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 It was a classic example of the outdated practice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."
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