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Lesser Sandhill Crane : Dancing Birds Lesser Sandhill Crane Qucillgaq You're wondering about the title, aren't you? Birds don't dance, you say. Well, guess again. The Lesser sandhill crane could compete with the best of you waltzers or Eskimo dancers out there. I had my first introduction to these dancing birds many years ago when my wife and I lived in the Yupik Eskimo village of Hooper Bay. One spring we slogged several miles across the wet tundra over to Kokechik Bay where we set up our tent in the middle of their nesting grounds. We were rewarded for our efforts with a weekend full of the most spirited bird dancing we had ever seen. Later, when I lived in both Scammon Bay and Emmonak, Iwas sometimes lucky enough during a walk to surprise a pair of cranes as they gracefully spread their long rusty gray-brown wings, bowed to one another, then bounced like rubber balls sometimes six feet in the air, all the while joyously uttering loud trumpetlike counterpoint calls that resounded for miles in every direction. It is this characteristic call that gives the bird its Yupik name, "qut’raaq," along the Yukon river, and "qucillgaq,'' in the Hooper Bay-Nunivak Island area. "Lesser sandhill crane" is only the bird's common English name. It also has a name that ornithologists and birders like myself from all over the world use when we get together at international conferences and festivals to discuss and celebrate the enigmatic habits of this amazing creature of the northern tundra. We refer to it as, Grus canadensis,which in Latin translates simply as "Canadian crane." The word "grus" originally derived from its call. In spite of the "Canadian" in its name, the sandhill crane is very much an American. Even those that nest on the Canadian tundra migrate south to spend the long winter months in Texas, New Mexico, Arizona and California. Some even go south of the American border and probably return with a Mexican accent. Whatever its nationality or language idiosyncrasies, the sandhill crane is a fascinating animal. It is one of 15 similar species worldwide of the bird family Gruidae, and one of two native species in North America. The other is the whooping crane, which is among the most endangered species on our planet. Besides their dramatic and graceful courtship dances, there are other things about sandhills that make them unique among birds. For one, their family, Gruidae, has a very long lineage, dating back to the Eocene Period, 40-60 million years ago. They are among the tallest birds in the world, and when they migrate they sometimes fly at an elevation of more than 10,000 feet. They are also among the longest living animals, one having lived to the ripe old age of 61 in the National Zoo in Washington, D.C. With their long spindly legs, they walk great distances when feeding, and have an immensely varied diet, which includes roots, tubers, seeds, grains, berries, mice, lemmings, small birds, snakes, lizards, frogs, crayfish, earthworms, crickets, grasshoppers, beetles, ad nauseum. In between dancing and eating, both the female sandhill crane and her loyal consort build a moundlike nest out of marsh plants, grasses and other organic materials (no plastic, thanks). This perch may end up to be 4-5 feet across, and soon has 1-3 large olive colored eggs spotted with lavender and brown. Both mom and pop incubate the eggs, in turns, which is certainly unique among birds. The eggs hatch in 28-30 days, and the young first fly about 90 days after hatching. That's why you see them wandering around the tundra for so long with their parents. Size has its disadvantages, especially when there are hunters lurking nearby. It's curious that even after the cranes return in the spring, the young continue to hang around their parents' nesting ground. I often saw gangly teenagers strutting awkwardly back and forth, probably wondering what their next move should be. Very quickly the parents decide for them as they unceremoniously chase their progeny off so they can get down to the business of setting up house for yet another season. While living in the lower Yukon River village of Marshall, I didn't see the cranes dance like I did down on the coast because few of them actually nested in the immediate area. In the fall, however, I saw a lot of other interesting crane behavior, since more than a hundred of them converged on the tundra near the village to graze and gorge themselves on the many blueberries and blackberries there. The cranes grew so accustomed to me picking with them, I became privy to some very intimate scenes. A number of years ago, I watched an Eskimo dance I will never forget. Leota Hill from Hooper Bay performed her crane dance for us at the Marshall School. She did it so well that, in my mind's eye, I could visualize those cranes dancing down there next to Kokechik Bay. First, spreading their wings, then bowing to each other, suddenly bouncing like rubber balls high into the air, and landing light as a feather next to each other - beginning once again another cycle of Mother Nature's ever renewing miracle. » List of Yupik Birds Keyword(s): crane

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