36 On the trail of vanishing birds 



most prominent wall in his establishment and yanked down the 

 large reproduction of Judge Roy Bean holding court west of the 

 Pecos, a beer advertisement that is justly famous throughout the 

 Lone Star State. In its place he hung the portrait of the two 

 whooping cranes and, as far as I know, there it reposes, in that 

 place of honor, to this day. 



You must understand that it took several months one entire 

 winter season and an absence of some months more in the North 

 to get to this point, even with such a genial character as Cap 

 Daniel. And with all of the other characters, some of them less 

 genial, who made up the human elements of the whooping crane's 

 winter environment. You can be sure that it wasn't easy it never 

 is but getting people lined up and in a sympathetic and coop- 

 erative frame of mind is vitally important on any job. There is 

 no need to go into it to any extent, but when my family and I 

 arrived in Texas in November, 1946, we found ourselves in a 

 hostile camp. We were "outsiders," and therefore we were ex- 

 pected to be foolishly impractical and naively critical. Further- 

 more, we couldn't possibly know anything at all about whooping 

 cranes. This last I was so willing to admit, right at the start, that 

 it was relatively easy to enlist nearly everyone's help in learning 

 all there was to know about them. We began with a clean slate, 

 which is a very good way to begin. I find that my first field notes 

 read as follows: "Two adult wh. cranes on wet mud flat in Redfish 

 Slough. Fed a little and rested, preening. l / 2 to % mi. distant from 

 our position on dyke." What could I learn about them and their 

 existence? My job was to dig into their lives as deeply as possible 

 and come up with some answers that would assure their survival. 



I remember that those first two birds seemed very far away 

 "% to % m i- distant" but not only in a physical sense. Their 

 arrogant bearing, the trim of their sails, as it were, would intimi- 

 date the most brash investigator. I reached our cabin that first 

 night feeling very humble and not too happy. And that, also, is a 

 very good way to begin. 



It was in October, 1946, that I was asked to take over the 

 whooping-crane investigation. I shut up my house on the Florida 

 Keys, packed my family, bag and baggage, into a car and luggage 



