Whooping cranes set to soar home
Birds, nature tourism are key to South Texas 2½ years after Harvey
ARANSAS COUNTY — Leery of a small crowd of observers, a whooping crane extends her wings, then her mate does the same. The effect at 30 yards swarms the senses: 7 feet of bright white wingspan unfurls like a bedsheet blowing from a clothesline — times two. The birds take flight with a visceral whoosh.
These are quintessential rara
avis, rare birds, two in a flock of around 500. Eighty years ago, these very vocal birds nearly whispered their way to extinction, numbering about 15 before conservation efforts pulled the whooping crane back from the brink. The whooping crane has since become an international draw between November and March, when the bird winters in Texas. In addition to a festival that draws nearly 1,000 people each year, there are independent birders who travel from thousands of miles away to set eyes upon this
gorgeous bird.
Concerted efforts have established whooping crane populations in Louisiana and Florida. But the whooping cranes nesting in Aransas County represent the largest cohort in the world, descended from that original decimated population from decades ago. The whooping crane is far from safe, but its ranks have steadily grown over decades. More than 800 are around now, including those in captivity.
The two mates flap north from Fourth Street in Lamar, 10 miles north of Rockport, toward the salt flats on private land thousands of yards away. The flight for them is a short one compared to what comes at the end of this month when around 500 whooping cranes start their migration back to Wood Buffalo National Park in Northern Alberta, Canada. Their destination is more than 2,000 miles to the north, where they will reside until returning to Texas in November.
With each departure comes reflection on the animal’s fraught past and excitement at its hale present. Results from the winter abundance survey have not been analyzed and released yet, but Wade Harrell, the whooping crane recovery coordinator at the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service, doesn’t anticipate any problematic news. “The trend we’ve been seeing the last several years continues to hold true,” he says. “The population continues to be on a slow increasing trend in terms of size.”
Harrell suggests challenges as the flock grows. Once near extinction, the population of the largest bird in North America is growing steadily at about 4 to 5 percent each year. Harrell says territorial pairs of birds might stake out a space of up to 400 acres of marsh for feeding.
“These birds need quite a bit of space for their winter homes here,” Harrell says. “So as the population grows, they’ve found new houses, so to speak, up the coast.”
They’ve nearly reached spatial capacity on the Aransas National Wildlife Refuge. Harrell says the majority of the birds have nudged northward, but a few have been spotted at Charlie’s Pasture, a preserve in Port Aransas, which has excited locals there since Port Aransas hosts the annual Whooping Crane Festival in February.
This sliver of coast is enjoying some of the fruits of its conservation and branding efforts with the Great Texas Coastal Birding Trail. Birders from Maine and New Hampshire traveled to the region — Port Aransas, Rockport, Fulton and Lamar — specifically for birding.
And while the whooping crane is the star attraction, the region offers bountiful birds to observe, nearly 400 species: little blue herons and great blue herons, great egrets and snowy egrets, long- and short-billed dowitchers and the unfortunately named least grebe.
Nature tourism has been part of a coastal community’s long path toward normalcy two and a half years after Hurricane Harvey leveled the region. A hard-hit region
Businesses and homes in Rockport and Fulton slowly returned after the storm. The beloved Boiling Pot restaurant is back to dumping shrimp, crab, sausage, potatoes and ears of corn directly onto the table for patrons to pluck. But other parts of the region are hurting still.
Stephen Fisher, a local birder and photographer, says things on the surface look good.
“Look a little closer, you see homes without roofs, you see piles of wood from trees that were killed — and these were trees that had grown over hundreds of years,” he says. “And think about the people here: winds at 150 mph for hours. This area is still hurting.”
Fisher is a fine example of how quickly Rockport can absorb a person. A Vietnam vet with shoulder-length silver hair and endless energy, Fisher says he “was living on a boat in the Bahamas” when he got a call from the woman who is now his wife. She was sitting on a porch looking at a whooping crane — the striking 5-foot bird with a distinctive guttural honk. She thought he’d be happy there. So Fisher ditched the boat and moved to Rockport, where he’s lived 20 years. He bought a camera and then a better camera, and now teaches photography classes. His favorite thing to do is sit alone with a camera and binoculars and let nature run its course.
“I used to golf and have a life,” he says. “Now all I want to do is take photographs of birds and nature. I love it here.”
He spots a few whooping cranes at Johnson Ranch, a 700acre piece of land owned by friends of his. They’re a year or two old and unpaired, thus, less territorial. Then farther away he spots a trio, including a colt, its plumage a gorgeous mix of white and rust.
Like others in the area, Fisher says the birding and fishing have helped, as they draw weekend sportsmen with their rods and reels, as well as camera-carrying photographers.
One local says trying to find the birds is a little like trying to find a gun show: “You find the gun show by following the guns,” she says. “For the birds, follow the people with cameras the size of guns.”
Sure enough, a long camera led to the whooping cranes off Fourth Street. Sue Keefer, who volunteers at various wildlife refugees between Rockport and her home in Maine, rode up on a bicycle as a small crowd began to gather. She mentions that she’d seen a wagtail, a small Alaskan bird. A sighting so far afield is quite rare, according to the Texas Rare Bird Alert, which tracks various (rare) bird activity.
“I can’t get wound up about that,” another birder says before turning back to his camera. Generally, though, the mood among the birders is more welcoming. Back from 15
The whooping crane’s crash came about 80 years ago. Excessive hunting and diminishment of its natural habitat took the population down to an estimated 15 that wintered in this region in 1941, before a concerted effort was made to protect the bird.
“It’s pretty incredible to think about that number,” Harrell says. “Consider, you’re talking about World War II, all these other things going on. Nobody would’ve taken that bet, that this species would make it. It was a pretty long bet. But it’s a resilient bird, and a lot of organizations got involved early on: Audubon, the International
Crane Foundation.”
Harrell is something of a rare bird at the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service. He says “not many of us are tied to one species. It’s more the flagship, charismatic species.”
Grizzly bears and California condors are such charismatic species, as is the whooping crane.
Harrell says “the unique biology of the whooping crane is something people love about it.” The birds generally pair early and are connected to their mates for life. Those lives can span more than 30 years. Both birds are involved in incubation duties; both are involved in rearing the young. Generally, a young crane will stay with its parents almost a full year, allowing it to learn migration and feeding habits.
Harrell’s job is to connect conservation efforts — both in the region and in Canada — for the bird.
He says he saw a lot of dead birds after Harvey hit the coast, but the whooping cranes were safely settled in Canada at the time. Harrell says a storm such as Harvey can be like a wildfire: devastating to human communities, but capable of renewing natural habitats. Midcoast fishermen told him the first two years after Harvey were bountiful. He says droughts are tougher on the wildlife but easier on the residents.
Sheri Johnson of the Port Aransas Tourism Bureau says tourism is booming on the island and has been since the area began its poststorm recovery.
“I think folks want to help support small town USA recover,” she says.
So the whooping crane gently flourishes while the region continues to rebuild. Its spirit certainly doesn’t feel broken: flyers and billboards try to lure visitors for all sorts of entertainment and recreation. Last weekend, the Fulton Oyster Festival opened with fireworks that brilliantly lit up Aransas Bay. And the Whooping Crane Festival drew about 850 paid attendees from 33 states and two countries in February. The event hopes to grow next year when it celebrates its 25th anniversary. The festival opens its doors wide, seeking to draw birders, nature photographers and tourists interested in nature.
Another good sign for the Rockport/Fulton area: Boat tours were sold out a day or two in advance. Locals recommend boats as one of the better ways to see the whooping cranes, since so many of the birds station themselves on private land.
“Even in a boat, it’s tough getting close,” Harrell says. “They are wary birds.”
Some follow social media looking for tips on where to find whooping cranes foraging wolfberries or digging for blue crabs from the marsh. Others look for those with large cameras. Steve and Sally Barker, visiting from New Hampshire, point out a flycatcher on a post. Told about the pair of whooping cranes, they head toward Fourth Street. Moments later, four whooping cranes fly overhead — easy to spot by their wing tips, which look dipped in India ink.
They pass over the twisting, beloved 1,000-year-old coastal oak in Lamar known as the Big Tree, which, like the region and the birds, has seen difficult days and endured.