The days are becoming shorter, and colors on the Copper River Delta are changing. It’s time for a passionate group of locals known as “duck” hunters to head out for the annual migratory bird season.
Actually the name “duck” is a misnomer. These hunters are chasing much more than just ducks. Three types of geese — Canadian, specklebelly, and snow — all migrate through the Delta.
To further confound the picture, one of the most sought after birds isn’t even a waterfowl.
Passing over Cordova in high flying “V’s,” sandhill crane are birds that look like something from a prehistoric era. They have long legs, fierce beaks, wing spans that reach more than six feet, and a strange cry that sends chills down the spine, harkening of some memory deep in our genes.
Crane definitely taste better than they look. They are omnivorous, with seeds, berries and roots common fare, plus corn and wheat grains. They also eat small animals including rodents, snails, frogs, lizards, and nesting birds.
Often flying far out of range, 10- or 12-gauge shotguns with heavy loads are needed to bring them down. Trek with caution when retrieving these big birds. If wounded, they will hiss and strike back with their pointed beak in a coiled attack. Caution with dogs trained as retrievers is highly recommended.
Some of the best luck bagging cranes comes closely before or after bad weather. Crane are not nimble in blustery conditions and often become separated into smaller groups at lower elevations, where they band up with others.
Crane will respond to calls, sometimes being attracted to spreads of realistic looking silhouette decoys. They are also notorious birds of habit, seeming to travel in the same flyway patterns every year. One of those is over the mouth of Mt. Eyak; another is through the gap between Mt. Eccles and Mt. Heney, where they have been known to land and rest after battling stiff southeast winds.
Crane are also quite adept at finding thermals in which to glide and circle to gain altitude in what seems like chaos but is a very organized way to conserve energy.
With all this vast experiential knowledge of crane behavior, one would think I have bagged quite a few crane. Not so. The total can be tallied on both hands.
Part of the reason is where we hunt. Pete Dahl is out of their main flyway. Most of them now go by far offshore.
But the main reason is the fact that crane fly 45-50 miles per hour. They are so darn big they seem to be much closer and slower than they really are.
Dad, my wing shooting mentor, always advised “swing with the bird, don’t point.” Great advice by the cabin fireside. But in the rare moment when a flock of crane is bearing down on you with those huge wings, moving methodically, and a deafening screeching mass almost overhead, I revert to Dad’s real-life manta when a big flock of ducks is descending on our blind: “Shoot! The air’s full of widgeon!”
Followed by, as the flock departs unscathed: “Pick a bird, son, pick a bird.”
Ah Yes. The last crane I bagged landed more than 120 yards away and was the trail end bird in a string of 15.
I was aiming at the lead bird.
And still shaking as it hit the ground with a loud thump.
