My patients, My life

     I remember to this very day when I first discovered the Whooping Crane.  My third grade teacher, Mrs. Carter, handed us a copy of The Weekly Reader to peruse and discuss. On the front cover stood, in all it’s majesty, an exotic and beautiful bird with, what I thought at the time,  to be a most ungainly name.  A Whooping Crane. 

      I remember looking carefully at the picture of such a giant bird with such striking color pattern. It was long and graceful, snow white, black wingtips and with a really neat little red cap and mask.  I was anxious to learn more about such a bird and I did.

     That day was over fifty years ago.  It was a memorable day, not only because I met the Whooping Crane, but I met something much larger.  The weekly reader was using the near extinction of such a beautiful animal to teach tender young minds the perils of mankind’s impact upon the creatures with whom we share this planet.

        I learned that we were studying them to try to learn more about them and the reasons for the population decline to a critical point.  I learned that we had killed them for sport and curiosity. In addition, man was also complicit in the disruption of the nesting habits of these birds.  I was left with the sobering impression that there was a good chance I would never actually get to see a Whooping Crane. Indeed, like the Passenger Pigeon and the Ivory Billed Woodpecker, I might be obliged to remember them only with photographs. I recall with crystal clarity the uneasy feeling that I associated with that notion. 

       During the Fall of 2007 when Melody and I were in school to become Certified Green Guides, we met Robin Will who was then the manager of our “back yard”.  I say “back yard” with great pride because as I step over the fence at the southern border of our little farm, I step onto the stunningly beautiful St. Marks National Wildlife Refuge.  The 68,000 acre refuge that controls most of the shoreline spanning 3 counties is to ecosystem conservation and management what butter is to a biscuit. 

     Robin explained the mission of Operation Migration and the terrible tragedy of the previous year where the entire class of that year’s young birds were killed at another refuge in a freak storm.  In an effort to mitigate the chance of recurrence, the flock was to be divided and half the birds might be coming to St. Marks for the winterof ‘08-’09.  A giddy little kid ran through my thoughts when I heard that.  How cool, we thought, just to know that our refuge could play a small part in the future survival of this species. We and so many, many other “green freaks” in our community have been swelled with pride and awe ever since.

    For a detailed description of the mission and folks at Operation Migration, I strongly encourage you to visit their wonderful website at Operationmigration.org. 

      Most everyone is aware of the efforts to restore population levels of endangered waterfowl species by hand rearing and teaching them migratory skills and guiding them overland with the aid of ultralite aircraft.  The birds are imprinted and trained to follow the aircraft as it would a parent, from it’s nesting site in the north to the wintering grounds, often thousand of miles south.

     As a pilot, I have been fascinated by the program and the dedication of the people who make it possible, especially the pilots.  These guys are literally out there with the birds.  No cozy cockpit, not even a windshield.  There were flights where the temperature was 9 degrees and I suppose there is no need to remind you of the wind chill in an aircraft with no windshield.  The birds form up off the wing of the plane and follow along in the comfortable vortex of air off the wingtip.  Mile after mile, day after day they continue the trip from Wisconsin to the marsh of St. Marks.

    Upon their arrival in St. Marks there was planned a flyover at the historic Fort San Marcos.  There were an estimated  2,000 people there at daybreak on January 17 to witness this historic moment. The temperature that morning hovered in the low twenties – bitter cold in this part of the country.  I had so many great friends in that anxious crowd, tingling with anticipation of the flyover.  Unfortunately, I was not.  That was the first day of the North American Veterinary Conference in Orlando and I was committed to be there.  I knew I would get a double load of grief from all who knew how bad I wanted to be at the flyover and noticed that Melody was there without me.

      I am told that it was indeed, a very moving moment when the formation of seven young Whooping Cranes, off the wing of the little plane, appeared out of the glare of the sunrise.  All who were there described the palpable sense of awe in the crowd.  No rousing ovation, just reverent appreciation of the significance of the moment.  I hate the fact that I missed it.

      However, fortune smiled upon me last week.  It was my great pleasure to meet Dr. Scott Terrell, a veterinary pathologist from the Disney organization and Brooke Pennypacker, one of the pilots for Operation Migration and team member Bev Paulan.  Scott and Brooke were manning a booth and doing P.R. work for the project at the St. Marks Wildlife Festival.  I suppose my enthusiasm was a bit obvious as I mined for their personal insight and experiences with the birds.  The next day, Scott stopped by the clinic to inform me that Melody and I had an invitation to visit the blind that overlooks the bird’s home pen in the expansive marshland of St. Marks.

     I leaped at the chance to visit the blind, unable to hide my joy.  But my great fortune was not over. That afternoon after a long hike through the forest by the marsh we approached the blind to find that, for the first time, all seven of the birds were feeding through the marsh grass about 40 feet in front of the blind. 

     The photos that I was able to get, secreted from view of the birds, are those attached to this entry.  I feel so privileged to be one of the few people who has been able to actually see a Whooping Crane.  And to be able to be almost eye to eye with seven of them is too much to describe.   I am glad that through my blog I can share my experience with you. It is with the kind permission of my new friends at Operation Migration.  

     From that first encounter with the Whooping Crane in my Weekly Reader to that magic moment when we finally met, there have been many great moments in my life.  Now, there is one more.  Thank you Scott, Bev and Brooke for your part in making it possible.  Long live those beautiful birds!