In 1803 a ship arrived in New York. Among the passengers was an 18-year-old French teenager. He had been born in 1785 to an unwed French chambermaid who worked on a plantation in Haiti. The woman took ill soon after the birth of her son and she died just a few months later. The boy’s father was the plantation owner and when a slave rebellion looked imminent he sold his holdings and returned to his home in France. Waiting for them was the man’s wife; a generous woman who embraced the young boy as her own.
Life was not easy at this particular time in history. France was in turmoil and various members of its population were being shot, guillotined, or imprisoned because of the politics of the day. Eventually, things got so bad that the boy, now 18, was sent to America where his father owned property. This move was made to spare the boy possible conscription into Napoleon’s army, but there was also the serendipitous discovery of a deposit of rich lead ore on one of the holdings that might offer the boy a chance to live a prosperous new life. The boy’s original name was Jean Rabin, but his passport, which was a fake, introduced him to the New World as John James Audubon.
Anyone who knows anything about birds will recognize Audubon’s name; a name synonymous with the study and appreciation of wild birds throughout the world. I think that it’s interesting to note that before he was “Audubon” he was just “John,” a boy who was probably scared, excited, and by no means sure of what lay in store for himself.
By 1826 he had transformed himself into the person that the world would soon recognize as Audubon. He had made money in private ventures, had made important social contacts, and in May he boarded a ship bound for Liverpool. With him he carried about $10,000, a collection of his wonderful paintings of birds, and dreams of succeeding as an artist and naturalist. As we all know today, his dreams came true.
On November 27, 1826 he posed for a portrait. Far from home, Audubon was seen as a sensational, real-life version of the characters featured in James Fenimore Cooper’s recently published book, “The Last of the Mohicans.” In the portrait we see a dashing young man with long hair, bright eyes, and a long “beaklike” made him the epitome of the romantic figure of a naturalist. The portrait also features a beautiful flintlock rifle cradled in his arms. The weapon was as important to Audubon’s success as his paints and brushes. In the 19th Century there was no other way to get a close look at a bird. It was when I was in college that I first heard the term, “shotgun naturalist” and Audubon was certainly one of them for at that time the only way to learn about an animal was to “collect” it, which meant killing it. Another famous naturalist who relied heavily on the gun while learning about the natural world was a man named Charles Darwin. Perhaps you’ve heard of him.
On Sunday, November 6, 2016, I awoke to find an overcast day with temperatures down in the 40s. I made a pot of coffee and headed up to my office to retrieve a new bird list for the new month. This was the winter list, much shorter than the summer list that I had used since April. I brought the form down to my writing desk by my kitchen and looked out to see what species might be added to the list.
I saw many familiar faces, but among them was a bird that really captured my attention. It was clearly a sparrow of some sort, but it had markings that I did not recognize. Even with the help of my binoculars I was somewhat perplexed. The coloration just didn’t make any sense. So, in the hopes of solving the mystery, I reached for my most important tool. Had I been Audubon in 1826 I would have reached for a gun. In 2016 I reached for a camera.
Now I had my specimen. Frozen in several different poses I could examine my photos much in the same way that Audubon would have examined the dead bird in his hands. I looked carefully, compared it to other specimens in my collection, and finally decided that I was looking at a young white-crowned sparrow that was just beginning to molt from its juvenile to its adult plumage. The strange markings near the bird’s nose were just the very first feathers that would become black-and-white stripes on the bird’s head.
I relate this story to you simply because I am so happy to live in this time. Much has been learned over the centuries, but there still exists the very real opportunity for each of us to make our own personal discoveries whenever we go outside. The best part, at least for me, is that I can “collect” specimens without having to harm the beautiful animals I treasure and admire so deeply.
Bill Danielson has worked for the National Park Service, the US Forest Service, and the Massachusetts State Parks. He has been a professional writer and nature photographer for 19 years and he also teaches high school biology and physics. Visit www.speakingofnature.com for more information, or go to Speaking of Nature on Facebook.