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Macroscope
Beauty Is Only Feather Deep
Catherine L. Raven
A
t first, all I saw were a
couple dozen people shuffling around, most fumbling with
binoculars, a few already staring up
at the sky. I generally avoid crowds,
especially tour groups, when I’m out
pursuing wildlife. But these people,
varying in age, size and couture, were
clearly disorganized. Convinced of
their harmlessness and curious about
the object of their attention, I parked
next to them (at the Lamar River pullout in Yellowstone National Park),
perched on a boulder about four meters away and quickly discovered the
nature of their confusion. Although it
was midday, a tiny white star seemed
to be flashing in the cloudless, sapphire sky. After focusing their binoculars, the onlookers realized the
star was a bald eagle (Haliaeetus leucocephalus), and a symphony of “oooos”
and “aaaahs” began. Then, within
a few minutes, a raven appeared. A
protracted fight ensued during which
time the relatively small raven demonstrated agility, tenacity, and bravery (a judgment that any bird expert
would confirm as unbiased, my surname notwithstanding). The bald
eagle demonstrated the better part of
valor and fled.
“Yessss!” I shouted spontaneously,
thrusting my right fist forward to
salute the raven’s coup, at which
Catherine L. Raven received her doctorate in biology from Montana State University in 1999. She
has worked as a park ranger in Glacier National
Park (Montana), in North Cascades National Park
(Washington) and in Voyageurs National Park
(Minnesota). Raven has taught courses online for
Montana Tech (part of the University of Montana)
in Butte, for Grand Canyon University in Phoenix
and for Florida Community College in Jacksonville.
She recently authored Forests, part of The Green
World series (Chelsea House Publishers, 2006).
Address: P.O. Box 87, Emigrant, MT 59027. Internet: [email protected]
392
American Scientist, Volume 94
Was the bald eagle
really the best
choice of national
symbol? A closer
look at the habits
and evolutionary
lineage of this
American icon
casts doubt
point the entire crowd turned toward
me and stared as if I were a devil
worshipper. Sure, I’ve received worse
looks, but never by so many people
simultaneously. I would have avoided
those malevolent expressions had I
shown up 200 years earlier, when the
only people in the valley were Indians.
In those days, a person could choose to
raise a hand to honor either the raven’s
skillfulness or the bald eagle’s beauty.
But the most revered bird in this area
would likely have been the golden
eagle (Aquila chrysaetos). Countless
natives probably rode through this
valley with golden eagles painted
on their horses. Today, tourists ride
through with bald eagles painted on
their motorcycles.
The transfer of allegiances began
with Thomas Jefferson, who appointed
the bald eagle to serve as the national
emblem for the new American
nation. It was a classic example of the
outdated practice of physiognomy.
Now considered a pseudoscience
and an excuse for racism, advocates
of physiognomy held that a person
or animal’s true nature was revealed
by its outward appearance. Because
of its white head and yellow eyes,
physiognomists concluded that the
bald eagle was fierce and noble. To his
credit, Benjamin Franklin, the scientist,
rejected this false logic, recognizing
that the baldie was, in fact, a pirate and
worse still, a “rank coward, commonly
fleeing birds the size of sparrows.”
Franklin suggested that the turkey,
a bird of many virtues, be used for
the emblem instead. But Franklin’s
arguments didn’t prevail: It seems our
young nation was more concerned
with symbolism than natural history,
and the turkey had less charisma than
the eagle.
Jefferson’s ignorance of the bald
eagle’s feeding habits is difficult
to justify. The eagle’s lifestyle was
accurately described in 1754 by the
well-respected English naturalist
Mark Catesby. In Natural History of
Carolina, Florida and the Bahama Islands,
Catesby identified the bald eagle as
a scavenger whose favorite fishing
hole was inside the nest of an osprey
(Pandion haliaetus). Donating food to
the bald eagle may be only a minor
inconvenience for the osprey, an adept
hunter, according to Catesby, that
“seldom rises without a fish.”
It’s not surprising that baldies
steal more than they hunt: They are
not, in fact, true eagles. You can’t be
a member of that elite group (genus
Aquila) with partially feathered legs
and dubious feeding habits. The bareankled bald eagles are a type of sea
eagle that diverged from the African
vulture lineage only a few million
years ago. Although they may at
times hunt, they retain the vulture’s
ability to survive an entire lifetime
© 2006 Sigma Xi, The Scientific Research Society. Reproduction
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on rancid, decaying flesh. They are
obligated by neither physiology nor
instinct to take live prey. By contrast,
the golden eagle and osprey are both
obligate hunters.
If by chance Jefferson understood
this much natural history, he certainly
didn’t enlighten his buddy Meriwether
Lewis before festooning him with
bald-eagle insignia and sending
him west to court the various Indian
nations. Convincing potential allies
that your intentions are honorable can
be difficult when your totem is a bird
who makes its living dispossessing
property. Maybe Jefferson, prescient of
future U.S.–Indian relations, enjoyed a
little black humor. In any case, halfway
through the expedition, Lewis became
suspicious of the bird’s purported
nobility. In one of his journal’s few
sarcastic entries, he derides the baldie
as both a thief and a scavenger. “We
continue to see a great number of bald
Eagles. I presume they must feed on
the carcasses of dead animals, for I see
no fishing hawks [osprey] to supply
them with their favorite food.”
Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Sailor . . .
For the bald eagle, ospreys are a
reliable source of nourishment;
for me, they’re a reliable source
of entertainment. Seeking such
enjoyment, I sometimes slip down to
the Yellowstone River near my home,
one of many places where there is
always an osprey. The last time I tried
this, I didn’t have to wait long before
one shot like an arrow through the
fall poplars. Skimming the water,
black racing stripe flashing across
its cheek, the bird plunged head first
into the river, rose, banked elegantly
and circled around to make another
dive, this time rising with a trout. Not
a trivial accomplishment.
For birds, aquatic predation is
a difficult skill to master. Of the
various species of large flesh-eating
birds in North America, only two are
aquatic: the bald eagle and the osprey.
Nature clearly gave the latter better
equipment. The osprey’s barbed feet
easily grab fish; its oily feathers resist
wetting; sealing nostrils prevent
water inhalation; translucent eyelids
facilitate underwater vision; and black
eye stripes minimize water glare.
More significant, the osprey’s talons
turn backward, so that after it strikes
a fish broadside and lifts it out of the
water, the bird can turn the catch to
www.americanscientist.org
Had scientist Ben Franklin’s views prevailed, the seal of the young United States might have
featured a bird chosen for its virtues rather than its looks.
face forward, making the load more
aerodynamic. No other raptor uses
this trick. Bald eagles are far less adept
fishers overall, which is perhaps why
they favor salmon runs where dead
red fish, floating or beached, provide
an effortless meal.
So baldies can’t match the osprey in
an aquatic habitat. Put them on land,
and they’ll fare even worse against the
golden eagle. Not surprisingly, Lewis
ended his honeymoon with the bald
eagle when he began an affair with
the “most beautiful of all eagles in
America,” the golden, America’s only
true eagle, whose feathers adorned
the headdress of almost every Plains
Indian chief. Baldies may successfully
steal from the much smaller osprey,
but never from the golden, a bird of
equal size. Whether bringing down
their own prey or feeding on dead
or wounded animals, golden eagles
rule. Lewis, for one, noted that on the
golden eagle’s approach “all leave the
carcass instantly on which they were
feeding.” Interested in confirming
Lewis’s observations, I’ve hung out
near carcasses. It’s good enough
entertainment that I’m willing to wake
up before dawn and return to a scene
repeatedly for several days watching
until the play is over. Lewis was
right: The two eagles enjoy strikingly
different roles—the golden one feeds,
the bald one cowers.
Saved by Reputation
Americans who don’t live among
eagles and haven’t read Lewis’s
journals can find enlightenment in
Arthur Cleveland Bent’s 1937 classic,
Life Histories of North American Birds of
Prey. “A fine-looking bird,” Bent writes
of the bald eagle, but “hardly worthy
of the distinction [of being the national
emblem]. Its carrion-feeding habit,
its timid and cowardly behavior, and
its predatory attacks on the smaller
and weaker osprey hardly inspire
respect.” Bent’s baldies-behavingbadly exposé also reveals that our
nation’s icon relishes vulture vomit.
It’s not that they find the vomit lying
around; rather, they seek out vultures
and force them to vomit. Then they
eat the regurgitate. “Our national bird
may still be admired,” Bent suggests,
“by those who are not familiar with
its habits.”
© 2006 Sigma Xi, The Scientific Research Society. Reproduction
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2006 September–October
393
A few decades after Bent wrote
those words, the time came when the
bald eagle truly needed the public
admiration it had so unfairly enjoyed.
In the 1970s, DDT poisoning peaked,
bald-eagle populations crashed, and
organizations to save the bird rose
up like earthworms after a rain. The
tradition that Jefferson initiated was
embraced by those well-meaning
conservationists, who didn’t believe
Americans could love the bald eagle
unconditionally. These activists saved
the species but cemented a longstanding
misunderstanding about the bald
eagle’s true nature. The three raptors
I’ve discussed here might appear
similar if given only a cursory glance.
But ospreys are skilled fishers, golden
eagles are keen hunters, and bald eagles
are, well, mostly vultures. Bald eagles
decorate the sky largely because they
are vultures. Their white head feathers
contrast with a brown body and
suggest their naked-headed ancestry.
And their soaring flight, though
neither purposeful nor aggressive, is
a vulture trait as well. Hunting birds
spend more time flying low over the
land, systematically searching for prey,
a behavior known as quartering.
Floating over gorgeous places and
enjoying the view, bald eagles seem
to eschew responsibility. People
might accuse me of that attitude, too,
given that I spend so many hours
leisurely watching birds. As a wildlife
specialist, I am, technically, working
during these times. Yet like the bald
eagle, I adhere to routines that look
more like loafing than real work. For
me, it’s a conscious lifestyle choice. I
wouldn’t deny that the turkey is the
more appropriate symbol for Thomas
Jefferson’s concept of the nation, but
for my idea of America, where the
Constitution guarantees the right to
pursue happiness, the bald eagle will
do. After all, this is mostly how we
spend our time, the bald one and I,
diligently pursuing happiness.
Jane V. Olson
I
mat would “require the use of a
n January 1970, American Scizippered plastic envelope or an
entist moved out of Hugh Tayattaché case for its transport.”
lor’s lab-coat pocket and into the
Olson tackled the task of remodern age of magazine publishing. The agent of this transmaking American Scientist with
formation was Jane V. Olson,
a keen intelligence and the expert assistance of a Board of
an editor whose vision lives on
in the full-size, full-color publiEditors comprised of Yale faccation you hold in your hand.
ulty and remote consulting editors—Sigma Xi having provided
The staff was saddened recently
to learn of Jane Olson’s death
her, Executive Director Thomas
March 6 in Hamden, ConnectiT. Holme noted, an “absolutely
cut. She was 89.
minimal staff.” A proud accomplishment of her very first
Jane Olson was an alumna of
the University of New Mexico,
year was the discovery of science cartoonist Sidney Harris,
where she studied archaeology
and anthropology. After leaving
whose work has been identified
with the magazine ever since.
UNM in 1939, she honed her
Equally significant was Olson’s
editorial skills at the Illinois Geological Survey, Vogue and The
introduction of color graphics—the diagrams, charts and
Atlantic Monthly and then as Science and Social Sciences Editor
photographs that today give the
magazine much of its explanafor Yale University Press.
By 1969, the 6-by-91/4-inch Jane V. Olson at work at American Scientist. (Photo- tory power and delight.
graph courtesy of Mary Louise Brown.)
quarterly journal format in
A member of the Yale chapter
which American Scientist had been Haven and recruit a professional of Sigma Xi, Jane Olson was proud to
published since 1913 had become an editor to develop it into a full-size have been honored by Yale as a Felinadequate vehicle for its scope, ad- bimonthly magazine, one that would low of Saybrook College. She retired
vertising potential and increasingly capture the vitality of a fast-growing in 1981. The editors who have follively content. A special committee Society and chronicle the accelerat- lowed her have Jane Olson to thank
studying the journal’s future per- ing pace of discovery in science and for turning Sigma Xi’s modest joursuaded Sigma Xi’s leadership to take technology. From Princeton, retiring nal into a professional publication,
a leap: to move the editorial offices editor Taylor penned a final ave atque one that has been turning heads ever
to the Society’s headquarters in New vale, lamenting only that the new for- since.—Rosalind Reid
394
American Scientist, Volume 94
© 2006 Sigma Xi, The Scientific Research Society. Reproduction
with permission only. Contact [email protected].