maintained for a decade without additional restocking. This objective is part of the broader recovery goals for the species. Historically there were both resident and migratory whooping cranes in Louisiana, but by March 1950 only one crane remained. Biologists captured that last crane at what would later become the White Lake Wetlands Conservation Area and transported her to the Aransas National Wildlife Refuge, hoping that she would join the small migratory flock there. Louisiana was whooper-less for the next 60 years until the arrival of those first 10 birds in 2011.

 

They were older than we would have preferred, having remained in captivity while final permits and approvals were processed. Soon after their release, a drought began, drying up the marshes. Although some mortalities were expected, the drought and a number of other factors took a severe toll on them. Two cranes were shot, and a third companion disappeared at the same time—likely also shot. Another was found sick and later euthanized. Only minimal remains were recovered for two others who died from unknown causes. By fall, only three of the original 10 survived.

In early December 2011, we received a second cohort of 16 younger juveniles—around six months old, with fully grown wings but still in their brown juvenile plumage. The habitat conditions had improved with the marsh replenished by rain, and we had refined our release strategy based on previous experience. Although we can’t definitively attribute improved survival to specific changes, these cranes fared better. The birds seemed to choose and spend time in more favorable habitats, likely partly due to the improved conditions as well as the adjustments in our protocols, including better visual barriers and reduced disturbance.

Among these new arrivals was L7-11, who would soon become known for her tenacity. After spending the first fall, winter, and spring in the White Lake marsh, she and six others flew north in early July, settling on private property in Avoyelles and Rapides parishes. We established contact with the landowners and kept in touch with them to monitor the birds. In late December 2013, L7-11’s group returned to the White Lake marsh, and she paired with a male, L8-11. Even though the male in a whooping crane pair usually picks and establishes the couple’s territory, she led him back north to Avoyelles Parish, where they settled on a smaller farm owned by the son of one of the original landowners.

L7-11 and L8-11 established their breeding territory and, in late March 2014, became the first whooping cranes to nest and lay eggs in Louisiana since 1939. The landowner was initially curious and slightly concerned about how the cranes might affect his property, but we reassured him that their presence would not negatively impact his operations. With permission, we set up a small blind to monitor the nest in three-hour sessions throughout the day. Unfortunately, their first clutch of eggs did not hatch—the eggs were infertile.

This was disappointing but not unusual, as the birds were young, only three years old, and it was their first nesting attempt. We were pleased when they renested 18 days later, but those eggs were also infertile. The same pattern continued in 2015 and 2016 with four nests and eight eggs, but no successful hatching. In 2017, we decided to try introducing a close-to-hatching egg from captivity to give L7-11 and L8-11 the experience of raising a chick. We had successfully used this approach with a whooping crane pair in Wisconsin that eventually began producing their own fertile eggs.

On April 12, 2017, we approached the nest with a pipped egg, meaning the chick has begun to break through the shell. We had to hold back the defensive parents with brooms while we replaced their eggs with the one that we’d brought. The birds resumed incubation, and the egg successfully hatched the next day. We were thrilled that our plan had worked, and so were the landowner and the farmer of the property, who along with us had grown disappointed with each nesting failure.

Tragically, a few weeks later, torrential rains flooded the farm. The landowner called me, and I knew it wasn’t going to be good news. The adults were calling, flying, and walking around the levees and submerged farm roads, searching for the chick, but it was gone. We felt devastated.

We figured that was it for the year. After all, the pair had sat full-term on a first nest, almost full-term on a second nest, and then they had been raising a chick for two and a half weeks. But we underestimated the persistence and determination of L7-11 and L8-11 because in mid-May they started a third nest. Unfortunately, it wound up failing too.

In July 2018, I received another call from the landowner. Several weeks earlier, when the water was drained from the crawfish fields, the cranes had left his property and moved three miles southwest to a different property. But one of the cranes was back and behaving strangely. It was calling constantly and acting more skittish and nervous than in the past. I checked the GPS transmitter data for the male and saw that it had failed to send data as scheduled that day. The last point from the previous day was in the fields where they had recently been spending time. We investigated and discovered that L8-11 was dead. He had been shot by a farmworker who claimed not to know that he had mistaken the whooping crane for another waterbird eating his crawfish.

I informed the landowner and farmer who had come to know and care for these birds over the past four years and promised to keep them posted as the case was investigated and eventually prosecuted.
Now alone, L7-11 moved south to Jefferson Davis Parish and later paired with a young crane, L11-17. Again, she led her partner to her territory, where they attempted to nest, though it failed. However, when we examined the eggs, we found that one of them had been fertile. L7-11’s persistence continued with her new mate, and they tried for a second time that spring, also unsuccessfully. Rinse and repeat in 2020, and again, there was at least one fertile egg, though none hatched. While the continued lack of success was discouraging, we also now had a bit of hope because at least some of the eggs were fertile.

Mid-February 2021 brought a deep freeze and ice storm that caused the entire flooded crawfish field to freeze solid and resulted in the birds abandoning their nest. Two weeks later, they renested, and a month after that, an aerial survey found L7-11 and her mate had successfully hatched two new chicks!

As that spring progressed and both chicks grew and remained alive, we started to believe L7-11’s determination and fierceness were going to finally pay off. Indeed, it did when both chicks fledged, a rather unusual occurrence for whooping cranes, who most often only succeed in raising a single chick. The following year, L7-11 and L11-17 fledged another single chick, and did the same in 2023.

The landowner, who in the early years, was still working a full-time job, had retired and was spending more time on the property. He became a close partner helping to monitor the birds and sending me text messages and photos almost every week documenting the progress and growth of the chicks and saving us time that could be spent monitoring other pairs and families.

Extraordinarily, L7-11 and L11-17 had fledged 80 percent of the chicks they hatched—four out of five in four years—making them one of the most reproductively successful pairs of cranes in our population. And if that wasn’t enough, after fledging their chick in 2023, they did something that has never been documented before in whooping cranes: they renested.

The chick that had hatched earlier that season, LW3-23, hung around the farm, though separate from its parents for 11 days after the renest began. Unfortunately, the nesting attempt failed, but LW3-23 survived. It was later found with an adopted set of crane parents nine miles northeast on the farm where L7-11 had initially spent her time as a young crane. Of all the directions LW3-23 could have gone when first venturing out on its own, it somehow ended up on that farm, where there happened to be a welcoming pair of adult cranes, and where it was spotted and reported to me by the son of the landowner we’d worked with for so long.

L7-11 and her mate’s success likely springs from an innate instinct, a drive to breed and reproduce, but the truth is many of the pairs in our reintroduced population are not successful for reasons we don’t fully understand, and frankly some don’t seem to really have that drive. So, I can’t help but attribute some of L7-11’s success to her sheer will, her persistence, and her determination. There’s just something a little extra special about L7-11.