MACROSCOPE
Beauty Is Only Feather Deep
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
Catherine Raven
At 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 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 It was a classic example of the outdated practice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 bare-ankled 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 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 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-behaving-badly 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."
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.