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Stony Garden

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boulder field at Stony Garden

boulder field at Stony Garden

The request appeared in my junk mail from someone named Anna Mintz. She wanted to interview me about ringing boulder fields in Bucks County, most notably Ringing Rocks County Park, for a Russian television program. Somehow, she had discovered an article I had written about the park years ago.

I tried to discourage her, explaining that I was no expert on ringing boulder fields and that we lived four hours away from Bucks County and five from New York City where she was working. Undeterred, she rounded up a Ukrainian camera man and arrived at a parking area near our private access road in late February. My husband, Bruce, transported them and their equipment up our icy, north-facing hollow road.

Forewarned of their impending arrival, I reviewed my folder of pre-Internet information on ringing boulder fields. Their geological history began approximately 200 million years ago in the early Jurassic Age. Ancient Lake Lockatong had covered most of Bucks County and then had gradually filled with sediments that had hardened into shale. Molten rock within the earth was forced into the shale and hardened into a ledge of olivine diabase rock, sandwiched within the shale. But over the eons, the shale’s upper layer eroded and exposed the diabase. Subsequent severe freezing during the last Ice Age, when glaciers came close to but did not reach Bucks County, causing so-called periglacial conditions, broke the diabase into boulders.

another view of Stony Garden

another view of Stony Garden

Most boulder fields, such as the one at Hickory Run State Park, don’t ring, and researchers puzzled over why only the boulder fields in a thin line from northern Bucks County to nearby Montgomery County outside of Pottstown ring with melodious tones. Those tones inspired Dr. J.J. Ott, back in 1890, accompanied by a brass band, to play several musical selections at Ringing Rocks County Park. Current thinking is that they ring because of the density of the rocks and the high degree of internal stress that occurred when the molten rock came close to the earth’s surface and quickly cooled and solidified.

After cramming that information into my head I googled “ringing boulder fields” to see if there was any new information on them, and I discovered Ringing Rocks County Park was not the largest ringing boulder field in the East. That honor belongs to nearby Stony Garden on State Game Lands 157. According to a Wikipedia article, Stony Garden consists of “a series of disconnected boulder fields extending for almost half a mile,” making it much larger than the eight acre ringing boulder field at the park. It also mentioned a trail that leads into a portion of Stony Garden’s boulder field.

I was determined to explore this place and knowing that my younger brother, Gary, and sister-in-law Barb, who live in south Jersey, enjoy hiking in Bucks County, Bruce and I invited them to join us there last June 9. As it turned out, Gary had had a bad night due to illness, but he urged Barb to go.

Marcia and Barb at the edge of the boulder field

Marcia and Barb at the edge of the boulder field

It was an overcast day, threatening rain, when we met at nearby Nockamixon State Park for a picnic lunch. Afterwards, following a game lands map, we found the parking lot and Stony Garden Trail off Stony Garden Road. Although the trail is only a little less than half a mile long, it had its challenges. It was rocky and wet and we had to crawl over and under several fallen trees and cross a tributary of Haycock Creek. For those reasons, we were glad to be wearing sturdy hiking boots and carrying walking sticks.

It quickly became obvious why this place is called “Stony Garden.” I was reminded of a rock garden, so neatly did the wide variety of wildflowers, ferns and shrubs grow in the soil between the rocks, such as blooming partridgeberry and Indian cucumber-root, the leaves of spring-blooming jack-in-the-pulpit, wild ginger, bellwort, and mayapple and especially the fern rock polypody, which is common in rocky areas. Along the tributary, tall meadow-rue flowered. We found a few spicebushes, a nice maple leaf viburnum, and even a small American chestnut tree.

When we reached the boulder field, Barb and I didn’t feel sure-footed enough to venture out on the boulders so we stayed on its edges tapping on small rocks and making a little “music.” But Bruce climbed out on to the open boulders and made them ring, creating a range of tones by tapping them lightly with a hammer. He quickly found that the best sound came from thin rocks.

Gary and Patrick Myers at-Ringing Rocks County Park

Gary (r) and his son Patrick at Ringing Rocks County Park

Remembering my childhood, more than 60 years ago, I was sorry that Gary couldn’t make it. We had often visited Pottstown’s Ringing Hill Park near the home of my paternal grandparents, and he and my younger sister Linda had leaped fearlessly from rock to rock while I and my youngest brother, Hal, being less surefooted, stayed seated on a boulder at the edge. I knew he would have enjoyed seeing this awesome place and joining Bruce in the middle of the field.

But on our day at Stony Garden, while Bruce made the rocks ring, Barb and I listened to wood thrushes, red-eyed vireos, and ovenbirds singing in the forest of red and black oak, black birch, basswood, American beech and tulip trees surrounding the rocks. We also noticed small weathering potholes in some of the rocks and intense pitting in others, photos of which appear in the Wikipedia article.

Later, we learned that an even larger boulder field existed deep in the forest. Unfortunately, by the time we made our way back to the parking lot, we had no more time to explore the rest of SGL 157. And by then the threatening storm was spitting rain. But all of the game land’s 2000 acres on the northwest slope of Haycock Mountain, including the boulder fields, were obtained by the game commission back in 1920.

According to LMO John Papson, the boulder fields themselves make attractive homes for chipmunks and probably a selection of other rodents. Furthermore, the surrounding rocky terrain does not prevent the deer from using the area, and, in fact, we did see a few tracks in the wet areas. In addition, the game land supports a healthy population of black bears, bobcats, coyotes, red and gray foxes, gray squirrels, and raccoons as well as white-tailed deer. Although there are food plots and some timber cuts, for the most part the forest we saw around the ringing boulder field is typical of the rest of SGL 157.

Marcia, Gary and Barb

Marcia, Gary and Barb at Ricketts Glen State Park

Today people come from Philadelphia and nearby suburbs, Papson told me, to hunt and hike, and they find it difficult to believe that this island of a forested mountain has such a wide variety of wildlife, especially black bears and bobcats, but their presence and other wildlife have been captured on trail cams. Judging from the mature trees growing in the forest, providing ample food for wildlife, SGL 157 should be a great place to hunt. But during the summer, when hunting opportunities are limited, taking your family to climb and ring the rocks should provide precious memories for youngsters, just as it did for me and my three siblings.

In Memoriam: Gary Alan Myers (February 12, 1946-June 24, 2014). He loved to roam the hills and forests of Pennsylvania.

Elk Country Outing

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elk watching the elk watchers

elk watching the elk watchers in Benezette, PA

As soon as we saw a sign telling us we were in Elk Country, five pairs of eyes scanned the landscape for a glimpse of the elusive elk. It was a cold, breezy day in early April and my husband Bruce and I, our son Dave and his English girlfriend, Rachel Rawlins, and our nine-year-old granddaughter, Elanor, were on the Quehanna Highway en route to Benezette, the well-known center of elk activity in Northcentral Pennsylvania.

These elk—Cervus elaphus—are the Rocky Mountain subspecies nelsoni, that were introduced by the Pennsylvania Game Commission between 1916 and 1926 in an area where the last of the canadensis subspecies had been exterminated in 1867 in Pennsylvania. Today our so-called North American elk are considered to be the same species as the Eurasian red deer. To further confuse matters, the European elk is our moose, which is why many biologists prefer the Algonquian name for elk “wapiti” meaning “white rump.” Currently in Pennsylvania there are approximately 900 elk.

Before we reached Benezette we stopped at the Marion Brooks Natural Area—number 3 on the Department of Conservation and Natural Resource’s Elk Scenic Drive map. We wanted to show Rachel the only state natural area named for a woman. As a citizen of nearby Medix, Brooks had been concerned about water quality in her area and helped to establish some of the first strip mine reclamation laws in the commonwealth. This 917-acre natural area is known for having the largest stand of white birches in Pennsylvania.

birch log at Marion Brooks Natural Area

birch log at Marion Brooks Natural Area

After a short walk among the birches, we returned to our car, eager to resume our Elk Country journey. When we reached Benezette, we followed signs through and out of town to Winslow Hill and on to the Elk Country Visitor Center. This impressive, new facility designed, as their website says, “As a place where visitors have an opportunity to see and experience these majestic animals year round in their natural habit” was the result of a public/private partnership between Pennsylvania’s DCNR and the Keystone Elk Country Alliance, a group of donors that included private foundations, most notably the Rocky Mountain Elk Foundation, the Pennsylvania Rocky Mountain Elk Foundation, and the Richard King Mellon Foundation, organizations such as branches of the Safari Club International, and private individuals.

On that cold day, in what is called the Center’s Great Room, a large stone fireplace burned wood and threw out needed warmth. No doubt it was using some of the same trees cut years ago on the property that power the Center’s Austrian-built Bio-Mass Boiler. Large window let in ample light and provide excellent views of the grounds where elk sometimes graze.

The Center’s interpretive and interactive exhibits educate visitors not only about elk but also about the surrounding environment, wildlife conservation, and its green building design. Elanor especially enjoyed the interactive quiz on elk, and the gift shop, where she convinced her grandparents to buy her a nature journal and a 3-D elk book mark. Rachel purchased elk jerky and sausage to take back to her sons in England.

elk browsing

elk browsing

But enough of gift shops and displays. We wanted to see elk. We walked all three observation trails near the Visitor Center and had them to ourselves as sensible folks stayed inside and read about elk instead. We did find several piles of elk scat and tracks, which Rachel photographed, and admired designs lichens made on trees along the trails. Turkey vultures wheeled overhead and a robin ran across the lawn, both signs of spring despite the cold wind and snow pellets in the air.

Next we drove to all the elk viewing sites. Again, there was no sign of elk. By then we were hungry and found a café in Benezette where Rachel and Dave ordered elk burgers. As we lamented the lack of elk, a congenial white-haired gentleman in the next booth told us there were elk in town and gave us precise directions to a back street where they roamed.

At last we started seeing elk. Three sat together in one backyard chewing their cuds. One turned its head and gave us an excellent view. Three more grazed behind the Benezette Winery. Still in their winter coats, they were mostly a study in brown and beige. The tops of their heads were reddish-brown and the dark manes that hung to their chests looked like long shawls had been draped around their necks and shoulders. Their backs were beige and their legs a darker beige.

But Rachel, Dave, and Elanor were particularly fascinated by their light rump patches.

elk butts

elk butts

“Their butts are like targets,” Rachel said.

“They have heart-shaped butts,” Dave added.

“No, valentine butts,” Elanor countered.

Their little white beards were also a source of interest as they flapped about in the wind.

We were content to stay in the car and watch, but a couple at the winery walked toward them which put the elk on alert and as Dave said, “The elk are watching the watchers.” Finally, they ambled off into the woods, joining three elk that had stayed further away from the watchers.

At that point, we felt amply rewarded by our close encounters with these charismatic creatures. Instead of returning home on the Quehanna highway, we decided to follow the Elk Scenic Drive from Benezette to Renovo and then south to Snow Shoe to show Rachel more of the “Pennsylvania Wilds” as the area has been dubbed by the DCNR. And that’s when we really saw elk by the dozens, still in winter herds of both sexes, the larger males having shed their antlers.

waterfall along Elk Scenic Drive, Rt. 555

waterfall along Elk Scenic Drive, Rt. 555

In fields above the highway and beside the Bennett Branch of the Sinnemahoning Creek below the highway, we counted three elk in one field, eight in another, 11 in a third and five more on a field beyond Dent’s Run. Across the Bennett Branch elk grazed in backyards—nine in one yard, three in another. And they varied in color. Some had dark brown bodies and others were beige. Second only to moose in size, elk are five feet at the shoulder. The males or bulls head and body length averages eight feet and the females or cows seven and a half feet. The bulls weigh from 600 to 1,000 pounds and cows 400 to 600 pounds.

During the winter, like the smaller white-tailed deer, they are mostly browsers, feeding on woody stems, but if grasses, sedges, and forbs are available then, they’ll also graze on them. Many fields, especially in the viewing areas—Gilbert Farm or Winslow Hill, Dent’s Run, and Hicks Run—are planted with alfalfa, timothy, clover, and winter wheat.

elk sage

elk sage

Beyond Sinnemahoning, 14 elk and three white-tailed deer grazed on grass along the road, ending our elk-watching for the day. But from Benezette to our last sighting—25 miles in all—we had counted 53 elk, more than enough to convince us that elk are thriving in the Elk Country of Pennsylvania.

Later Rachel, in her inimitable British way, summed up her impression of elk on her Facebook page. “What weird creatures—the shaggy head and neck of a camelid, the beard of a Chinese sage, the body of a horse (with the gait of a rocking horse), the butt of a pig, and the tail of a severely docked dog. But delightful.”

All photos taken on April 5, 2014 by Rachel Rawlins.

FOR MORE INFORMATION: Embedded above is the Pennsylvania Game Commission’s excellent 33-minute video, Pennsylvania Elk: Celebrating 100 Years, which presents not only the history of elk in Pennsylvania, but the PGC’s intense and continuing efforts to revitalize land and water devastated by clearcut logging followed by strip-mining before those strip-mining regulations that Marion Brooks and others fought for were passed in the 1960s. To see the before and after photographs of Winslow Hill, for instance, is to marvel at land reborn through the sweat and toil of many PGC employees and other interested parties.

The Waterfowl Itch

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tundra swans at twilight by Mark Lehigh

Tundra swans (photo: Mark Lehigh, CC licence)

When I hear and see flocks of tundra swans flying northwest in early March, I get what I call the “waterfowl itch.” I want to leave our still brown, gray, and mostly empty mountaintop forest and visit as many lakes as possible to feast my winter-weary eyes on brightly-colored migrating waterfowl. And although, over the years, my husband Bruce and I have visited such places throughout the commonwealth, Yellow Creek State Park remains one of our favorite locales to waterfowl watch.

Of course, if we lived closer to Pymatuning in the northwest or Middle Creek in the southeast, they would be our first choices. But both require long drives and an overnight at our ages. However, Yellow Creek State Park is a little over an hour away and has an excellent Waterfowl Observatory as well as several viewing areas and coves along its southern shore.

Last March, which was much colder than usual, we waited and waited for the lakes to thaw and the waterfowl to head north. Finally, on the last day of the month, it was clear and a cool 34 degrees, so we packed a lunch and armed with our binoculars and scope, we drove to the park.

Fifteen tundra swans sat on the ice sheet along the shore of the lake when we pulled into the park, and even though they were relatively close to us, they remained still as we peered at their white bodies and black bills through our scope. Farther out in the open water we spotted rafts of diving ducks—hooded mergansers, buffleheads, greater scaups, and ring-necked ducks.

Hooded merganser by Rick Leche

Hooded merganser (Rick Leche, CC licence)

The handsome male hooded merganser with his signature fan-shaped white patch on his black puffy head is an uncommon but breeding species in Pennsylvania. Its numbers have been slowly increasing though, according to the Second Atlas of Breeding Birds in Pennsylvania. Kevin Jacobs, who wrote the hooded merganser account, credits the large number of wood duck boxes, especially on state game lands, which hooded mergansers can use for nesting in addition to large trees. He also mentions the importance of suitable wetland habitats being provided for common mergansers courtesy of the increasing number of beavers. In fact, the confirmed number of breeding hooded mergansers in the first Atlas (1983-89) of 42 increased to 127 by the second Atlas (2004-09). But buffleheads, greater scaup, and ring-necked ducks, while seen occasionally during the summer in Pennsylvania, breed farther north and west of the state.

The smaller male bufflehead also has a puffy head with a large white patch, but his body is mostly white in contrast to the black, white, and rusty brown body of the male hooded merganser. The greater scaup male is a study in gray and white with a dark green head, while the ring-necked duck should be called ring-billed because of the white ring near the tip of his mostly gray and black bill. The female ring-necked duck is dark brown in contrast to the male’s mostly black and gray body with a vertical white mark in front of his wing, but she also has a white ring on her bill.

When we drove into the picnic area, few people were about, but a couple hundred dark gray American coots bobbed their heads as they swam in the cove. A member of the Rail family, they rarely nest in Pennsylvania and confirmed breeding coots have decreased from 11 to two in the second Atlas, probably because the state lacks large freshwater marshes with floating aquatic vegetation interspersed with large, open areas of water that breeding coots need.

Greater yellowlegs by Tim Harding

Greater yellowlegs (Tim Harding, CC licence)

At Yellow Creek State Park the wetland rang with red-winged blackbird song and a greater yellowlegs hunted along the shore, deftly catching little fish washed up on the land with its slightly upcurving bill that is longer than its head. This shorebird nests in northern Canada, and I remembered that the last time I had been close to one was a July in Newfoundland where it no doubt was nesting. As it walked on its long, elegant legs it often teetered.

When we took the usual quarter mile walk through the woods to the Waterfowl Observatory, we were surprised by a sign guiding us to a new (to us) Wetland Walkway. There we saw our fifth duck species, a pair of mallards—by far the most common waterfowl in the state and greatly prized by hunters. Altogether, mallards account for more than half Pennsylvania’s annual duck harvest and averages from 60,000 to over 90,000 a year.

As we expected, the Waterfowl Observatory yielded views of rafts of ducks but on that day only off the left side in Grandpap’s Cove. Also as we expected, when I slid open the viewing slats, a cold wind off the lake tore through the observatory, numbing our hands as we held our binoculars or adjusted the scope.

First we identified five canvasbacks, the males’ bright white backs and longer red necks distinguishing them from gray-backed redheads, which we saw later from the beach area. Both are also diving ducks and usually prefer deeper water, but canvasbacks sometimes graze in flooded fields during migration. The area we were looking at from the observatory included a long, grassy, shrubby island in relatively low water.

Female and male northern shoveler by Matthew Paulson

Female and male northern shoveler (Matthew Paulson, CC licence)

The more we looked, the more we saw water birds poking their heads up from behind the grasses and shrubs. We counted five great blue herons standing in a row and dozens of Canada geese calling constantly which were joined by a single tundra swan. Then, at last, we had an excellent view of four male northern shovelers and one female, both sexes sporting their distinctive long, spoon-shaped bills, the female a drab brown, the males with reddish-brown bellies and sides, white breasts, and dark green heads.

Northern shovelers, canvasbacks, and redheads do not breed in Pennsylvania, although the second Atlas reports that a couple records do exist from earlier times for northern shovelers and canvasbacks. Canvasbacks and redheads declined precipitously in the twentieth century because prairie wetlands where they breed were drained. In addition their breeding grounds had droughts and too many ducks were harvested in hunting season, but lately their numbers have rebounded due to conservation efforts on those breeding grounds.

Blue-winged teal by Len Blumin

Blue-winged teal (Len Blumin, CC licence)

When we left the observatory, we returned to the picnic grounds for a late lunch and enjoyed watching the small wetland area along the shore. Three blue-winged teals poked in a puddle and ignored us as we moved close to observe them. The male’s white facial crescent easily identifies him, but both sexes display the large, chalky-blue patch on their forewings that gives them their name. Even though the blue-winged teal is abundant in North America, it has declined as a breeding species in Pennsylvania from 29 confirmed in the first Atlas to 11 in the second. Loss of temporary wetlands in healthy grasslands—their preferred breeding habitat—has been dwindling in Pennsylvania. Other bird species, i.e. northern harriers and spotted sandpipers that breed in the same habitat, are also declining. Still, we always see a pair of blue-winged teals when we visit Yellow Creek State Park.

Near the wetland area swam a raft of common mergansers—males with white bodies, black backs, and dark green heads and the equally striking gray-bodied females, with white breasts and chins and red-crested heads. Common mergansers nest in Pennsylvania especially along forested rivers and their confirmed numbers increased from 119 in the first Atlas to 241 in the second, due to “clean, biologically productive rivers and streams,” Jacobs writes, as well as “forest maturation in Pennsylvania and the resulting increase in large trees…” where they nest.

Altogether, we had long and close looks at 10 duck species as well as the greater yellowlegs, American coots, a belted kingfisher, Canada geese, tundra swans, killdeer, herring gulls, and the great blue herons. As usual, at Yellow Creek State Park I had had a productive day that amply soothed my “waterfowl itch.”


Click on photos to view larger versions on Flickr.

Midwinter Cranes

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Sandhill cranes at SGL 284 in western PA

Sandhill cranes at State Game Lands #284 in western PA (photo by Dave Inman, CC licence)

I never thought I would see sandhill cranes less than 20 miles from my home in central Pennsylvania. Yet there I was last January, sitting in our car with my husband Bruce, watching five sandhill cranes through our scope as they foraged in a small wetland near State College.

When the word went out on January 4 that Alyssia Church had discovered the cranes at Fairbrook Marsh and on nearby farm fields, I was surprised. At first I didn’t bother to check them out, because I am not what is known in birder parlance as a “chaser.”

Then our son Steve called to tell me that he had seen them on the farm field, so the next time we headed for State College, we took an alternate route and located the cranes where Steve had described. But because they were several hundred feet from the country road where we were parked, and we had not brought our scope, we didn’t get a good view of them.

We decided to try again and on a cold, clear January 23, this time armed with our scope, we scanned the field. There was no sign of them. I was not deterred, though, and Bruce drove slowly along the road for a mile or so toward the marsh while I kept a careful watch out the window. Finally, I spotted large gray blobs that looked like rocks out in the marsh behind a clump of beige grasses.

“There they are,” I said as I peered closer through my binoculars.

Sandhill Crane at Middle Creek WMA, eastern PA

Sandhill crane at Middle Creek WMA, eastern PA (Henry T. McLin, CC licence)

We parked in a church parking lot that overlooked the marsh and set up our scope. One head popped up, followed by a second. One of them preened its feathers. Then the pair spread and flapped their wings, a signal for all five to stand up and walk together on their long, elegant legs. At five feet tall they stood out against the marsh grasses, like gray ghosts, as the water in the wetland steamed in the cold. Next they moved to another spot where they were in the open, giving us an excellent view of them.

Repeatedly, they poked their long, pointed bills into the ice-covered marsh in search of food, most likely worms, insects, and even mice. As they foraged, a crane remained on alert and stood on one leg. The five moved together like a team or a single organism. All were clothed in gray feathers with beige highlights and seemed oblivious to the seven degrees temperature as well as to the busy rural roads on three sides of the marsh. Even more surprising was the housing development complete with road, backyards, and a man walking a leashed dog above the marsh and cranes.

We watched the cranes for nearly an hour, moving nearer beside the rural road overlooking the marsh and setting up our scope. But the cranes remained unperturbed as they fed, preened, and occasionally sat back down on the frozen ground.

Later, I learned that sandhill cranes during the winter spend most of their time in so-called maintenance activities—foraging, moving, resting and comfort and that their comfort activities are preening, head rubbing and scratching, and body shaking, although preening is their most common comfort activity. They use an alert investigative posture when inquisitive about something nearby. Adult pairs or family units are especially alert. Since family units stay together from hatch time in summer until the following spring, the five cranes at Fairbrook Marsh appeared to be a mated pair, two offspring, and a second adult.

I probably shouldn’t have been surprised that the eastern greater sandhill cranes (Grus Canadensis tabida), one of six subspecies of sandhill cranes, had finally arrived in our area of central Pennsylvania. After all, they had been overwintering in northwestern Pennsylvania, where a pair first appeared in spring and summer of 1991 in Plain Grove Township, Lawrence County, for two decades. A second pair, or perhaps the same pair, reappeared in northeastern Lawrence and southeastern Mercer counties again in the breeding season in 1992.

Sandhill Cranes on a crisp December Morning by Dave Inman

Sandhill cranes on a crisp December morning, Washington, PA (Dave Inman, CC licence)

The following winter, on January 3, a flock of 25-30 sandhill cranes fed for half an hour on corn in a partially harvested field in Plain Grove Township. This marked the first time a large flock of sandhill cranes had been seen in Pennsylvania. Since then, they’ve been overwintering in northwestern Pennsylvania and, as the flock has increased over the years, in eastern Pennsylvania especially Lancaster and Lebanon counties. Today they have been spotted in 30 counties at all times of the year and breed not only in northwestern Pennsylvania, but in northeastern Sullivan and Bradford counties. Ironically, according to Doug Gross, Endangered and Non-game Bird Section Supervisor for the Game Commission, they have bred in “Crane Swamp” not far from Sullivan County’s breeding area near Dushore. The swamp, though, was named for great blue herons, which are called “blue cranes” by many rural Pennsylvania folks.

The first evidence of breeding sandhill cranes in the Commonwealth was documented on August 4, 1993 when Nancy W. Rodgers and Lois Cooper found the first young crane with its parents off Plain Grove Road in a pasture near large old trees.

“We could see the red on the heads of the two adults and the third one had a rust-colored head with light area above and below the eye. They were feeding as they walked south,” Rodgers wrote in Pennsylvania Birds.

The following day Rodgers discovered them a mile southeast of the first pasture in a field with a stream. She watched as “one adult caught a small animal and slowly killed it by beating it on the ground and stabbing it with its bill. When the animal finally died and lay on the grass, the second adult ate it.”

In all likelihood, the pair with their young had emerged from a nearby wetland where they had built a large nest of surrounding vegetation, which they had collected and tossed over their shoulders to form a mound above standing water, back in April. In it the female had laid two large, light olive-colored eggs speckled with darker brown. Both sexes had shared incubation duties over a 30 day period.

Even though the young can leave the nest eight hours after hatching, usually they wait 24 hours for the first hatched or continue to wait until the second one hatches before moving. Still, they stay well-hidden within a wetland until the young are 90 days old. If the food supply is abundant, two young survive. If not, only one chick does. Both parents care for and feed their offspring.

Sandhill Cranes in grass by Dave Inman

Sandhill cranes in western PA (Dave Inman, CC licence)

Rodgers had calculated that the pair, if they had young, would be emerging from the wetland in early August, and she was right. Over the following years, despite searching, it took until 2009, when Bonnie Dersham, while surveying for Massasauga rattlesnakes on SGL #294 in Mercer County, found a recently hatched crane chick and unhatched egg on a nest on May 5, according to Gene Wilhelm’s account in the definitive Second Atlas of Breeding Birds in Pennsylvania. That same year, in the Pymatuning region, Land Management Group Supervisor Jerry Bish and Northwest Region Land Management Supervisor Jim Donatelli discovered a nest with two two-day-old crane chicks.

With so many bird species declining, the spread of the eastern greater sandhill cranes, which originally bred in nests in Michigan, Minnesota, Wisconsin and southern Ontario, to as far east as Indiana, Ohio, Pennsylvania, and New York state, has been a pleasant surprise, especially since all other crane species, worldwide, are in decline and sometimes number very few birds including our whooping crane.

Doug Gross and other ornithologists attribute their great expansion to more understanding of the importance of wetlands as well as the cranes’ ability to feed on waste grains and whatever small prey is available in their nesting and wintering areas. Most eastern greater sandhill cranes still migrate south in the winter to southern Georgia and central Florida, but, as our wintering cranes have shown, even temperatures far below zero, as we experienced last January, do not faze them. Their sharp beaks repeatedly broke through the ice and their feathers insulated them from the frozen ground they sat and walked on it. This particular little flock left Fairbrook Marsh at the end of January perhaps for warmer climes.

Decades ago Bruce and I had traveled both to Willcox, Arizona and Bosque Del Apache National Wildlife Refuge in New Mexico to watch thousands of wintering sandhill cranes, knowing we would never see this species in Pennsylvania. How wrong we were!

Sandhill Crane over SGL #284 by Dave Inman

Sandhill crane over PA State Game Lands #284 (Dave Inman, CC licence)