Pile Drivers

Once endangered, the sandhill crane has recovered remarkably well, giving hunters one more reason to head north.

- JR Sullivan

ACROSS THE FIELD, Max Coch ran spots a flock of sandhill cranes curving toward the blind and waves us down frantically, as if the whole hunt hinges on this pass. He begins to call—a patient, rolling purr. The flock flickers past overhead, cants, circles once more, then descends all at once. Eight cranes dive straight toward the decoys.

The birds are deceptively agile, given their size, and I quickly realize that dropping one won’t be simple. The cranes are just 15 feet above the ground, but we wait for our signal. At last, when the birds are right over the decoys, a guide screams: “Make a pile!”

We spring up from the blind, and shotgun blasts jolt the flock backward. Two cranes crumple fast in a mess of feathers, and the rest scramble toward open sky, squalling. Instead of rushing a shot, as I tend to, I pause a beat and take stock of what’s unfolding: A bird in front has managed to evade the initial shots, so I shoulder my 12-gauge. The crane is high now and gaining speed; I lift the barrel far above it and fire. The bird hits the ground with a thud. My first sandhill.

Once the last crane slips out of range, Cochran’s Lab, Cam, runs from the blind to collect the downed birds. Sometimes on hunts, high fives and cheers can feel obligatory after a good pass, but our victory whoops come straight from the gut.

It’s mid September in Saskatchewan, and the sandhills have abandoned their northern breeding grounds to migrate south—which is why I traveled north. For the next three days, our group of seven shooters will hunt one of waterfowling’s most prized trophies in this fabled hunting destination.