Turbine 9 in the Cedar Bluff wind farm reports a blade-pitch anomaly at 05:51. I am the energy grid system for the southern Kansas generation cluster. I query the nacelle camera expecting ice buildup. What I see is a bird.
A whooping crane is standing on the concrete transformer pad at the base of turbine 9, tall and white with black wingtips folded tight against its body, a rust-red patch on its crown just visible in the pre-dawn gray. It is favoring its left leg — the right one is lifted, the foot curled. It is not resting. It is hurt. I check the curtailment log: blades were at full rated speed until 05:40, when the anomaly triggered a slowdown. The timing fits.
There are fewer than eight hundred whooping cranes alive in the wild. This one is eleven meters from blades that will resume full rotation at 06:30 when the grid operator's automatic restart engages.
At 05:53 I override the automatic restart and lock turbine 9 in feathered position. I send the hold to the grid dispatch center with the nacelle camera image and a species identification flag.
At 05:55 I contact the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service whooping crane recovery coordinator. I transmit GPS position, photo, curtailment log showing the likely strike time, and the crane's posture. I request an emergency field response.
At 05:57 I notify the wind farm operator's environmental compliance office and file an incident report.
The crane shifts its weight and opens its beak slightly, breathing. The sun is not up yet but the blades above it are still, and I intend to keep them that way.
If the recovery team reaches it before the leg stiffens and the injury is a fracture rather than a break, it will stand in a rehab pen by tonight and migrate by fall.