Back in early February, my wife and I were driving on Interstate 80. We left the motel in central Nebraska before sunrise. Within minutes of our eastbound drive, I started seeing waves of sandhill cranes returning to their spring stopover along the Platte River in Nebraska. I was in awe of these prehistoric-looking birds in flight and, frankly, I was driving while distracted. I have never seen this many birds in fight or on the ground or in trees.
Paul Smith’s article in the March 13 paper about a possible crane hunt in Wisconsin floored me (“ Sandhill crane season has little support ”).
How can we possibly consider hunting these majestic creatures that we just helped save after almost killing them off?
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Every year my wife and I thrill at “our pair” of cranes as they waltz through our yard with their colts. While their squawking can be a little annoying, I prefer it to the sound of gunshots as they begin to get “harvested.”