In the Field with Proboscis Birds | Case #001 | Part 2/3

A species of (presumably) extinct bird, the Proboscis Bird of West Virginia once roamed the wild swamps of Cranberry Glade. Sightless, their loud, nasal-y vocalizations populated the night, as well as their beyond unpleasant smells.

Follow this recovered field study investigation to learn more about an obscure cryptid vulture. What is the true story of the Proboscis Bird?

Guest narration by Agent Roman.

Transcript

This is an old BCwPA educational tape. Most parts of the audio have been recreated and translated for a modern audience; portions have been left as is for context and in memoriam. Other parts have been left as is, because they have been damaged beyond recognition or were unable to be translated due to unknown words, phrases, or volume and clarity issues. This is part 2 in a series based on the Cryptid Case in Cranberry Fields, a study of the cryptid Proboscis Bird. We hope you enjoy this recreation and would love to hear your thoughts on not only this episode, but this cryptid and what you think of it. 

We’re in the swamps of West Virginia, looking for a specific primate-like animal, but have stumbled across something unexpected, something few in modern times have laid eyes on. It is so rare that people believe it has never even existed, living only in myth. It is not a dangerous monster, like so many we have tracked down, though, it is so unpleasant some might categorize it as mildly so. At this distance, you’d need binoculars to get a good look, being a medium-sized creature, but even from here, if you squint and focus, you’d be able to see a brown blob slowly wobbling through the grasses, low to the ground– you’d smell it long before seeing it. Called one of the ugliest and smelliest birds to have ever lived, the Proboscis Bird, the Stinkbird, or, more commonly, the Sightless Swamp Vulture, is nearly extinct.

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There are strange creatures found all over the world. Some have not been spotted for centuries, others seen, but never recovered, studied. Until now. Come with us into the field and discover organisms you thought only to be fiction.

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This rare vulture was once found here, in the Cranberry Glades of Pocahontas, West Virginia. Historically, they thrived here. By 1974, it was their last stand. With few places to go and even fewer of their kind, the odds were against their survival for several generations. Followed by two agents for eight days, the gathering of twelve birds seemed completely unburdened by their plight, fully unaware. The team took a special liking to one of the birds, following her life and behavior from the study’s beginning to end.

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“We named this one Rumpkey, after our local trash collector–Ump, for short. She is a female, though the sexes are indistinguishable by appearance. The birds, in fact, cannot see each other or anything at all. Looks only matter for one thing: camouflage. A variety of brown colored feathers and mottled skin, they blend into their world. Sight a non-issue, they are nocturnal; docile and sedentary during the day. Up close, in the light, they are, well, strange looking animals.”  

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Like a turkey vulture, Ump had a long, bald, rectangular head. Her neck was mostly bald too. The skin, however, wasn’t a vibrant red, but a reddish-brown mass of wrinkly skin. The most unnerving part to agents was that she appeared to lack eyes entirely. Where most birds’ eyes could be found, there was only twisting, lumpy skin. Ump did have eyes hidden there, however, under loose, drooping flaps of skin; but they worked so poorly, they may as well have not existed. These vestigial organs may have picked up light, but only accidentally. Concealed, the eyes were only freed when the head’s skin was pushed up or damaged by other animals or the terrain. The birds didn’t rely on these brief, often painful moments of vision; they relied primarily  on smell.

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“As night falls, Ump stirs. Like most creatures when they first wake, she is ready for breakfast. She and her companions sing a breakfast song: a high-pitched, nasal whistle. The music isn’t just made at the start of their day, but right before each meal.”

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One of their namesakes, Proboscis Birds had prominent noses that almost entered trunk-like territory. They were perfectly comparable to a Proboscis Monkey: a bulbous, fleshy bit at the end of the face, so large it sagged over their mouth like a deflated ball. Oversized and oversensitive, the organ inflated and deflated, taking in smells from a sizable distance. Each pump of air produced a small, nasal hiss. The rhythmic, airy song announced that she was hunting. Without such a great nose, Ump wouldn’t have been able to find food, especially in such a smelly place like a swamp. Distinguishing good smells from bad and pinpointing each’s location was essential for her survival.

A good smell to Ump would likely be a bad smell to you, and that’s because Ump was a facultative scavenger–an animal that will eat road kill or other dead things when it's easy to get to. When the birds picked up the sickly, sweet scent of death, they excitedly flocked to it. With their large noses and big olfactory lobes, they could detect carrion from extreme distances, the best of the flock picking up smells up to a little over a mile away.

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“Whatever Ump has picked up, it is attracting others of her kind. They have been slowly moving closer and closer to each other since winter, forming a spread out flock. Earlier in the year, they lived solitary, sluggish lives, sleeping most of the day and night. Hiding out in hollow stumps, tangles of leafless bushes, and young evergreens, they rooted around for vegetation and carrion, quick to return to the warmth and safety of their nests. As spring and its blooms and bugs returned, and small mammals ventured farther from their hovels, Ump and her kind have also come out of hiding, wandering the glade for better food.”

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On the cusp of summer, the birds would gradually begin to flock together. There is safety in numbers for most kinds of birds. It was also time to prepare for young, and for Proboscis Birds, that too, was best in a group. 

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“Nearing the scent’s origin, the swamp is smellier and louder. Whatever Ump has found, it is past three days of decay; even Turkey Vulture’s grow unwilling to eat past the two day mark. Their huffing nose sacs and splashing, clawing feet can be heard from the nearby grasses as the birds slink closer.”

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Proboscis Birds were not quick moving animals. Their lack of sight posed a problem for navigation; it was met with not only their heightened sense of smell, but through a heightened sense of touch. Around the neck, the vulture's plumage was sparse; tufts of hair-like feathers were scattered across its wrinkly gullet. Along the back of the neck, however, was a double-mohawk of long, thin feathers, shaped like a "V". In other bird species, one would assume that the crest may have attracted mates, but for the Proboscis Bird, its odd feathers worked as its eyes, helping it sift through the bog, detect movement, and potential meals. 

Leaning forward, with their neck outstretched and sniffing, the birds would be on alert for bad smells: pungent, sharp, or oniony aromas, not unlike corpses or their own foul bouquet. One slow stepping foot at a time, they moved around, hoping to find anything of interest. 

Nose first, their nose was covered in hundreds of thin, translucent, coarse hairs that reached up to 6 inches ahead like bobbing spider webs. They warned of things blocking their path or passing by. The animals’ stout body sprouted many of these sensory feathers all over, helping them understand their three-dimensional environment. Hanging onto the neck and belly were tufts of thicker sensory feathers that drug against the ground and ran along the grasses. These were their most sensitive feathers; they let them know when something was moving nearby.

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“Planting both feet into the mud, she tenses and inflates her nose. The smell she’s picked up doesn’t seem to worry her. Instead, her neck coils, taking up a serpentine pose. A small mouse zooms past, to her left; she jerks, pecking hard into the dirt. Shaking her head, she clears the mud from her mouth. Missed. While disappointing, it is usually how this sort of opportunistic hunting goes for the birds. When they smell food and feel movement towards them, they go into an ambush predator stance. Though their reflexes and positioning are not terribly accurate, I’ve seen an oblivious frog or rodent be caught off guard.”

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While Proboscis Birds were good at feeling and smelling, they were not great at categorizing or identifying either. To them, anything dead or not themselves may have constituted ‘food’; there were only a few scents they could recognize specifically as dangerous. As such, they pecked at things much larger than they could handle–and things that could fight back, like White-Tailed Deer. Many animals with even a little intelligence were familiar and smart enough to learn the signs of the birds and avoid their painful pecks. Luckily for Ump, while this was a failed attempt, it at least ended with no trouble and no injuries. 

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“In the distance, a honk sounds twice, the second time more shrill. If it wasn’t in a spooky swamp at night, the sound would be comical. Ump’s attention is regained. She steps faster, wobbling a little more than usual, getting her feet tangled in some brush. She has grown anxious and more careless, as she has received an important message: food is right here–and a lot of it!” 

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Proboscis Birds were social creatures in the summer and fall. It is speculated that flocking together during these months was a handy survival instinct; as a group, they were more likely to detect and flee dangers, or face them, when n   not often directly interact with each other, they seemed to have enjoyed being near to their own kind, even recognizing individuals by smell alone.

Each bird's scent was a unique blend; while to you or me, it would have just the normal stink of a Proboscis Bird, to them, it signified Ump, a middle-aged female, or Gregory, the oldest, largest male in the flock. This wasn't automatic, though; like making a new friend, these details were learned and gathered over time. 

During the social season, a growing flock would eat, sleep, and begin building and maintaining a nest together. These social activities encouraged bonding within the group, and acted as scent reinforcement. This was very important. As the birds familiarized themselves with each other’s scent, they were continually recognized as part of the same unit. The less familiar the scent, the more likely the bird would have a negative experience within the flock.

A Proboscis Bird’s smell was not easily removed, but could have been tainted by injury, illness, or outer-species interaction. The newer and less familiar the tainted individual was, the more likely they were to be registered as food, or, at least, not a friend, and not permitted to partake in feeding, breeding, or nesting; once this occurred, the ostracized bird’s smell had a chance of always being registered as an outsider’s smell. An unrecognized bird could cause a flock feeding frenzy or mass attack. Birds who distanced themselves from a flock that had rejected them may be reentered into the group several weeks later, if whatever had contaminated their scent had been removed or remedied.

As I’m sure you’ve picked up, Ump’s odor was important for her safety and social life, as well as health. The smell emanated from a natural oil produced by the birds, a brown, foul-smelling ooze often compared to the scent of long-rotten eggs. Called 'Glade Syrup', the substance was sticky, collecting loose vegetation, discarded feathers, and other debris, further camouflaging the animal. The unpleasant taste and scent of the oil decentivized potential predators from making a meal of them, and would have warded away those who had tried and had an unpleasant experience. Not eating enough carrion could hinder the production of the substance, and changes in a bird’s natural diet, such as the introduction of breads, could have also negatively affected the oil and its properties.

While the smell would have repelled most creatures and befriended those of their species, it also attracted other scavengers. This was not always an issue, but larger scavengers could descend upon a feeding flock and steal their carcass. If the little birds felt food being pulled away from them, they may have lashed out, pecking, scratching, and flapping at the offender. In some cases, a less combative bird, or a flock few in number, may have instead emptied their bacteria-laden bellies, regurgitating near the corpse. A defensive measure, the digesting contents’ overwhelming smell and slight skin irritation would make attackers rethink their course of action. For scavengers, though, the substance may have pulled their attention away from the flock’s food instead, at least for a time.

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“Reaching the body of a large deer, Ump excitedly hops onto its hide. The growing feeding group is undisturbed for now. Releasing a honk of her own, she tears into the carcass. Hidden under her nose is a sharp, serrated beak; with such a formidable tool, cutting through an animal’s hide and getting to its meat takes little time. As each new bird makes contact with the deer, it releases a celebratory honk. Ump is now surrounded by seven other birds, and more are converging. They will feast here for a few days before moving on as a community. There are many dangers in the Cranberry Glade for a Sightless Swamp Bird. They will need each other to make it through the coming months.”

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“It’s been a while since Ump’s first feast. Since then, things have changed. The birds are now a flock, a close-knit community. And together, they have built a grand nest upon a little hill, protected by thick underbrush and grasses. Early in the morning, the birds have settled in to end their day. All grow silent.” 

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During breeding season, Proboscis Birds remained near their nest, foraging, hunting seeds, fruit, roots, edible greens, and any available meat within a quarter mile. These nests were under trees and were wide, dry, flat beds of stacked foliage: dying grasses, vines, leaves, sticks, and stems. A few speckled, dark brown eggs would have been laid in each square foot of the bedding. It would be immediately forgotten who laid them, for it didn’t matter. All birds, male and female, took turns incubating each egg cluster. When they hatched, they would take turns guarding and feeding all young.

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“Dew glistens on the birds. A few shiver. As the sun rises, they spread their wings wide, still trying to fall asleep, but looking as if they are preparing to take off. Despite having powerful wings, the Proboscis Bird cannot fly. Too heavy and short, its wings are used primarily for balance, sudden escapes, to fight, and for whatever this sunning activity is.” 

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Called the horaltic pose, this stretched out position is seen in other species of vulture. It is speculated that the positioning not only dries and warms wet birds, but may kill any bacteria they’ve picked up from their less than sanitary activities. 

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“As the day wears on, they switch positions, standing with their bodies stiff, neck stretched out, and head drooping.” 

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Many connect a vulture’s bald head to their scavenging, thinking that having less material there keeps them cleaner and less at risk of infection, illness. That isn’t the case! It is actually an adaptation to conserve or release heat. A hot Proboscis bird will expose more of their bare skin, dumping more heat into the air. A cold bird will tuck in its neck, enshrouding its baldness with its fluffier, body plumage, insulating its body heat.

Proboscis Birds did not sweat like humans or pant like dogs. In fact, birds must keep themselves from overheating through other methods. On warm days like the one noted in this field journal, the vultures would spread out, avoiding each others’ body heat; to cool off, they utilized a process called urohidrosis, which contributed to their already unpleasant smell. Nearly 97% of birds, including this species, have only a cloaca. Unlike in mammals, every excretable, including eggs, exits from here. To put it simply, many kinds of swans and vultures poop on their legs to cool off. As the liquids evaporate, it takes some of the heat with it, just like sweating. In fact, that’s what urohidrosis means: urine sweat. Proboscis Birds beat the heat with this method.

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“The flock is irritable today. The surrounding area is being picked clean of anything tasty or edible; many slept the day away fitfully, hungrily. The tension is palpable. The flock has had few surprises and deaths this year–but autumn is the real challenge.” 

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In the past, observers noticed that when a Proboscis Bird community grew too large, they would fight and split into two groups. The larger, stronger birds would relocate, leaving the smaller, weaker ones in the depleted area. It had been many generations since the birds had ever needed to do so. Was it a learned behavior or was it innate? Agents speculated that the flock would need to divide into two groups or spread out by next breeding season, else suffer the consequences.  

Observing the chicks’ steady growth, witnessing few casualties, field agents were curious how the next year would go. Stepping away once winter set in, agents returned mid-spring. The flock, however, did not. Not a single Proboscis Bird was found in the area, living or dead, and where they went or what happened to them has remained a mystery.

All data on this bird species was collected over the 9 months they were studied by BCwPA, subsidized by outsider stories and information. A Proboscis Bird has not been spotted since.

Do you know what happened to the Proboscis Bird? Have you seen one? Visit www.ballyraven.com/report and help us track these missing animals down.