Essays on early ornithology and kindred subjects — Story, Setting & Ideas

Tracking the Emu Through Dutch Journals

In the essay 'Australian Birds in 1697,' McClymont follows the journal of de Vlaming's squadron along the western coast. When the journal reports a 'Kasuaris' seen near 30°17' S, McClymont notes that 'no Cassowary is known to inhabit western Australia' and concludes the bird must have been an emu. This is a characteristic move: he uses modern distribution knowledge to correct historical identifications, but he does so cautiously, acknowledging that the journal's author may have used a generic term.

He also examines the head of a large bird brought back from an inland excursion, and the 'two huge nests built of branches' seen by the captains. McClymont suggests these were likely made by wedge-tailed eagles or ospreys, citing modern observations. The essay thus becomes a detective story, matching old descriptions to known species.

The Problem of the 'Kropgans' and 'Rotgans'

McClymont devotes careful attention to the Dutch names 'kropgans' and 'rotgans' used in the de Vlaming journal. He notes that dictionaries either ignore 'kropgans' or render it as 'pelican,' which he suspects arises from confusion with the German 'kropfgans.' His own argument is that 'kropgans' referred to domestic geese being fattened, and by extension to the wild Grey Lag Goose. The Australian bird compared to it, he proposes, may be the Cape Barren Goose.

Similarly, 'rotgans' is identified as the Brent Goose, and McClymont suggests the Australian bird most resembling it is the Musk Duck. These identifications are offered as hypotheses, not certainties. The essay shows how translation errors and shifting vernacular names can obscure the identity of species in historical records.

Marco Polo's Rukh and the Limits of Evidence

The first essay, 'The Rukh of Marco Polo,' is not included in the excerpts beyond its opening lines, but the table of contents and the critical tone of the opening paragraph indicate McClymont's approach. He faults Polo for adding 'on-dit more or less marvellous in character' to his narrative, suggesting that the famous rukh—a giant bird of Eastern legend—was one such embellishment.

McClymont does not dismiss the story outright; instead, he implies that Polo's credibility suffers when he repeats hearsay. This essay likely examines how the rukh was later rationalized as a large raptor or ostrich by European naturalists. The pattern is consistent: McClymont treats early texts as fallible witnesses, subject to the same scrutiny as modern field guides.

These essays reward readers who enjoy the intersection of historical navigation, philology, and natural history. McClymont's method is to let the journals speak, then question them. He does not claim certainty where evidence is thin, and he often leaves identifications open. The book is best read with a map of the Australian coast and a willingness to follow footnotes. It is a work of careful scholarship, not popular science.

McClymont’s patient sorting of old voyage journals—those men misnaming an emu, mistaking a cassowary—leaves me oddly grateful for his quiet corrections. There’s a tenderness in untangling what early observers meant, even when they were wrong. I felt that same hand again, years later, tracing a different hillside’s birds. Birds of the Indian Hills — Text and Context carries that same gentle archaeology of names and places, and it lingers long after the page turns.