The Washington Sea-Eagle, and other Audubon Mysteries

A friend recently gave me an interesting gift. She does volunteer work for a nearby university that periodically sells old books to raise funds. These books (and videos) are donated. One such donation was a jacketless, hard-backed volume with "DAMAGED COPY" scrawled across the cover.

It was destined for the garbage when my friend looked at the title and saved it, thinking I might find it interesting.

I do indeed. This volume, not damaged at all, as far as I can see, is a facsimile of the first two volumes of John James Audubon's "The Birds of America."

Washington's sea-eagle (photographed by Margo D. Beller from Volume 1 of "The Complete
Audubon" published by the National Audubon Society.)

Audubon's original "Birds of America" was an "elephantine" folio - 435 life-sized (and thus extremely large) hand-printed portraits. Quite an effort that took years to finish. The pictures were sold by subscription but they were expensive to produce and so were costly to buy. Audubon, who'd failed as a businessman before turning to painting, knew a smaller edition would be a less-costly alternative. Seven volumes, containing 500 plates, were published in 1844. Audubon supervised the first edition. He died in January 1851.

For the 75th anniversary of the National Audubon Society (founded in 1905), Volair Ltd., the publisher, cut the number of volumes reproduced in 1978-79 down to five. According to the Preface, to "make this edition more compact and thus more manageable, each of the five volumes contains two of Audubon's volumes within a single binding. Not a single color plate has been omitted, not a word of text has been deleted from these timeless American classics."

So I have volumes 1 and 2. Within are some of my favorite birds and a few mysteries.

Many of the birds' names are not much changed now than they were in Audubon's time. The "Wilson's Flycatching-Warbler" is what is now the Wilson's Warbler. The Black-throated Green Wood-Warbler has lost "wood" from its name. The Mourning Ground-Warbler has lost ground and the Nashville Swamp-Warbler has lost the swamp.

Some of the birds go by different names now. The Short-Billed Marsh Wren is now the Sedge Wren. The White-bellied Swallow is now the Tree Swallow. Why the Cliff Swallow was also known as the Republican Swallow I can't imagine. The Traill's Flycatcher has been split into the Alder and Willow flycatchers. The American Redstart is listed with the flycatchers because of its similar habit of darting out to catch a flying insect and then going back to its perch. Now it is considered a warbler.

The buteos, now called "hawks," were called buzzards then so Volume 1 contains Red-tailed buzzards and Rough-legged buzzards, for instance.

Audubon's lifelike rendering of the Common Buzzard
(photographed by Margo D. Beller from the anniversary edition)

But then I find the "Common Buzzard." Audubon says the figure in the drawing above was shot (by someone else) by the Columbia River. I mentioned this to MH and he, in his methodical way, found the National Audubon Society, which has reproduced all the plates on its website, believes this to be a Swainson's Hawk because the entry includes a link to that page in the field guide. (William John Swainson was a British ornithologist who lived from 1789-1855 but he was not the one who named the hawk. To find out who did, click here.)

For me the biggest mystery, literally and figurative, is Haliaetus Washingtoni, the Washington Sea-Eagle.

According to Audubon, who said he first saw one of these in 1814, the adult male he painted is 3 feet 7 inches (42 inches) long with a 10-foot wingspan. That's a major-league bird! (By contrast, the wingspan of a bald eagle is between six and 7.5 feet and it sits 30 to 32 inches tall.) Few had seen this bird or even knew of its existence at the time he finally shot one to paint two years later. He decided he had discovered a new species and so named it for George Washington because, in his words, "as the new world gave me birth and liberty, the great man who ensured its independence is next to my heart...If America has reason to be proud of her Washington, so has she to be proud of her great Eagle."

The eagle looks Washingtonian (George was 6 feet 2 inches, much taller than the average man of his day), sitting tall and noble. The mystery, however, is if it ever existed.

According to the popular website Mental Floss, it didn't take long before "other naturalists began to question whether the bird was really a distinct species. [Audubon] was accused of taking sloppy measurements of his specimen and overstating the physical differences between his bird and other species. Washington’s eagle, as a species, was quickly discredited among scientists, the consensus being that the bird was either a misidentified bald eagle or a hoax and publicity stunt. Just a few years after Audubon’s death in 1851, the journal American Naturalist called it a valid species only among 'amateur ornithologists.'”

A black-throated green warbler by any other name is just
as nice.  (Margo D. Beller)

Could Audubon have misidentified, perhaps, a very large first-year eagle (immature eagles show no white)? British zoologist Dr. Karl Shuker, writing on his blog, points out Audubon had seen more than enough bald eagles and golden eagles in his travels to know something unusual when he saw it, especially a much bigger bird. Shuker goes into a lot of detail about the controversy over this bird and how others, including some in more modern times, claim to have seen one.

"Needless to say, of course, this is all highly speculative (especially with no apparent palaeontological support for such a bird)," he writes. "And yet...every so often, a report comes along that makes me wonder, what if?"

So on this day when we once celebrated George Washington's birthday, let us raise a toast to this majestic eagle, hope it wasn't overhunted into extinction and be thankful Audubon memorialized it.

Birding for the Soul

The natural world is a gateway to the timeless and the infinite. We can never understand it completely, and so for us it serves as a bridge to the infinite.
 -- Thomas Moore, "Ageless Soul"

"These are the times that try men's souls," MH tells me as we slowly walk down a gentle incline, kicking through beech, red oak, white oak and tulip poplar leaves, trying to avoid the rocks and roots. He is not talking about what's going on in the world now. He is quoting Thomas Paine regarding George Washington and the War of Independence.

Looking back up from the hollow. (Margo D. Beller)

We are on a narrow trail through woods at the Morristown (NJ) National Historic Park known as Jockey Hollow. Washington and his army camped at Jockey Hollow twice, the first time for a few months in the winter of 1777 and then for a longer period starting in the winter of 1779 - much more time than the better-known winter encampment at Valley Forge, Pa.

I do not like winter, and since my last post on the subject, MH's father died. As we walk in the woods, past tall, century-old trees that sprang up after Washington's army left after clearing the original trees to build huts and cook their food, it is cold and quiet, only us except for the occasional dog walker.

There are a lot of hills and valleys in this park. This particular trail, named for the New York State Brigade, is leading to what may be THE hollow for which this park is named.

Our hike here was not planned. I stopped here because I like driving the paved tour road through Jockey Hollow when we are headed elsewhere, and then I had to make a stop to adjust something. MH suggested we hike the path near us. Our motivations were different. I was looking for a place for us to walk and maybe hear a few birds. He was thinking of our recent hike at Washington Crossing State Park, the area where, on Christmas 1776, Washington brought his army across the Delaware River into New Jersey to surprise the British at the Battle of Trenton. We hiked near the river after looking at the artifacts at the park's museum. I was not expecting to find any unusual birds but I was pleasantly surprised to find a yellow-bellied sapsucker - a woodpecker I rarely see in our backyard - and a brown creeper.

Brown creeper, front yard (Margo D. Beller)

So here we were at Jockey Hollow. We walked a long while before we heard the contact calls of black-capped chickadees, tufted titmice and juncos, but MH heard something else - the scream of a red-tailed hawk. I did not hear it the first time but I did the second time, and so did the birds, which went quiet. I set about trying to find it with my binoculars. We slowly continued along the path.

Then, it flew from one tree to another.

I watched it watching me. It called several times. It must've been a juvenile - a male, judging by its size (female red-tails are larger) - because an adult would know that screaming would not get it any supper, winged or otherwise. Finally, it got tired of watching me and flew off. A minute or so later, the small birds started chattering again and MH said he wanted to start the hike back up the hill to our car.

I did not want to leave. A few winters ago I had to have surgery, and in the long recovery afterwards I only started to feel like myself again - well - when I went to the local park and started walking along the familiar trail and tried to find the birds I heard calling, something I enjoy doing.

Another red-tail in another tree
(Margo D. Beller)

In his new book, "Ageless Soul," Thomas Moore makes the point that there is a difference between aging well and getting old. As with the other book I recently read about global warming, this book has made me see another view of what I consider a negative experience. You can't change time. You can't make yourself younger, no matter how many pills you take or how much plastic surgery you have.

What you can do is enjoy the world around you, expand your horizons and make a difference.

"Work without play is a burden," he writes. "Play helps relieve some of the weight of labor."

For me, play is going outside for a walk and trying to find and identify birds, even if they are familiar ones I can see at the feeder from my kitchen. Birding is good for the soul and has been a way to help me heal through several winters of personal and professional changes.

The starkness of winter, Jockey Hollow (Margo D. Beller)

I think of all those Saturday mornings I felt compelled to get up and out of the house and go birding after a particularly hellish week when I was working in the city, away from home for 12 hours a day including work hours and the commute. Since working from home I sometimes feel a waning in my birding interest. "I've seen all these birds before. Why bother going outside?" I thought. That, I now know, is the wrong attitude.

As Moore writes, "[I]f you work without play, that soul work is neglected, and your work doesn't age you well. You get older as the years pass, but you don't get better as a person."

Like Scrooge on Christmas morning, I now know I can change my ways before it is too late.