Sandhill cranes make their annual short and noisy Delta Junction stopover

The sandhill cranes have returned to Delta Junction.

Some 200,000 cranes pass through Delta Junction each year on their way to nesting grounds in western and northern Alaska.

Everyone in the small town of Delta is aware when the cranes come through. It's a sure sign of spring.

Crane migration lags behind the first swans and geese by three weeks. The snow is always gone from the fields, providing some residual grain to pick, but the spring stopover in Delta is brief for these birds. Many of these migrants continue on to their breeding grounds in eastern Siberia.

Sandhill cranes are among Alaska's largest and most outspoken birds. With vocal cords like a saxophone, they can be heard for more than a mile.

Cranes sound out overhead near Delta Junction for a week each spring — and then they are gone.

Most of the high-flying birds winter in Florida, Texas, Utah and northern Mexico before gathering on the Platte River in Nebraska in preparation for migration. A few also winter in central California.

The California population was almost wiped out but is now recovering due to better crop management and restoration of wetlands.

Cranes can live a long time – 15 to 18 years is common in the wild. They return to the same nesting locations each year and mate for life. Should one of the pair die, the remaining bird will take another mate.

Cranes lay a couple of eggs, which they incubate for a month before the chicks hatch. Baby cranes are active from birth and have a good survival rate for a large bird. Nearly half of the young make it through the first year.

The male doesn't help with incubation but guards the nest and chicks. With a wingspan of nearly six feet and a body weight of 10 pounds, they can be a formidable force.

A sharp beak and an intimidating hiss can also put off many dogs. There are more than a few die-hard hunters who won't send their valued bird dog on a crane retrieve. One hunter in Delta told me a crane backed into a burn pile stood off his yellow lab and put the dog off of cranes and geese for the rest of her career.

A few seasons ago one of my German shepherds picked up birds for a half-dozen other hunters who had cranes down. A flock of a couple thousand birds had jumped from a barley field that was surrounded by waiting huntsmen. There were two other dogs in the mix, but neither would tackle a crane that was still moving. Kip, who had good size and weight, was not so reticent and made more than a dozen retrieves.

Alaska is among about a dozen states that allow hunters opportunities to harvest sandhill cranes.

Cranes were never an important food source for indigenous peoples. It took a skillful hunter to get close enough to the wary crane to kill one with a bow. That's probably the reason they were a taboo food for some of the northern Athabascan tribes — they just couldn't get close enough to hit them. It took me a couple years to figure out how to successfully hunt cranes, and I carry a 12 gauge.

Should you be the fortunate hunter who takes a crane, preparing them to achieve an edible state will be your next challenge.

Cranes don't pluck. Especially the young squeakers that are covered with pin-feathers. But there are several choices for cooking a crane:

— Clean it well, stuff it and wrap in tinfoil with the feathers on. Cook your bird at 350 degrees for two or three hours, depending on size. When the crane comes from the oven, peel off the tinfoil and the feathered skin. This will yield a moist tender bird and the ire of your girlfriend.

— Skin the crane. Put bacon strips on the breast and wrap the entire operation in damp paper towels. Tinfoil then goes over the paper towels. The bird then goes in the oven at 350 for a couple of hours, depending on the size of the bird. The towels work as replacement feathers, and the bacon keeps the paper from sticking to the bird.

— Skin your bird, disassemble it and put it in a crock pot with cream of celery soup for a base.

However you enjoy sandhill cranes — eating them, watching them or just closing your eyes and listening to them — I am with you. They are one of my favorite birds.

John Schandelmeier is a lifelong Alaskan who lives near Paxson with his family. He's a Bristol Bay commercial fisherman and a two-time winner of the Yukon Quest.