Nebraskaland

66 Nebraskaland • January-February 2026 By Jeffrey Z. Carney SHARING THE MIGRATION WITH FAMILY Experiencing Nebraska's sandhill crane migration has been on the "bucket list" of my brother-in-law and sister-in- law, Jeff and Judy Willour of Omaha, for decades. After spending most of March 2025 hosting migration photography workshops at the Crane Trust near Alda, I extended my stay another night so I could share one of nature's greatest spectacles with them. This trip was going to be emotional for many reasons. The biggest? Judy is living with multiple myeloma, a blood cancer. "After my diagnosis," Judy said, "I decided to live my life in the present, in nature, and with family. That's very important to me." Our evening in a blind along the banks of the Platte River started slowly. It was frustratingly slow. There were no cranes for more than two hours. The sun was setting fast. I was beginning to wonder if the area's record migration — about 1 million migrated through the 80-mile stretch of river on their journey north this season — was going to elude us. It was late March after all, and a strong south wind would push the remaining cranes out of the area. Despite the record numbers, Jeff recalls me lowering our expectations. "Sometimes the cranes just do not cooperate," I had told them. Then, suddenly, the power and emotion of nature were on full display. Small groups of cranes began to appear from all directions. They were returning to the river for the night after feeding in nearby cornfields. Their calls were deafening. The sky and river sandbars were becoming crowded. Of course, from a photographer's perspective, all of this had to happen after the sun had set. Fortunately, the clouds and reflections of blue hour light provided a beautiful backdrop for a few, fleeting moments. I had my camera equipment with me to document the evening. But this night was different. I put down my long telephoto and picked up a 35mm wide-angle lens to try and capture the moment we were all witnessing. It was a scene I had not experienced during other migrations. The roost had literally grown to the point that the cranes were about 10 feet from our blind. As if the evening needed any more drama, we had to crawl out of the blind in total darkness so we didn't disturb the cranes. It was a long, quiet walk back to the truck. Once in the cab, we smiled, hugged and shed a few more tears. "I brought my binoculars and a spotting scope with me," Jeff said. "But I quickly knew I had to put all of that down and live in the moment. The sounds. The smells. It was amazing. Like nothing I'd ever experienced." Then, nature intervened again. By the next afternoon, most of the area's cranes were gone. A strong south wind blew through the Platte River Valley, sending most of the cranes on their way north. But through our photographs and shared memories, the evening lives on for our family. THE LAST STOP A lone sandhill crane flies above the Platte River, providing one final memory for a family in a viewing blind. @CARNEYPHOTOGRAPHY1

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