The American Ornithological Society dropped a bombshell on the birding community last week when it announced it would change the English and Latin names of all birds named after people.
Approximately 152 birds in North America and 111 South American birds will be renamed.
I approve. Naming birds after people is possibly the least helpful way to describe a bird.
The practice was common in previous centuries.
The Steller’s sea eagle was named after Georg Wilhelm Steller, a German naturalist who explored the Russian and Alaskan coasts. Two other birds share his name — Steller’s jay and Steller’s eider.
Along the Alaskan coast, Steller’s sea lions are often found in the company of Dall’s porpoises.
There has been growing heartburn in recent years over bird names honoring dishonorable people.
McCown’s longspur is a bird of the shortgrass prairies east of the Rockies. It was named after John P. McCown, who was only a captain in the U.S. Army when he collected the first specimen. He went on to become a general in the Confederate Army — a treasonous act that led the AOS to change the name to thick-billed longspur in 2020.
John James Audubon was America’s most famous ornithologist in the early 19th century. His paintings of birds gained him national fame, and his artwork inspired conservation organizations and movements to adopt his name decades after his death.
But Audubon was an unrepentant enslaver with many other repugnant qualities. Even his scientific work later came into question.
Nowadays, the name “Audubon” has largely been rebranded. It represents wildlife conservation, not the disreputable character of someone who died centuries ago. That debate continues.
But there’s little debate that two birds — Audubon’s shearwater and Audubon’s oriole — are named to honor a person who may not deserve the honor.
Arguably, some people deserve the honor. Alexander Wilson was a Scottish-American poet and naturalist often regarded as the Father of American Ornithology. He pre-dated Audubon and may have inspired him.
Several birds are named after him, including Wilson’s storm-petrel, Wilson’s plover, Wilson’s warbler, Wilson’s snipe and Wilson’s phalarope. Wilson never knew his phalarope. He was six years dead when a friend named it after him.
Some Maine birds will see a name change.
Lincoln’s sparrows nest in bogs throughout northern Maine. Audubon named the bird after his traveling companion, Thomas Lincoln, who had managed to collect the first specimen on a trek to Labrador.
Bonaparte’s gull is named for Charles Lucien Bonaparte, a nephew of Napoleon who achieved his own fame without conquering Europe.
Bonaparte named the Cooper’s hawk after his friend William Cooper, who collected the specimens used to describe the bird.
Swainson’s thrushes are widespread across northern North America. Swainson’s hawks are widespread across the west. Both were named after William Swainson, a man who never visited North America.
He was Audubon’s equal as a painter, and amassed a huge collection of specimens, including 760 bird skins. He was as ill-tempered as Audubon, and died in obscurity somewhere in New Zealand, mourned by no one.
Bicknell’s thrush is named after Eugene Bicknell, who collected the first one in the Catskills in the late 19th century. Ironically, poor Bicknell’s namesake was formerly considered only a subspecies of gray-cheeked thrush, until it was elevated to full species status in 1995.
Leach’s storm-petrel is a secretive bird that nests by the thousands along the Maine coast. It also nests along the British Isles, where it acquired its name from William Elford Leach, England’s most acclaimed naturalist in his day.
My favorite is the Blackburnian warbler — one of the few birds that is named without an apostrophe. Anna Blackburne likely never saw her namesake alive, but she may have possessed a dead one.
This Englishwoman became famous for her vast specimen collection in the late 18th century. In her later years, she corresponded with other famous naturalists who followed her.
Some names are more recent. Nelson’s sparrow is a secretive denizen of Maine’s coastal salt marshes. It was named after Edward William Nelson, chief of the Bureau of Biological Survey within the Department of Agriculture in the early 20th century.
Ironically, Nelson did most of his work in the American west, a great distance from the nearest Nelson’s sparrow.
Nowadays, people also question the propriety of naming creatures to honor Europeans and colonizers who “discovered” them, since they were already well-known by the names indigenous people gave them.
It’s still marginally acceptable to rename Jurassic dinosaurs that way, like Roget’s Thesaurus.
