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Would you pay $1,000 for 30 grams of feathers? That’s about the weight of a pencil. In the late 1800s and early 1910s, feathers for women’s hats commanded this ludicrous pricing and almost exterminated many bird species. This murderous millinery trend was responsible for the death of millions of birds all in the name of fashion. Plumes and whole bodies were used to decorate women’s hats. The elaborate plumes were often from egrets, herons and bird of paradise. From Australia’s Museum Victoria’s website, “Feathers have featured in fashion throughout history, but the second Industrial Revolution started to bring luxuries to the masses.”
With so much available to so many, the problem became how to be noticed in a crowd. A hat with bigger feathers, more feathers and sometimes entire birds made women stand out. Milliners provided outlandish and vibrant designs to women’s fashion. As milliners showed their talents, it drove the desire. Feathers became a status symbol coveted by the new mass market and were produced on an industrial scale throughout the 1800s. Birds were hunted around the world to supply plumes to fashion centers like London and New York.
The Museum goes on to state, “On a walk in New York in 1886, the American Museum of Natural History’s ornithologist, Frank Chapman, infamously observed some 40 native bird species on women’s hats, some with an entire stuffed bird attached.”
These precious feathers commanded high prices with terrible environmental impacts. Herbert K. Job’s book “Wild Wings” reveals the scarcity of herons caused by the millinery trade, “The price for plumes offered to hunters was $32 per ounce, which makes the plumes worth about twice their weight in gold.”
In today’s money, that’s about $1,000 per ounce.
Job said that in 1902, over 1,600 packages of heron plumes were sold at just one London auction house. “As it requires about four birds to make an ounce of plumes, these sales meant 192,960 herons killed at their nests, and from two to three times that number of young or eggs destroyed. He lamented, “Is it then, any wonder that these species are on the verge of extinction? It should be understood at the outset of this, that plumes, which are called by milliners, aigrettes, stubs or ospreys, are dyed to whatever color is fashionable - are bourne by herons and only during the nuptial season and can only be secured by shooting the birds when they have assembled in colonies to breed, when their usual shyness has departed, owing to the strength of the parental instinct. Returning to their nests, they are shot down and their young are left to starve. These plumes are secured in no other way.”
Many birds were hunted and killed to near extinction. Thankfully, the decline in this trend began around 1910 as environmental awareness and several new laws like the Lacey Act and the Migratory Bird Treaty Act severely restricted the feather trade.
Meanwhile, another trend was occurring at virtually the same time in the fly fishing world. Victorian era fly-tying was hot. And guess what? It required bird feathers. These lures were designed and created with recipes that included feathers from many exotic species of birds.
According to Le Comptoir magazine, the real forerunners of the British fly-tiers, Major John Popkin Traherne and George Kelson, who were also salmon anglers, took advantage of the collection of exotic bird feathers collected in all of the British Empire during the long reign of Victoria. To name just a few species: African bustards; guinea fowl; Amazonian cotingas; cock of the rock; Mexican quetzals; and Papuan birds of paradise were used to tie Victorian flies. These flies were used in rivers of Scotland, Norway and Ireland where salmon was abundant.
In 1864, while fishing in Norway, Traherne caught 165 large salmon in only 15 days, a catch that has not been equaled since. Traherne only tied flies with original feathers taken outside the molting period of each species. Thirty years later, in 1895, when he published his bible of salmon flies, Kelson, who recognized Traherne as the best Victorian fly-tier, suggested instead of bird feathers that had become rare and difficult to obtain, one could use artificially dyed feathers or substitutes. Then in 1914, Dr. Pryce Tannatt, a renowned fly-tier, in his book “How to Tie Salmon Flies,” disagreed with Kelson and insisted, at whatever cost, you must certain “ornithological rarities, not only for their beauty, but also for the superiority of these flies made with original feathers compared to those made with dyed feathers or substitutes, for catching salmon.”
In the 1960s, Victorian flies made a tremendous comeback, not for fishing, but for admiration as works of art. Today, they are still admired, even adored while some become literally obsessed with tying the perfect tie with the best materials for tying contests, shows, exhibitions or even fashion shows. For modern fly-tiers, Tannatt’s insistence has held fast. This leads us to one of the craziest stories and thefts in history.
Edwin Rist, an aspiring flautist, originally from New York, went to school in London to study his art as a teenager. He was also a renowned fly-tier and was well respected within the fly-tying community. He really wanted a new flute, in fact a golden flute, and in his student role, certainly did not have the means to buy such. So, in 2009, he broke into the British Natural History Museum in Tring and stole 299 specimen birds, several that had been collected 150 years ago, some by Alfred Russel Wallace, a contemporary of Charles Darwin. These specimen birds were part of one of the largest collections of birds, many used for scientific and historical data. This collection was literally irreplaceable.
So why did Rist do this and what did he do with the specimen birds? He did it to have some feathers of his own for fly-tying and to get money by selling them to the underground feather-buying population. Yep, this exists.
Many modern day fly-tiers who build flies from old recipes insist on the real feather; imitations or substitutes will not do, just like Tannatt insisted. When you can’t get some of these feathers, you resort to unconventional ways to secure your prize. It’s the scarcity principle in economics; high demand for a scarce good drives the price up.
Since national treaties are in place to protect birds, these feathers are nearly impossible to get, but coveted more than ever. In the contemporary fly-tying culture, “those who can tie the real thing, using feathers specified by 150-year-old recipes, are granted a huge amount of prestige and status. Some of these Victorian fly-tying recipes call for $2,000 worth of feathers, all wound around a hook that will never be cast into a river. Though perfectly legal substitute feathers dyed from game birds can be used to achieve the same look,” notes author Kirk Wallace Johnson, author of the compelling and fascinating book “The Feather Thief.” “Rist wanted to be the best at his craft and the quickest way to amass an unrivaled supply of the real thing, in his obsessed mind, was to scale the walls of the Natural History Museum in Tring,” Johnson wrote.
Johnson states, “It is indisputable that the theft has blown open a hole in the scientific record. The skins Rist stole are irreplaceable because we can no longer capture a king bird of paradise from 1860.” Dr. Richard Lane, the director of science at the Natural History Museum, described the Tring theft as “a catastrophic event and a theft of knowledge from humanity.” Johnson notes, “Ornithological collections have long been studied to unlock critical scientific insights. In the 19th century, Darwin and Wallace drew upon them as they independently developed their theories of evolution through natural selection.” He states, in the 20th century, egg collections helped scientists learn the fatal effects of DDT and “feather samples from the Tring seabird collection helped document rising mercury levels in the oceans, leading researchers to describe them as the memory of the ocean. The skins Rist stole almost certainly hold answers to questions that scientists haven’t yet thought to ask.”
So what did Rist do with his stolen goods? He plucked many of them and sold the feathers. When Johnson’s book was published, some of the feathers were returned to Tring, but many were not. Unjustifiably, Rist got away with a fine and no jail time. He has taken a new name and plays as a concert flautist in Germany.
Since the publication of his book, Johnson is obviously pleased that some feathers have been returned; he only wishes he knew what happened to all the skins and where they are now. He also notes there is a “fledgling movement within the world of fly-tiers to embrace sustainable feathers; they hope to stigmatize the obsession with rare and protected plumes in their community and to popularize the use of dyed feathers from game birds like pheasants or turkeys.”
I highly recommend Johnson’s book. It’s an unreal story and reads like a great novel.
Once again, man has set out to dominate to the demise of the very flora and fauna that is desirable. Selfish, unthoughtful and history-halting behavior led to decimating populations. When passion becomes obsession, it can destroy the very thing you love.
We must learn to work with the Earth, treat it with kindness and as a kindred spirit. Native Americans know, we don’t own the Earth, the Earth owns us and one day will take us back.
by Tish Gailmard
With so much available to so many, the problem became how to be noticed in a crowd. A hat with bigger feathers, more feathers and sometimes entire birds made women stand out. Milliners provided outlandish and vibrant designs to women’s fashion. As milliners showed their talents, it drove the desire. Feathers became a status symbol coveted by the new mass market and were produced on an industrial scale throughout the 1800s. Birds were hunted around the world to supply plumes to fashion centers like London and New York.
The Museum goes on to state, “On a walk in New York in 1886, the American Museum of Natural History’s ornithologist, Frank Chapman, infamously observed some 40 native bird species on women’s hats, some with an entire stuffed bird attached.”
These precious feathers commanded high prices with terrible environmental impacts. Herbert K. Job’s book “Wild Wings” reveals the scarcity of herons caused by the millinery trade, “The price for plumes offered to hunters was $32 per ounce, which makes the plumes worth about twice their weight in gold.”
In today’s money, that’s about $1,000 per ounce.
Job said that in 1902, over 1,600 packages of heron plumes were sold at just one London auction house. “As it requires about four birds to make an ounce of plumes, these sales meant 192,960 herons killed at their nests, and from two to three times that number of young or eggs destroyed. He lamented, “Is it then, any wonder that these species are on the verge of extinction? It should be understood at the outset of this, that plumes, which are called by milliners, aigrettes, stubs or ospreys, are dyed to whatever color is fashionable - are bourne by herons and only during the nuptial season and can only be secured by shooting the birds when they have assembled in colonies to breed, when their usual shyness has departed, owing to the strength of the parental instinct. Returning to their nests, they are shot down and their young are left to starve. These plumes are secured in no other way.”
Many birds were hunted and killed to near extinction. Thankfully, the decline in this trend began around 1910 as environmental awareness and several new laws like the Lacey Act and the Migratory Bird Treaty Act severely restricted the feather trade.
Meanwhile, another trend was occurring at virtually the same time in the fly fishing world. Victorian era fly-tying was hot. And guess what? It required bird feathers. These lures were designed and created with recipes that included feathers from many exotic species of birds.
According to Le Comptoir magazine, the real forerunners of the British fly-tiers, Major John Popkin Traherne and George Kelson, who were also salmon anglers, took advantage of the collection of exotic bird feathers collected in all of the British Empire during the long reign of Victoria. To name just a few species: African bustards; guinea fowl; Amazonian cotingas; cock of the rock; Mexican quetzals; and Papuan birds of paradise were used to tie Victorian flies. These flies were used in rivers of Scotland, Norway and Ireland where salmon was abundant.
In 1864, while fishing in Norway, Traherne caught 165 large salmon in only 15 days, a catch that has not been equaled since. Traherne only tied flies with original feathers taken outside the molting period of each species. Thirty years later, in 1895, when he published his bible of salmon flies, Kelson, who recognized Traherne as the best Victorian fly-tier, suggested instead of bird feathers that had become rare and difficult to obtain, one could use artificially dyed feathers or substitutes. Then in 1914, Dr. Pryce Tannatt, a renowned fly-tier, in his book “How to Tie Salmon Flies,” disagreed with Kelson and insisted, at whatever cost, you must certain “ornithological rarities, not only for their beauty, but also for the superiority of these flies made with original feathers compared to those made with dyed feathers or substitutes, for catching salmon.”
In the 1960s, Victorian flies made a tremendous comeback, not for fishing, but for admiration as works of art. Today, they are still admired, even adored while some become literally obsessed with tying the perfect tie with the best materials for tying contests, shows, exhibitions or even fashion shows. For modern fly-tiers, Tannatt’s insistence has held fast. This leads us to one of the craziest stories and thefts in history.
Edwin Rist, an aspiring flautist, originally from New York, went to school in London to study his art as a teenager. He was also a renowned fly-tier and was well respected within the fly-tying community. He really wanted a new flute, in fact a golden flute, and in his student role, certainly did not have the means to buy such. So, in 2009, he broke into the British Natural History Museum in Tring and stole 299 specimen birds, several that had been collected 150 years ago, some by Alfred Russel Wallace, a contemporary of Charles Darwin. These specimen birds were part of one of the largest collections of birds, many used for scientific and historical data. This collection was literally irreplaceable.
So why did Rist do this and what did he do with the specimen birds? He did it to have some feathers of his own for fly-tying and to get money by selling them to the underground feather-buying population. Yep, this exists.
Many modern day fly-tiers who build flies from old recipes insist on the real feather; imitations or substitutes will not do, just like Tannatt insisted. When you can’t get some of these feathers, you resort to unconventional ways to secure your prize. It’s the scarcity principle in economics; high demand for a scarce good drives the price up.
Since national treaties are in place to protect birds, these feathers are nearly impossible to get, but coveted more than ever. In the contemporary fly-tying culture, “those who can tie the real thing, using feathers specified by 150-year-old recipes, are granted a huge amount of prestige and status. Some of these Victorian fly-tying recipes call for $2,000 worth of feathers, all wound around a hook that will never be cast into a river. Though perfectly legal substitute feathers dyed from game birds can be used to achieve the same look,” notes author Kirk Wallace Johnson, author of the compelling and fascinating book “The Feather Thief.” “Rist wanted to be the best at his craft and the quickest way to amass an unrivaled supply of the real thing, in his obsessed mind, was to scale the walls of the Natural History Museum in Tring,” Johnson wrote.
Johnson states, “It is indisputable that the theft has blown open a hole in the scientific record. The skins Rist stole are irreplaceable because we can no longer capture a king bird of paradise from 1860.” Dr. Richard Lane, the director of science at the Natural History Museum, described the Tring theft as “a catastrophic event and a theft of knowledge from humanity.” Johnson notes, “Ornithological collections have long been studied to unlock critical scientific insights. In the 19th century, Darwin and Wallace drew upon them as they independently developed their theories of evolution through natural selection.” He states, in the 20th century, egg collections helped scientists learn the fatal effects of DDT and “feather samples from the Tring seabird collection helped document rising mercury levels in the oceans, leading researchers to describe them as the memory of the ocean. The skins Rist stole almost certainly hold answers to questions that scientists haven’t yet thought to ask.”
So what did Rist do with his stolen goods? He plucked many of them and sold the feathers. When Johnson’s book was published, some of the feathers were returned to Tring, but many were not. Unjustifiably, Rist got away with a fine and no jail time. He has taken a new name and plays as a concert flautist in Germany.
Since the publication of his book, Johnson is obviously pleased that some feathers have been returned; he only wishes he knew what happened to all the skins and where they are now. He also notes there is a “fledgling movement within the world of fly-tiers to embrace sustainable feathers; they hope to stigmatize the obsession with rare and protected plumes in their community and to popularize the use of dyed feathers from game birds like pheasants or turkeys.”
I highly recommend Johnson’s book. It’s an unreal story and reads like a great novel.
Once again, man has set out to dominate to the demise of the very flora and fauna that is desirable. Selfish, unthoughtful and history-halting behavior led to decimating populations. When passion becomes obsession, it can destroy the very thing you love.
We must learn to work with the Earth, treat it with kindness and as a kindred spirit. Native Americans know, we don’t own the Earth, the Earth owns us and one day will take us back.
by Tish Gailmard
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