Man O’ War

Last Tuesday’s news over the hood of the truck was taken up with the unlikely appearance of a Magnificent Frigatebird over Matinicus harbor. Joe saw it and called Paul, who took a break from watching the snowy owl camouflaged on top of his white telephone company truck to scramble down to the harbor with the good binoculars and his Peterson’s guide. Arriving too late, Paul spotted only a dovekie and the usual gulls, but he rounded up the contact information for Jeff the ornithologist who had been here recently for Audubon Christmas Bird Count. Joe sent Jeff a photo for expert confirmation, and next thing you know the poor wayfaring stranger is on some bird-sighting website and twitchers all over the place are e-mailing me asking, “Have you seen it?” and “What’s all this about a frigatebird?” I’m on Route 1 headed for the hardware store and don’t know what they’re talking about.

It’s getting to the point where mid-coast Maine might come to expect some thoroughly bewildered avian outta-stater to visit our shores each year. For several years, a single Red-billed Tropicbird made his way to Maine every summer, and I think George mentioned once that he’d seen it over the bay near Matinicus. I’m holding out for a pink flamingo on the powerhouse lawn.

At least we don’t have to worry about a half a jillion people coming around to sneak a look at the displaced bird, crowding the streets and forming long lines in the Starbucks, like back when the Great Black Hawk (out of Central America) showed up in Deering Oaks Park in Portland three years ago. Bird lovers all over New England are in a lather these days hoping to spot that Steller’s Sea Eagle down the Sheepscot River, in from Hokkaido or Sakhalin. I wonder how that trip was even possible. On that note, eager life-listers who might think they should journey to Matinicus in hopes of a peek at the frigatebird might find the trip rather an expedition. Our only vehicle ferry for the month of January has postponed twice already on account of gale warnings. Better call George or check in with the boys at the air service. It might be a bumpy ride. Also, pack a sandwich.

The frigatebird--one word--belongs in Florida or points south of that. It is a pirate of the Caribbean. It will not enjoy Maine this week, when temperatures even on the balmy coast are expected to continue into the sub-basement. We hope our visitor packed her long underwear. As I write, the NWS reports that it “feels like” 6 below at home, and Matinicus is often the warm spot in the state. Remember how the Great Black Hawk suffered from frostbite. That Siberian refugee sea-eagle over to Boothbay has a way better chance in the snow.

I looked up the Magnificent Frigatebird online and read about its forked tail, and how it soars with few wingbeats, and that although definitely a bird of the sea it does not like to float on the water as a puffin might. Not a diver, the frigatebird fishes near the surface. But there is another way to get dinner: swipe it. The scientific term for muscling a lunch away from its rightful owner is “kleptoparasitism” (of course my computer tries to warn me now that kleptoparasitism is not a word, but I intend to use the word kleptoparasitism as often as I possibly can).

According to the “All About Birds” website from the Cornell Lab of Ornithology:

“Piracy, or ‘kleptoparasitism’ to use the technical term, is quite common in the animal world, occurring in…197 species of birds…The slender-winged frigatebirds of tropical seas are so adept that an entire pirate ship has become embedded in their name. Benjamin Franklin cited the Bald Eagle’s habit of stealing fish as a reason not to use it as the national symbol of the United States.

“The Common Raven commits larceny of all kinds, including (according to legend) stealing a piece of the sun to bring light to the people of the Pacific Northwest. And gulls don’t even limit their misdeeds to other birds: they nab ice cream cones from beachgoers and shoplift Doritos from convenience stores.

“To scientists, kleptoparasitism is a curious, genre-bending kind of behavior. It’s not foraging; it’s not predation; it’s not even parasitism in the bloodsucking, leechlike way we typically think of it. When kleptoparasites rob a “host” of its energy, they do it before the poor animal has even ingested it.”

Maybe the frigatebird knew where it was going. In some places it is called the Man O’ War bird. Maybe it came here because it had heard all about our “pirate island.” With a wink at our own folklore, maybe the district judge kicked it out of Key West.

Published in the Rockland, Maine Free Press February, 2022