A Warm Spot for Cranes

KUSHIRO, Japan —  Japan is a land endowed with natural treasures, few of which are seen by foreign visitors, who usually stay close to the Tokyo-Kyoto-Osaka tourism circuit. That’s a shame, because the essence of Japan is not to be found in its big cities.

I was fortunate, in my six years living and teaching in Japan, to visit many unique places. One of them, which is fast becoming known among naturalists around the world, is the crane preserve on the northern island of Hokkaido.

While winter sports enthusiasts flock to Sapporo, on the west side of the island (locale of the 1972 Winter Olympics), the beautiful birds winter in the marshlands on the island’s rural east coast.

The first time I saw the cranes, tears came to my eyes--and froze. A Hokkaido winter morning is not the place to get sentimental. But the mesmerizing dance of these gorgeous creatures--also known as ballerina cranes--is otherworldly, a sight not to be forgotten.

Of the 15 species of cranes in the world, tancho-tsuru, the red-crested white crane, is one of only three that are white (the other two are the Siberian white crane and the North American whooping crane). The Japanese crane might very well be the most beautiful: The contrast between its red crown and black wings and neck against the snow is a photographer’s dream--and challenge.

I succumbed a year ago February. My six years as a teacher of French to college students in Sendai was drawing to an end, and I could not leave Japan without seeing the cranes.

When one of my students, an ecology major, heard of my interest, she asked to come along. (Although I can make myself understood in Japanese, her presence was welcome.) We flew from Tokyo to Kushiro and rented a car for a week of touring the countryside.

The best viewing of the cranes is in Kushiro Shitsugen National Park, and the best time is at dawn. So we made arrangements to stay at a guest house in the nearby little village of Tsuruimura--literally “village of the cranes.” It was a lucky choice, for living next door was the elderly woman known as “the crane lady.”

You can’t miss Tome Watanabe’s house: It’s the one with about 200 cranes in the back yard. Twice a day, all winter long, rain or snow, she comes out to feed the birds, throwing corn into the air, making a singsong sound accompanied by a clicking of the tongue.

Fiercely protective of her “children,” she won’t let anybody go near the birds. “This is not a zoo,” she explains, laughing. “I don’t want tame birds.”

Japanese cranes came very close to extinction. They once roamed freely all over the country, but in the 1950s only 20 could be found, in the remote north of Hokkaido.

The cranes mate for life, and their images have long been embroidered on wedding kimonos to symbolize a happy, long and faithful union.

They also have long been the national symbol of Japan, and between the 12th and 15th centuries, the capturing or killing of a crane was punishable by death. The only exception was the new year’s ritual killing of two cranes, male and female, from which an elixir was made for the emperor. Once the death penalty was abolished at the turn of this century, however, cranes were relentlessly hunted, the more so because their meat was perceived as a delicacy once forbidden to common mortals.

The spread of firearms in the latter half of the 19th century, growing industrialization and, as a final blow, the draining of marshes essential to the cranes’ survival all seemed to seal their fate.

Cranes sleep in river bends. Each night the flock chooses a spot where the current is just swift enough so that it won’t freeze, and not so fast that they will loose their balance, for they sleep on one leg, the other tucked under a wing for warmth. The water also protects them from predators.

For nesting, a pair of cranes needs about four square miles of unspoiled marshland, with its reedy hiding places and abundance of mudfish and insects. Since cranes hatch only one or two eggs a year and will abandon a roosting ground that has been intruded upon, their reproduction is highly precarious.

This is where Tome Watanabe’s story comes in:

In 1952, winter was so cold that for the first time in recorded history, cranes came into human habitats. Two of the birds paced the schoolyard only 500 yards from Watanabe’s house. The proud birds had obviously stooped to beg. Even though the villagers did not have much to spare, they pooled their resources and filled the children’s lunch buckets with corn for the cranes. The teacher made a nature lesson out of the task of keeping the cranes fed, and the children had a happy winter.

Every spring, the cranes left for Siberia, and every winter more cranes came back to the little school. In 1977, however, they came back to an empty yard. Tsuruimura was too small and the children too few to afford a teacher.

From her window, Watanabe could see the white birds and hear their cries. She started feeding them, but the 500 yards became quite a distance in the middle of a blizzard. Inch by inch, winter after winter, she enticed the cranes to come closer to her property. Once they were in her field, though, her problems were not over; the cranes took a liking to her cows’ food.

“The solution hit me like a bolt of lightning,” she recalled. “I sold my cows. It was not the cranes that were eating the cows’ food. It was the other way around. This was their land.”

It was not an easy decision: “Everybody thought I was crazy, even my husband. How was I going to make money with cranes?”

Watanabe has no regret. She says that help came along the way when needed. She has never traveled, but the cranes have brought friends from all over the world to her doorstep. She also will tell you, laughing, that she owes her glowing health to the cranes: “I would probably have Alzheimer’s disease otherwise. They kept me happy.”

In winter the whole area outside the city of Kushiro, from the inhabitants of the little village of Tsuruimura to the farmers, shopkeepers, innkeepers and guides, seems to live by the rhythm of the cranes.

Photographers come from all over the world--some of them winter after winter--and are wonderfully knowledgeable about the best spots to see the cranes glide into a field or take off at dawn and dusk. The reward is seeing the cranes display their talents, especially their mesmerizing dance.

The slightest touch of sun on their wings makes them dance: One will approach another and bow, in the most gracefully polite fashion. The two start dancing in unison and, most often, the dance spreads to the whole flock. Seeing dozens of birds moving as one leaves spectators breathless.

Bills upward and necks stretched, they will also demonstrate their duet-singing skills. They communicate a lot. During the night I could hear their cries from their roosting grounds.

Getting up early--around 4 or 5 a.m.--to find out where the cranes slept that night in order to see them at sunrise is a beautiful adventure. No matter how early I got up, though, photographers were already there ahead of me. They would set up their gear on bridges around the marsh and then step back in silence to wait.

The cold and patient vigil was well worth enduring: A mist lay on the river, taking on the colors of the rising sun. As the mist lifted, a flock of cranes was revealed. Some of them were stretching their wings awake, some were still sleeping, motionless on one leg. Gradually their calls spread, and as the rhythm became rapid, they rose in pairs in a great noise of flapping.

To witness this was breathtaking. No wonder crane-chasing can be addictive.

Marshlands were long looked down on, considered wastelands. Winter in Hokkaido fully reveals their simplicity of beauty and line.

As outsiders’ interest in the fate of the cranes has grown, residents of the Kushiro area have taken an interest in their environment, slowly developing a form of eco-tourism that respects the cranes. There are footpaths through the woods and marshes and rides on sturdy Hokkaido-bred horses.

The care and feeding lavished on cranes attracts many other animals, and it is not rare to see foxes, hawks and eagles in the sanctuaries.

To complete the pleasure of a winter’s day, Hokkaido reveals still another natural treasure: onsen, mineral hot-spring baths. Everyone I met inquired if I’d enjoyed the benefits of a local soaking, or offered to take me to one.

The best onsen, I think, even in winter, are the rotemburos, or outside baths, which are always nestled in lovely natural spots--among cliffs, along rivers or lakes, in forests or next to the ocean.

During my intensive crane-watching, I stayed at a minshuku, or guest house, next door to Watanabe’s house. Minshukus are strictly Japanese style: You sleep on futons in tatami-mat rooms, and meals are simple--miso soup and rice, fish and vegetable tempura.

After my five days of crane-watching, I treated myself to a weekend in an onsen ryokan, similar to a spa hotel, where the rotemburo bath was right at my bedroom doorstep. This was in Akan Kohan, a couple of hours’ drive from Kushiro, where two ryokans and baths overlook Lake Akan-ko and its two majestic mountains. The sulfureous water there is reputed to be good for all kinds of ailments, from rheumatism to skin problems and, when imbibed, diabetes. (I declined to taste it.) The two ryokans, New Akan Hotel and Akanko-so, offer Japanese and Western-style accommodations. In Akan, you can also see an old village and display of craftsmanship of the indigenous (and now almost extinct) Ainu people.

Dinner was served in our room when we returned from our first bath. Being a vegetarian, I didn’t try the deer meat, a reputed regional specialty. But one of the local brands of sake was delicious.

After dinner, I did as the Japanese do, taking one last dip in the bath to enjoy the sky, the moon (or even falling snow) and relax in the hot water one more time before going to sleep.

Snuggling into a futon after the hot bath is another experience one doesn’t forget. Closing my eyes, with cries of cranes still echoing in my ears, I was convinced: Hokkaido is wonderful in winter.

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GUIDEBOOK

Birding in Japan

Getting there: A visitor to Japan would fly to Kushiro from Tokyo’s Haneda airport on Japan Air System, $454 round trip. (Eight airlines fly nonstop from LAX to Tokyo’s Narita Airport for $830, rising to $950 round trip in April.)

It’s best to rent a car at the Kushiro airport. Several rental companies operating there have English-speaking services in Tokyo. Two that are open weekdays, weekends and holidays are Nissan Rent-a-Car, telephone 011-81-3-5424-4123, and Orix Rent-a-Car, tel. 011-81-3-3779-0543.

Getting around: Highway signs and maps are in English, and the Japanese people go out of their way to find someone to help communicate in English.

Where to stay: The most convenient inns for crane watching are Circle House, tel. 011-81-154-66-2330, on Route 240 across from Tancho No Sato Sanctuary, and Ryokan Taito on Route 284 across from Ito Sanctuary in Tsuruimura, tel. 011-81-154-64-2010. (Ask there for directions to Tome Watanabe’s house.) Prices are about $50 per person; meals can be included for an extra $20 to $30 a day.

There are hotels in Kushiro city, but the distance from the sanctuaries presents problems for early morning crane watching.

Rates at New Akan Hotel, tel. 011-81-154-67-2121, a two-hour drive from Kushiro, start at $100 per person and include dinner and breakfast.

For more information: Japan National Tourist Organization, 515 S. Figueroa St., Suite 1470, Los Angeles, CA 90071; tel. (213) 623- 1952, fax (213) 623-6301, Internet https://www.jnto.go .jp.