If you didn’t know how old I am and I told you how many years went by between my first observation of coots and the first time I cared enough to research something about them, you’d figure I am now older than dirt. There were the odd times, of course, when I’d come across some peripheral reference to coots while researching other species. Like, did you know coots fly so slowly they are one of the few birds Bald Eagles can catch live?
I discovered that fun fact researching my very favorite American Coot story. It happened one autumn over at the Bosque in New Mexico. I had set up with my telephoto lens focused on an adult Bald Eagle atop a prominent, lone snag in the middle of the entrance pond. In the harsh light of midday I snapped a couple uninspiring images, the eagle left, and I picked up the tripod to leave. But wait, before I got very far I saw it returning. With something dangling from its talons.
Ensconced again on its favorite perch, the eagle began plucking that something, dark feathers flying on the breeze. A quick look with the binoculars confirmed the prey was an American Coot. I snapped off a couple more shots, then left the scene without even reviewing them on the back of the camera. Imagine my utter disbelief in checking the day’s images that evening and discovering four coot legs with their distinctive lobately webbed toes dangling beneath the feeding raptor. The eagle had captured two birds, putting into graphic context the meaning of “one fell swoop!”On the pond I had staked out I had seen multiple pairs of coots, each protective of their own patch of disjunctive reeds. Now these empty nesters began partial intermingling toward the center of the pond, roaming farther from their respective home patches. And as cooler autumn temperatures seemed to increase hormonal activity, I began to witness a completely different side of the American Coot “personality.” It’s not pretty.
American Coots have been described as querulous and quarrelsome. Indeed! The coot pairs, “mine” and their neighbors, increasingly began chasing intruders, particularly conspecifics, from the waters surrounding their territories. Initially when another pair encroached, one of the “home” pair, presumably the male, would lower its head to water level and torpedo directly toward the interlopers. I’ve labeled images of this aggressive behavior “territorial coot on a mission.”
Striking distance? Yes, occasionally, whether due to the interloper being slow or maybe just as ill-tempered as the defendant, the former would turn and engage. Engage? Yes, first a face-off, then long-toed, needle-nosed talons bared, then both parties laying back on outstretched wings raking at one another’s breast and belly trying to force the opponent backwards under the water.
I’ve seen American Coots from both sides now. To describe the cycle of coot behavior to others of my species I can only ascribe adjectives understood by all of us. I’ve seen coots act amiable and industrious, attentive and protective, combative and savage. Sounds sort of like, by turns, all of us. That’s why I always give short shrift to biologically correct misgivings about anthropomorphism.
So, I’m finally into coots. Now that I’m really looking, I realize their unique beauty and the fascinating nuances of their behavioral life cycle. They’re everywhere and they’re down here at our level, unlike songbirds in the treetops and raptors in the ether. Next time you’re bored with your birdwatching, watch coots for half an hour. What’s not to like about them?