By Mary Jewett

Guest Columnist

In 2014, I was excited for a trip to Nebraska, for the sole purpose of experiencing the epic sandhill crane migration. Each year, about 500,000 sandhill cranes gather to rest and fuel up along the Platte River and cornfields outside of Omaha. A friend and I paid to stay in a bird blind on the river overnight, and even rented expensive lenses for our cameras. It was a long, cold night in the bird blind, but I was rewarded with several (hundred) photos and a glimpse of a rare whooping crane. Traveling all the way to Nebraska for a new “life bird” felt like the best decision I’d ever made.

And then fall came, and it turns out that sandhill cranes migrate through, and sometimes breed, right here in our great state of Maine. I had no idea. Since my wonderful trip to the mid-west I have seen cranes in Poland, Auburn, Bridgton, and, most frequently, in Fryeburg. Last year, I saw over 20 in the turf fields off of Fish Street in Fryeburg, strolling around, eating up bugs and getting ready to migrate. 

These are truly incredible birds, standing at about four feet tall, with a six-foot wingspan. They also have this cool trilling call, which wasn’t quite so charming when coming from thousands of beaks, squawking to each other on their pit stop at the Platte. 

Birdwatching is a wonderful hobby, which involves patiently observing our avian friends. Twitching is a different animal altogether. The term originated in Britain, a twitcher being someone who will go to great lengths to see new birds. 

I would say I am 70% birdwatcher and 30% twitcher. Some don’t like the term, but I think it makes perfect sense, as I get pretty twitchy when I see new birds. 

I have had limited success as a twitcher. When reports of a rare bird come through the grapevine, I will occasionally try to see it. Some successes have been a calliope hummingbird in Manchester, New Hampshire, and the very reliable great black hawk in Portland from a couple years ago. The dark side of twitching is that sometimes you fail miserably. I once drove hours to Western Massachusetts in search of a rare European robin-like bird, only to find myself wandering around in the cold, along with dozens of other crazy people on the same mission.

So, I clearly have a passion for birds. Whether I’m traveling thousands of miles, or taking a leisurely walk at the Holt Pond Preserve in Naples, I always have my eyes and ears open.  One of my favorite events here in Maine is the Christmas Bird Count. The CBC gives us an opportunity to track our native birds, those who stay with us during the long Maine winter. Through the CBC participants identify and count our sweet chickadees, titmice, and other resident birds, is a fun way to contribute to decades of data. This information is used to track populations and determine if any species are declining.

Whether you are a casual birdwatcher, or an avid twitcher, the Christmas Bird Count is a great event to take part in. If you are interested in this program please give me a shout: mary@mainelakes.org. We probably won’t see any cranes, but anything is possible!