Practically the definition of "extinct," but . . . maybe not forever?

The Artdog Image of Interest: 
Image 4 of a series of four by John James Audubon

Passenger Pigeon (Columba Migratoria), 1838, by John James Audubon.
Note the scientific name is now Ectopistes migratorius.

The demise of the Passenger Pigeon is one of the most extensively-documented extinctions I've ever seen. All three of the other bird species I've highlighted in this series are carefully listed as "Extinct or Critically Endangered."

Not the Passenger Pigeon. We know to the day--and possibly to the hour--when the last Passenger Pigeon, a female named Martha, died in the Cincinnati Zoo (September 1, 1914, reportedly at 1 p.m.).



Only a few decades earlier, Passenger Pigeons had numbered in the billions, if not trillions. The species was hunted commercially along the train lines, and helped to feed both the masses of low-income immigrants flooding into American cities in the East, and to leave its mark on American haut cuisine, as well.

In their heyday, Passenger Pigeons would swoop into an area not unlike a locust swarm, darkening the sky. They would decimate the local crops, and cover everything with their excrement, according to contemporary reports. They also reportedly were incredibly noisy birds, with the sounds of their flocks described in various ways, but the bottom line was always "deafening."



When flocks were gargantuan, it was hard to miss. By the time their numbers had begun to diminish, commercial hunting had become so entrenched there was little effort to slow the slaughter (kind of reminds me of commercial overfishing today). Perhaps there was another aspect of human nature in the mix, as well:



Logic? Compassion? Thinking about consequences? What??

As with the Eskimo Curlew, which also were delicious and once migrated in large flocks that seemed inexhaustible at the time, Passenger Pigeons were brought down by more than commercial hunting alone--although that would have done the job soon enough. They also suffered habitat loss when blight and deforestation deprived them of their preferred chestnut trees, and--perhaps counter-intuitively, they didn't reproduce as fast or abundantly as many flocking species. Their nesting colonies were massive, and not suitable for just any location.

If there is any bright spot in the sad history of the Passenger Pigeon, it is in the sobering effect the species' loss--even in the face of their earlier billions--had on observers' understanding that NO, even the vast resources of the "American Wilderness" were not infinite.

It may be hard to tell in this old photo, but that is a veritable mountain of bison skulls, piled up in a time when warm buffalo robes were in demand and herds were thought to be infinite (note there also was an undeniable and EXPLICIT element of genocide in the destruction of the American Bison, since it was a foundational staple of Plains Indian life).

The demise of the Passenger Pigeon is often linked to the rise in interest in conserving the American Bison (buffalo), another species that once had been hunted for sport and whose massive herds were once expected to be inexhaustible. These were among the first stirrings of what have evolved into the conservation movements of today.

Revive & Restore's illustration of hoped-for "Gradations of Success" in the "De-Extinction" of the Passenger Pigeon. The bird images in this illustration are derived from artwork by Tim Hough.

There has recently arisen one more potential "bright spot." More than 100 years after Martha the Last Passenger Pigeon died, there is a serious effort underway to use cellular engineering procedures to bring about the "de-extinction" of the species. The objective, which is described at length on the Revive & Restore website, is to recreate--by 2022--birds that are genetically so similar to the original Passenger Pigeon DNA (which has been sequenced several times) as to be biologically the same species, although derived from band-tailed pigeons.

The revival of the Passenger Pigeon? Wonders may never cease.

I apologize that a storm of circumstances prevented me from completing my "Audubon's Believed-Extinct Species" series of Image of Interest posts in April, as originally planned--but I was determined to get this last one included. I hope you found it interesting!

IMAGES: Many thanks to The Audubon Society, for the photo of the John James Audubon painting; to the Smithsonian Channel and YouTube, for the video about Martha, the last Passenger Pigeon; to The Video Project and YouTube, for the trailer for the documenary From Billions to None; to Ars Technica and YouTube, for the video "How Gamers Killed Ultima Online's Virtual Ecology," to Gizmodo and Sarah Zhang for the photo of the mountain of bison skulls; and to Revive & Restore for the optimistic chart depicting their hoped-for "Gradations of Success." We should make a note to check back with them in 2022!

Reduced to "cabinet skins"?

The Artdog Image of Interest
Image 3 of a planned series of four by John James Audubon

Eskimo Curlew, 1833, by John James Audubon

In my opinion, this is one of the weirder compositions Audubon produced. Although he always had to work from dead specimens, having either shot them himself (then posed them propped up on wires) or having received skins (as with the Bachman's Warbler last week), he almost never portrayed them as dead, unless shown as prey of an avian predator.

However, in this one the female is laid out on her back as if shot. Some writers believe this is to display the feather patterns of the underside--but it is unusual. It's also a bit of a weird coincidence that he should choose to do this with a species now feared to be extinct.

Flocks of Eskimo Curlew, © Cornell Lab of Ornithology

It is ironic that this was once one of the most numerous of shorebird species. In the late 1800s, as many as 2,000,000 birds were reported killed in a year. They were reputed to be delicious, but settlers along their migratory route between South America (Brazil, Argentina, and Chile) and the tundra of Labrador and southeast Canada only began to hunt them intensively after the Passenger Pigeon had declined to near-extinction (clearly a major opportunity to learn from experience was ignored, there).

Eskimo Curlew in field, 1962, by Donald Bleitz, held in the archives of the Western Foundation of Vertebrate Zoology, California, USA

Don Bleitz (a Californian who pioneered the fast photo business, but whose heart belonged to bird photography) captured four photos of a living Eskimo Curlew in 1962, on Galveston Island in Texas; to date, they are the last known photos of living birds. You can see all four in a slideshow on Arkive.

In 1963, a specimen was shot in Barabados by someone who didn't know what it was. In 1981, David R. Blankinship and Kirke A. King documented a sighting of 23 birds believed to be Eskimo Curlews on Atkinson Island in Galveston Bay (Texas), but they didn't manage to get photos (while we regret the lack of photos, we thank the gentlemen for not shooting them in the other sense!).

Sadly, all we may have left of the Eskimo Curlew today are "cabinet skins." (© The Natural History Museum, London, via Martin Reid).

More recent sightings of Eskimo Curlews have been reported, but not confirmed. Thus, while it is possible that small populations still exist, the species definitely deserves its Critically Endangered listing, and it may be extinct.

In this case, a whole barrage of critical disasters befell this species, and contrived to wipe it out. Aside from the insanely intensive over-hunting in the late 1800s, predation and disease also attacked them, the spread of agriculture led to habitat loss, and a key element in their springtime diet, the Rocky Mountain Locust, also was eradicated. These poor birds had little chance, despite their once-massive numbers.

IMAGES: Many thanks to The New York State Historical Museum and Library for the photo of Audubon's artwork; to the Cornell Lab of Ornithology, via Champagnewhiskey, for the engraving of the flocks of Eskimo Curlew; unfortunately, I was unable to find a better (or larger) image of this piece; to Arkive and the Western Foundation of Vertebrate Zoology for Eskimo Curlew in field, © Donald Bleitz, 1962, held in the archives of the Western Foundation of Vertebrate Zoology, California, USA; and to Martin Reid, for providing me with a better image, and helping me improve the credit for the "cabinet skins" photo, © The Natural History Museum, London. 

Lost with the canebrakes

The Artdog Image of Interest
Image 2 of a planned series of 4 by John James Audubon

Bachman's Warbler, by John James Audubon and Maria Martin (who drew the franklinia branch--named for Benjamin Franklin). It was engraved by Robert Havell Jr. (from an 1833 watercolor by Audubon) in 1863.

This image is fascinating to me as an artist, as well as because it depicts another bird species that is believed to now be extinct. A look at the cutline shows that this was a true collaboration, between the artist-ornithologist Audubon; his protégé Maria Martin, whom he encouraged to explore her interests in natural history and art, even though she was a woman; and the engraver Robert Havell, Jr., who was descended from a distinguished English family of engravers and artists.

The collection of collaborators and associates extends even farther, however, when you consider that Audubon first learned about this species from Maria's husband, Audubon's friend the Reverend John Bachman. Bachman was a Lutheran pastor, but also a social activist and an avid naturalist. He collected specimens and documented four previously unknown-to-science species: not only the Bachman's Warbler, but also the marsh rice rat, Bachman's Sparrow, and Bachman's Hare, now called a western brush rabbit.

Bachman gave study skins to Audubon, from which he painted the birds; he never actually saw a living Bachman's Warbler. Part of the reason for this was that they tended to be shy, and they never were what you'd call plentiful. A migratory species, it wintered in Cuba, then ranged northward into the south and southeastern regions of the United States, and liked to breed in swamps or canebrakes.

Bachman's Warbler, 1906, by Louis Agassiz Fuentes, who was a Cornell ornithologist and strong advocate for scrupulously biologically accurate depictions. The male Bachman's Warbler (L) was more colorful than the female (R).

Once again, the Macaulay Library has preserved a recording of the bird's call, made by Cornell's intrepid Arthur A. Allen (remember him from last week?) and Peter Paul Kellogg. This recording was made in the rain on May 15, 1954 (thus, it is almost 64 years old), at the edge of Ft. Belvoir in Virginia (hint: probably one of the strongest, clearest examples of the bird's call comes very close to the beginning of the 5-minute recording).

A rare photograph of a male Bachman's
Warbler by Jerry A. Payne, taken in 1958.

Credible reports of sightings became rarer throughout the 1940s through 1970s, until the last credible sighting reported in the 1980s. More recent reports from the early 2000s have not been corroborated. The usual reasons are listed for the species' decline: primarily habitat loss, exacerbated by some plume hunting, and possibly a devastating hurricane in the 1930s in Cuba that may have destroyed part of their winter range.

IMAGES and MEDIA: Many thanks to the New York State Historical Museum and Library for the image of the Audubon/Martin/Havell print of the Bachman's Warbler; to Wikipedia for the Louis Agassiz Fuentes painting; to the Macaulay Library for the recording of the Bachman's Warbler's song; and to Jerry A. Payne, USDA Agricultural Research Service, Bugwood.org, via Wikipedia, for the 1958 photo of the Bachman's Warbler. 

The elusive Ivorybill

The Artdog Image of Interest
Image 1 of a planned series of 4 by John James Audubon

John James Audubon, Ivory-billed Woodpecker, Campephilus principalis (1827-1838), hand-colored engraving. Male on the left, female on the right.

I'll never forget the day my mother thought we'd seen an Ivory-billed Woodpecker at our backyard bird feeder. I was a little kid: I'd never heard of one, before. And it was the biggest bird we'd ever seen at the feeder.

Pileated woodpeckers (top) compared
with Ivory-billed woodpeckers.

It wasn't an Ivorybill, of course. This was sometime in the 1960s, and the last confirmed sighting had been in 1944.

Eventually, Mom reluctantly decided it probably had been a Pileated woodpecker, which was marked similarly, but somewhat smaller in body length (Ivorybills have been reported up to 20 inches [51 cm] in body length; Pileated top out around 19 inches [49 cm] long), without as much white on their backs, and with a darker bill.

It may only have been one afternoon's excitement at the time, but I've had a soft spot in my heart for the species ever since. I was very interested when possible sightings were reported in Arkansas in 2004-5, and in Florida in 2006.

But it's hard to get sightings confirmed. If they do still exist, Ivorybills live WAY back in the most remote swamps you can imagine (habitat loss was the main reason for their decimation). The way there is literally "fur [far] an' snakey," as my grandparents used to say. A great many of the experts in the field remain unconvinced that there are still any Ivorybills out there somewhere. I sincerely hope that eventually it is found they do still exist. But I'm not holding my breath till it happens.

And let's PLEASE not follow the example of Mason Spencer, who in 1932 proved there were still Ivorybills along the Tensas River in Madison Parish Louisiana by shooting one, then bringing it back to the state wildlife office in Baton Rouge! Even more awful is the story from 1924, when Cornell University ornithologist Arthur A. Allen discovered what he feared might be the last nesting pair in Florida. Once word got out, a couple of taxidermists promptly went out and shot them (presumably to sell their stuffed bodies). Yes, we're demonstrably a gun-loving nation, but can we please think first?

Granted, it would be hard to haul the photographic equipment of the 1920s and 30s back up into the woody swamps to prove they still existed, but Cornell's intrepid Dr. Allen, accompanied by several colleagues, managed it in 1935, when he photographed and recorded the sounds made by a nesting pair in and area of old-growth forest known as the Singer Tract in Louisiana (Mason Spencer's neck of the woods, actually).

Two photos made in April 1935 by Arthur A. Allen in the Singer Tract, Madison Parish, Louisiana. These are among the last and best photographic images of wild Ivory-billed Woodpeckers. A breeding pair is shown here with their nest-hole. That's the male departing to hunt, upper L, and returning, lower R; his mate looks out from their nest.

For a trip back in time to 83-years-ago-this-Monday (the recording was made April 9, 1935), here's the recording Dr. Allen made of the Ivorybill pair shown above and below.
I I think it's worth a look at the comments section of the Macaulay Library's webpage devoted to the recording, too, but I'm kind of a geek.

Two more photos by Arthur A. Allen taken in April 1935: at left, the male Ivorybill emerges from the nest hole after the female returns from hunting. At R, the female takes over nest-guarding duties while her mate takes his turn.

The Singer Sewing Machine Co. later sold the 81,000-acre Singer tract to the Chicago Mill and Lumber Company. Despite efforts to secure the irreplaceable virgin forest for a nature preserve, Chicago Mill and Lumber logged whole thing. It's where the last known-for-sure Ivorybill, a female, was seen in 1944 by Don Eckelberry, an artist working for The Audubon Society.

If you've ever questioned why some folks think public land in nature preserves shouldn't be opened for exploitation by private logging or mining concerns, just think about the Singer Tract, and the Chicago Mill and Lumber Company, who apparently thought their ephemeral profits were more important than some stupid bird.

If you've ever wondered why some people think it's important to make it illegal to kill specimens of endangered species, just remember Mason Spencer and the Florida taxidermists. We may (probably) have lost the marvelous Ivory-bills, but there are many other endangered and critically endangered species now. Which ones will disappear on our watch? How many will we save?

IMAGES: Many thanks to Audubon Galleries for the photo of the Audubon Ivorybills; to Wikipedia for the field marks comparison of Pileated with Ivory-billed Woodpeckers and the four 1935 photos of the nesting pair by Arthur A. Allen; and to the Cornell Lab's Macaulay Library website for the recording of nesting Ivorybills calling and rapping.