Japan

A striking assemblage of wildlife takes place each year in Japan. Who'd of thunk it? The spectacle occurs only in winter and only on the far northern island of Hokkaido. Planeloads of visitors fly each season from the far reaches of the planet, then board buses and trains to scattered refuges on this least settled of Japan's main islands. Here, in this single imposing season, gather Steller's sea eagles (photo above), whooper swans, and red crowned cranes. All three are rare, having been hunted to the brink or evicted from their natural habitats by human pressures. The crane is in the agonal twilight of its existence and survives only through the last ditch efforts of a few local wildlife heroes.

My January flight took me 14 hours from Atlanta to Tokyo. We flew, not in a straight line, but an arc across the frozen north of Canada, Alaska, and finally eastern Siberia to our destination. There I joined a gaggle of bird watchers and photographers and we headed north to Kushiro, land of the red crowned crane, or tancho, as the Japanese say.

The field is snow white bordered by woods of nearly blue evergreen. The regal cranes cluster in the wide open space, nearly a hundred of them. White tailed eagles, red fox, and whooper swans patrol, waiting to pilfer the fare of fish and corn provided the cranes by local farmers.

Thought to be extinct at the turn of last century, a few of the birds were "rediscovered" in 1924 to much national fanfare. It was at this time that the farmers took an interest and began the charity that has certainly revived the species, at least for now.

Across the way a few of the cranes strut across the field showing their colors. Others stand in pairs and point bills skyward, in tandem, to trumpet a shrill cry that carries far in the razor quiet of winter. One rustles its wings and arches its back in a display meant to disburse the competition. It fails. There is food to be had. A triplet of cranes descends on motionless wings from a roost in the nearby wood. They touch down deftly and begin to pluck at the scattered corn.

Those of us pressed against the rail, smiles wide and cameras in hand, are grateful to have this season with the cranes, perhaps gathered here for a final curtain call. (Next photo)

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A striking assemblage of wildlife takes place each year in Japan. Who'd of thunk it? The spectacle occurs only in winter and only on the far northern island of Hokkaido. Planeloads of visitors fly each season from the far reaches of the planet, then board buses and trains to scattered refuges on this least settled of Japan's main islands. Here, in this single imposing season, gather Steller's sea eagles (photo above), whooper swans, and red crowned cranes. All three are rare, having been hunted to the brink or evicted from their natural habitats by human pressures. The crane is in the agonal twilight of its existence and survives only through the last ditch efforts of a few local wildlife heroes. My January flight took me 14 hours from Atlanta to Tokyo. We flew, not in a straight line, but an arc across the frozen north of Canada, Alaska, and finally eastern Siberia to our destination. There I joined a gaggle of bird watchers and photographers and we headed north to Kushiro, land of the red crowned crane, or tancho, as the Japanese say. The field is snow white bordered by woods of nearly blue evergreen. The regal cranes cluster in the wide open space, nearly a hundred of them. White tailed eagles, red fox, and whooper swans patrol, waiting to pilfer the fare of fish and corn provided the cranes by local farmers. Thought to be extinct at the turn of last century, a few of the birds were "rediscovered" in 1924 to much national fanfare. It was at this time that the farmers took an interest and began the charity that has certainly revived the species, at least for now. Across the way a few of the cranes strut across the field showing their colors. Others stand in pairs and point bills skyward, in tandem, to trumpet a shrill cry that carries far in the razor quiet of winter. One rustles its wings and arches its back in a display meant to disburse the competition. It fails. There is food to be had. A triplet of cranes descends on motionless wings from a roost in the nearby wood. They touch down deftly and begin to pluck at the scattered corn. Those of us pressed against the rail, smiles wide and cameras in hand, are grateful to have this season with the cranes, perhaps gathered here for a final curtain call. (Next photo)

© Danny Kimberlin 2015