America’s Big Bird: The Sandhill Crane

by Linda Stager

The first time you hear a sandhill crane, you’ll say, “What is THAT?” Its rolling, trumpeting call carries across wetlands and farm fields. It is the kind of sound that belongs to another age; it’s haunting and unforgettable.

Standing nearly four feet tall with a wingspan approaching seven feet, the sandhill crane is one of North America’s largest birds. Long legs, a graceful neck, soft gray plumage and a brilliant patch of red atop its head make it unmistakable.
In flight, cranes stretch both their necks and legs straight out, unlike great blue herons, which fly with their necks folded into an S.

For much of Pennsylvania’s history, seeing a sandhill crane was almost unheard of. In fact, early bird books written about the Commonwealth barely mentioned them at all. By the late 1800s and early 1900s, habitat loss and unregulated hunting had reduced crane populations across eastern North America to only a few thousand birds.

Their story could easily have ended there.

Instead, decades of wetland conservation, legal protection and careful wildlife management have produced one of conservation’s great success stories.
Pennsylvania became part of that story in the late 1980s, when scattered sightings began appearing in the northwestern corner of the state. Then, in 1993, biologists documented the Commonwealth’s first confirmed breeding pair in Lawrence County. Even more remarkable, the first photographed nest in Pennsylvania wasn’t discovered until 2009. Since then, cranes have been recorded in more than 30 counties.

The current thought is that as crane numbers recovered in the Great Lakes area, they searched for new places to raise families. When migrants discovered Pennsylvania’s restored marshes and quiet wetlands, they stayed.

Unlike elk or wild turkeys, sandhill cranes have not simply reclaimed a place they recently lost. They are writing an entirely new chapter in Pennsylvania’s natural history.

Cranes are creatures of wetlands. They nest in shallow marshes, sedge meadows and shrub swamps where water helps protect their nests from predators. During the day they often feed in nearby farm fields, probing for seeds, insects, frogs, mice and grain left behind after harvest. They mate for life, and each spring their elaborate courtship dance includes bowing, leaping several feet into the air, tossing sticks and grass, and calling together in perfect unison.

I’ve watched a local sandhill crane pair here in Tioga County now for three years. They migrate here in the spring and work their way to nearby marshes. This year, we were all excited to witness what may be the county’s first documented breeding. The last time I saw them, a tiny tan chick, called a colt, happily flapped its tiny wings while foraging between its towering parents.

The crane family has now been entered into the Third Pennsylvania Bird Atlas, a massive citizen-science initiative, running from 2024 to early 2029, that documents the distribution and breeding status of birds across the state.
And those marshlands? Much of the wetland habitat used by sandhill cranes in Pennsylvania has been protected through the efforts of regional land conservancies, the Pennsylvania Game Commission, and the state’s Department of Conservation and Natural Resources.

Around the world, cranes have inspired stories and symbolism.

Among many Native American tribes, cranes represent wisdom, vigilance, and long life. Some traditions tell of cranes serving as messengers between the earth and the spirit world. Others believed the birds taught people to dance or rewarded patience and perseverance. Because cranes often remain with the same mate throughout their lives, many cultures have also come to see them as symbols of loyalty and enduring family bonds. In Japan, it is revered as a symbol of healing and peace. According to legend, anyone who folds one thousand paper cranes will be granted a wish.

Perhaps it is fitting that so many cultures view cranes as symbols of hope. Their own story reflects exactly that.

Only a few decades ago, few Pennsylvanians had ever seen a sandhill crane. Today, the haunting call of sandhill cranes is becoming part of our state’s natural soundtrack once again. Every pair nesting in a quiet marsh and every family leading rusty-colored colts through the tall grasses reminds us that when habitat is protected and wildlife is given a chance, remarkable recoveries are possible.
The sandhill crane may be America’s big bird, but its greatest achievement isn’t its size. It is its remarkable comeback. After nearly disappearing from much of the East, it has found its way home once again.

About the author: Author Linda Stager lives in Wellsboro and is proud to count the PA Wilds as her home. She is an award-winning author and photographer. She is also an accomplished birder, thanks to her friends and mentors from several local Audubon groups.

All photos by the author.