After two empty years of searching, the appearance of the eagle startled John James Audubon.

Autobahn was strolling along a road in Kentucky to visit a friend.

A hundred yards ahead sat a pen where the friend slaughtered hogs and dumped their organs.

You can imagine how pungent it smelled.

Suddenly, Audubon heard wings fluttering.

An eagle who had been snacking on hog guts shot up from the pen and perched on a branch overhead.

Audubon could barely believe his eyes.

This was not a bald eagle.

It was the bird of Washington, a far rarer species.

Audubon had glimpsed the bird just twice before. The second time, he'd spied a nest on a

cliff with two parents and two checks. He had tried to shoot one to collect it, but a sudden

storm had thwarted him. Now he had another chance. Quietly, he withdrew a rifle from his

pack and crept forward. He later swore that the eagle saw him approach and stared right back at him,

undaunted. Audubon raised his rifle, stilled his breath, and fired. The bird was dead before it hit the ground.

Audubon raced up, giddy. The eagle was beautiful, with a 10-foot wingspan. And while he had

no way of knowing it, this specimen would prove to be the most important one he ever collected.

It would salvage his career at its darkest moment and win him

international fame. In fact, without the bird of Washington, no one today would know who John James

Audubon, the most famous naturalist in American history even was.

From the science History Institute, this is Sam Kean and the Disappearing Spoon,

a topsy-turvy, sciencey history podcast, where footnotes become the real story.

According to his autobiography,

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