The Whooping Cranes fixed my attention and I, 



an old hunter, 

 Told you their history, how they were nearing 



extinction, 

 How years ago I had seen them blithely 



winging their way 



Against the steel blue heaven of South Dakota 

 And heard them trumpet in triumph when they had 



conquered the sky. 



EUGENE MURPHEY * 



V * On the migration battlefront 



When April comes to the Aransas salt flats, that tiny pinpoint 

 of space in a big country where the last flock of whooping cranes 

 winter, their preparations for departure are virtually completed. 

 As early as the last of February or sometime in March a break- 

 down in the strict territorial setup may be noted. Pairs and fam- 

 ilies flew into areas outside their particular kingdoms more often, to 

 feed in burns on the higher ground, for example, and once, in 

 March, the Slough Family, after feeding on a burn a couple of 

 miles from their usual abode, returned there by flapping several 

 hundred feet into the air and soaring in wide circles and great 

 sweeping spirals, as if testing the joys of flight that were soon to 

 come. Again, at the end of my second winter, on April 17, as I 

 was driving along East Shore Road near Carlos Field, I saw four 

 whoopers circling and soaring at about 1,000 feet. I thought at 

 once that I was about to witness an actual migration take-off, and 

 indeed, one of the four birds kept pulling out of the circle and 

 * "The Whooping Crane." 



60 



