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It is, without question, one of the most famous, most frequently reproduced animal photographs ever made. But photographer Hansel Mieth‘s own attitude toward her 1938 portrait of a sodden rhesus monkey hunched in the water off of Puerto Rico was, to put it bluntly, conflicted. In fact, the German-born Mieth (1909-1998) memorably called the creature in the picture “the monkey on my back.”

As Mieth explained in a 1993 interview with John Loengard, published in his book, LIFE Photographers: What They Saw, she made the photograph while covering a Harvard Medical School primate study on tiny Cayo Santiago, off the east coast of Puerto Rico:

One afternoon all the doctors were away [Mieth told Loengard], and a little kid came running to me and said, “A monkey’s in the water.”

I came down, and that monkey was really going hell-bent for something. . . . I threw my Rolleiflex on my back and swam out. Finally, I was facing the monkey. I don’t think he liked me, but he sat on that coral reef, and I took about a dozen shots.

When she got back to New York, Mieth learned that the joke around the LIFE offices was that she’d produced a striking portrait of Henry Luce, the founder and publisher of TIME, LIFE, Fortune and other magazines: evidently, some of her colleagues felt that the rhesus in the water looked like their boss. When asked by Loengard, six decades later, if she felt the portrait did resemble Luce, Mieth was diplomatic.

I didn’t see Luce that much. He had lots of other things to do rather than talk with photographers. . . . But I suppose it does, in a way. It all depends on what kind of mood you are in. To me it looks like the monkey’s depicting the state of the world at the time. It was dark and somber and angry. There were a lot of dark clouds swirling around. I heard from many people that they were scared when they looked at it.

Today, the monkey on Mieth’s back still commands our gaze, inviting us perhaps challenging us to project our own fears, anxieties and speculations on to a picture, and a primate, that never gets old.

FINAL NOTE: While a half-dozen lesser pictures from the assignment in Puerto Rico were published in the Jan. 2, 1939, issue of LIFE, Mieth’s now-iconic monkey photo appeared a few weeks later, in the Jan. 16 issue accompanied by the caption, “A misogynist seeks solitude in the Caribbean off Puerto Rico.”

According to the magazine, a primatologist explained that “the chatter of innumerable female monkeys had impelled this neurotic bachelor to seek escape from the din” by fleeing the jungle and making his way into the waves.

Seventy-five years later, that particular theory about how and why the rhesus was out there in the water still sounds as reasonable as any other.

Ben Cosgrove is the Editor of LIFE.com

A rhesus monkey in Puerto Rico, 1938.

A rhesus monkey in Puerto Rico, 1938.

Hansel Mieth—The LIFE Picture Collection/Shutterstock

A baby rhesus monkey climbed on the chest of Michael Tomlin, a primatologist who cared for a rhesus colony in Humacao, Puerto Rico, 1938.

Hansel Mieth/Life Picture Collection/Shutterstock

This photo, which ran at a full page in LIFE in 1939, was labelled “Rhesus: Life Size” to show readers how small the monkeys were.

Hansel Mieth/Life Picture Collection/Shutterstock

A rhesus monkey ate a flower in Humacao, Puerto Rico, 1939

Hansel Mieth/Life Picture Collection/Shutterstock

A rhesus monkey searched for food in Cayo Santiago, Humacao, Puerto Rico, 1938.

Hansel Mieth/Life Picture Collection/Shutterstock

Rhesus monkeys searched for food on Cayo Santiago, Humacao, Puerto Rico, 1938.

Hansel Mieth/Life Picture Collection/Shutterstock

The post Behind the Picture: Hansel Mieth’s Wet, Unhappy Monkey appeared first on LIFE.

The following is from LIFE’s new special issue Apes: Their Remarkable World, available at newsstands and online:

Two rangers quietly sat on a platform 25 feet up in a tree with a large pile of bananas and red buckets filled with milk. As I watched, a dozen orangutans quickly climbed and swung over to grab the fruit and stick their heads in the buckets for a drink. The orange-haired apes then lounged around, undisturbed by the humans alongside them. 

Half a mile further into Borneo’s Kabili-Sepilok rainforest it was much less hectic. The air felt humid. I could smell the earth and hear the droning sound of cicadas filling the forest as I avoided the leeches dropping from above. Up ahead I spied another feeding platform. The rangers there sat alone as they scanned the trees but saw no signs of orangutans eager to eat. One of the men bellowed out an apelike long call to announce their presence. Soon a single female with an infant gripping its fur lowered from the canopy above. She snatched some fruit and quickly disappeared back into the jungle. 

The Sepilok Orangutan Rehabilitation Centre near Sandakan, Malaysia, serves as a temporary home for the apes. Infants rescued from habitats destroyed by logging and orphans whose mothers have been killed by poachers are treated and cared for, their beseeching hands reaching out to anyone who enters the nursery. “It’s difficult when the orangutans come in very young,” Reynard Gondipon, the center’s veterinarian, told me as he showed me through the facility. “I urge the rangers to hug them every now and then.” As they grow, the orangutans are moved out onto the grounds of the 9,000-acre center. There these naturally solitary creatures live alongside others as they learn the lore of forest life: how to climb, build nests, search for food, survive. Slowly, like the mother and child who disappeared into the canopy, they embrace the wilds. Once it is determined that they can fend for themselves, Sepilok’s staff transport them into the forest far away from humanity. 

I have long been fascinated by our closest living relatives and our linked ancient ancestry. In the early 1980s I was thrilled to hear presentations by all three of the primatologists known as the Trimates—Jane Goodall, Dian Fossey, and Biruté Galdikas—when they were in New York to discuss their studies of chimpanzees, gorillas, and orangutans. I recall Fossey mentioning a visit to the American Museum of Natural History’s Akeley Hall of African Mammals. While there, she stopped in front of the mountain gorilla diorama. The creatures behind the plate glass had been shot in 1921 by naturalist Carl Akeley during an expedition he led for the museum. Akeley soon after convinced the Belgian government—which controlled the land where those gorillas once lived—to create a national park to protect the apes. Fossey spoke of how she mourned the taxidermic creatures forever frozen in the case yet appreciated Akeley’s and the museum’s efforts to study and save those still in the wild. Of course, Fossey would die only a few years later as she herself fought to protect gorillas in the remote rainforests of Rwanda’s Virunga mountains. 

The work Fossey, Galdikas, and Goodall dedicated their lives to is not for the faint of heart. Galdikas recently described to me the hardships she endured studying Borneo’s orangutans: “You are sitting in the swamp. It is so primeval. You couldn’t stand the buzzing of the mosquitos, the buzzing of the other insects, the horseflies that bite you. They really hurt, just a sharp hurt. And of course, the leeches.” But she also experienced true joy observing the magnificent animals, recalling how on Christmas Day 1971 at the start of her time doing her research she watched a mother and its child emerge from its tree nest. Galdikas called the sight “the best Christmas present.” 

Humans and the great apes (chimpanzees, bonobos, gorillas, and orangutans) and smaller apes (gibbons) share a common past. Our species diverged millions of years ago and evolved. Earth’s human population was about 1 million in 10,000 BCE, and 3 billion when Goodall arrived in Tanzania in 1960. There are now 8 billion people on earth. While the human population has exploded, that is not the case for apes. In 1900 there were more than 1 million chimpanzees in the wild. At most, a third of that number now exist. Orangutans have dropped from 300,000 to roughly 100,000. 

Many more will perish, as the human population is expected to reach 10 billion by 2100. Apes’ numbers have been decimated, as they lose their habitats to deforestation and their lives to poachers. While there are laws to protect these species, trafficking is highly profitable. Each year, thousands of young apes are captured, with baby gorillas being offered for more than half a million dollars on social media sites like WhatsApp. 

There are, though, hopeful signs for some ape populations as they and their habitats are being protected. The mountain gorillas in Uganda’s Bwindi Impenetrable Forest have seen their numbers increase from 254 in 1981 to more than 1,000 today, due to intense conservation practices and ecotourism. 

To preserve their habitats, governments and organizations have trained locals to manage the forests. This creates jobs and encourages communities to protect what they have. The Dian Fossey Gorilla Fund has trackers who monitor daily the largest of the apes where Fossey set up camp back in 1967. “These guys are the front line of conservation,” says Tara Stoinski, president of the fund. “They are the reason that these animals are still on the planet. These mountains are cold, they’re wet, and they are tracking up to 13,000 feet 365 days a year. They are true conservation heroes.”

Galdikas’ Camp Leakey and her Orangutan Care Center and Quarantine facility in the Indonesian village of Pasir Panjang 700 miles southwest of Sandakan similarly cares for and rewilds apes. And the new 117,000 acre Ekolo ya Bonobo, created by Claudine André in rainforests in the northwest of the Democratic Republic of Congo, has become home to freed bonobos. There are fewer than 2,500 Javan silvery gibbons left in the wild, and the Aspinall Foundation in conjunction with the Indonesian government has successfully reintroduced two dozen into protected areas. 

Such work is an uphill and often dangerous battle. Legions of researchers, scientists, and volunteers have devoted their lives to watching over, studying, and protecting our magnificent relatives. As the great primatologist George Schaller wrote of the gorillas in National Geographic in 1995, which holds true for all the great and smaller apes, “We have a common past, but only humans have been given the mental power to worry about their fate.”

Enjoy this selection of photos from LIFE’s new special issue Apes: Their Remarkable World.

Nick Ledger/Alamy; (background) Gudkov Andrey/Shutterstock

A chimpanzee mother and her baby at the Conkouati-Douli National Park in the Republic of Congo.

Gudkov Andrey/Shutterstock

As it is with human children, chimpanzees like to have fun. Playtime is an important developmental activity and can lead to breathy laughter. Three-year-old Gizmo and his 8-year-old brother Gimli enjoyed a bit of roughhousing at Tanzania’s Gombe Stream National Park.

Anup Shah/Stone/Getty

The bonobo is often mistaken for a chimpanzee, but it smaller and slimmer.

Gudkov Andrey/Shutterstock

Gorillas are the largest living primates.

P. Wegner/imageBROKER/Shutterstock

Orangutans like these have the most intense mother-child relationship of any primate besides humans.

Freder/E+/Getty

The Siamang Gibbon makes sounds that can be heard two miles away.

Steve Clancy Photography/Moment/Getty

A lar gibbon and its child swing through the forest canopy.

Kittipong Chotitana/Shutterstock

The post Apes: Their Remarkable World appeared first on LIFE.

If it’s not the strangest movie ever to come out of Hollywood, it’s close enough. And of all the strange movies to come out of Hollywood, it is likely the sweetest.

The stars of the 1948 film Bill and Coo were birds. That’s not to say these these birds stole the show by upstaging their human costars—the birds were the show. The movie’s running time is just over an hour, and except for a two-minute introduction featuring humans, the story is acted out entirely by trained birds on a set of miniatures.

Here’s how LIFE described the production in its July 28, 1947 issue:

The pictures on these pages from Republic’s new movie Bill and Coo are tokens of the gloomy contention of the producer, that movie stars belonging to the species homo sapiens are washed up and the birds are ready to take over….No newcomer to strange breeds of actors, Vaudevillian Ken Murray for the last five years has been packing Hollywood’s El Capital Theater with a raucous oldtime variety show called Blackouts…When a bird trainer named brought his lovebird act around, Murray was so impressed that he dreamed up a starring vehicle for it, had miniature sets built and a lovebird story written.

The entire movie can be viewed online, and the photos taken by Peter Stackpole capture both the charm and peculiarity of the enterprise. The film is set in “Chirpendale U.S.A.,” and the location is one of the movie’s many bird-themed puns. The story is narrated by an off-screen human, but you see birds doing things like walking in and out of buildings, pushing little baby carriages and dropping letters in mailboxes. The plot revolves Bill and Coo, who love each other despite their class differences (Bill has a taxi service, Coo comes from a wealthy family), and they must fight off a malicious crow who threatens life in Chirpendale.

(Perhaps the most surprising detail about the production is that it was the only movie directed by former child actor Dean Riesner, who decades later would leave his mark on Hollywood history as one of the writers of the decidedly un-precious movie Dirty Harry. Yes, the man who directed Bill and Coo also gave us the line “Do you feel lucky? Well, do you punk?“)

On the one hand, no one is going to mistake Bill and Coo for Citizen Kane. On the other hand, it did win an honorary Academy Award, for creating a film “In which artistry and patience blended in a novel and entertaining use of the medium of motion pictures.”

It was novel indeed. In fact, when you look at the movie’s IMDB page and scroll to the heading “More Like This,” what you get are not more live-action movies but rather animated films such as Bambi. Which is another way of saying, there really are no movies like this.

Bill and Coo, the titular stars of the movie, stood on top of a trolley on the film’s set.

Peter Stackpole/Life Picture Collection/Shutterstock

Ken Murray first encountered the birds in his vaudeville show and helped dream up the idea for featuring them in the movie that become Bill and Coo.

Peter Stackpole/Life Picture Collection/Shutterstock

Trainer George Burton works with alligators who also played a role in the movie Bill and Coo, 1947.

Peter Stackpole/Life Picture Collection/Shutterstock

From the set of the bird-centric movie Bill and Coo, 1947.

Peter Stackpole/Life Picture Collection/Shutterstock

The “wrong brothers” are celebrated in one of the many bird-related puns in the movie Bill and Coo.

Peter Stackpole/Life Picture Collection/Shutterstock

A fire-bird slides down a pole the set of the all-bird movie Bill and Coo, 1947.

Peter Stackpole/Life Picture Collection/Shutterstock

From the set of the bird-centric live action movie Bill and Coo, 1947.

Peter Stackpole/Life Picture Collection/Shutterstock

From the set of the bird-centric movie Bill and Coo, 1947.

Peter Stackpole/Life Picture Collection/Shutterstock

A crow played the villain in the bird-centric movie Bill and Coo, 1947.

Peter Stackpole/Life Picture Collection/Shutterstock

Owls on the set of the bird-centric movie Bill and Coo, 1947.

Peter Stackpole/Life Picture Collection/Shutterstock

At the end of the movie Bill and Coo, the titular birds head off on their honeymoon in a puppy-drawn carriage, 1947.

Peter Stackpole/Life Picture Collection/Shutterstock

The post The Oscar-Winning Movie Where the Stars Were All Birds appeared first on LIFE.

In its March 10, 1952 issue LIFE magazine served its readers photos of the “sailing rocks” of the Racetrack Playa, a dry lake bed near Death Valley, California. The stones don’t do anything really wild like zip around in front of people, but they have moved at some point, and we know it by the tracks they have left behind at the Racetrack and also at a few similar locations around the globe. LIFE’s photos by Loomis Dean captured the phenomenon that keeps the Playa Racetrack a tourist destination all these years later.

Here was the setup offered in LIFE, in an article titled “The Case of the Skating Stones”:

On a dry lake bed high in the Panamint Mountains near Death Valley sit several dozen boulders whose peculiar behavior has long been a nightmare to geologists. The boulders, which weigh up to a quarter ton, stand at the ends of long, gouged-out paths which show that they periodically respond to unknown forces and skate about on the flat earthen floor.

LIFE painted the situation as a complete mystery, mentioning disproved theories from everyday folks that attributed the stones’ movement to the lake bed tilting back and forth, or perhaps to “Russians tampering with the magnetic pole.” (This was the early days of the Cold War, mind you). LIFE ended its writeup by saying “The mystery may never be completely solved. When humans observers are about, the stones refuse to budge an inch.”

But since 1952 scientists, when not busy exploring space and inventing cell phones and so forth, did come up with a leading hypothesis, which is that the stones’ skating is likely caused by the movement of thin sheets of ice that can form there in wintertime, with high winds perhaps helping to push stones along.

Though sometimes the stones have moved for reasons that are all too explicable—such as in 2013, when some stones were stolen. A park spokesman expressed both disappointment and confusion at the theft, saying “They don’t seem to understand that outside the Racetrack, these stones have no value.” Other visitors have damaged the site by taking the “Racetrack” name literally and driving their cars on it.

Sometimes human behavior is a mystery all its own.

The “sailing stones” of the Racetrack Playa in Death Valley, California, 1952.

Loomis Dean/Life Picture Collection/Shutterstock

The “sailing stones” of the Racetrack Playa in Death Valley, California, 1952.

Loomis Dean/Life Picture Collection/Shutterstock

LIFE’s 1952 story on the sailing stones of Racetrack Playa in Death Valley included this photo of stone-like objects described as “burro droppings” that had likely been moved by the same forces as the stones.

Loomis Dean/Life Picture Collection/Shutterstock

The sailing stones of the Racetrack Playa in Death Valley, California, 1952.

Loomis Dean/Life Picture Collection/Shutterstock

This three-quarter-ton stone left its mark after moving across a dry lake bed in Death Valley, 1952.

Loomis Dean/Life Picture Collection/Shutterstock

“Sailing stones” left tracks as they drifted across Racetrack Playa in Death Valley, California, 1952.

Loomis Dean/Life Picture Collection/Shutterstock

A small stone left these intricate tracks on the Racetrack Playa in Death Valley, California, 1952.

Loomis Dean/Life Picture Collection/Shutterstock

LIFE’s 1952 story on the Racetrack Playa described this photo as being from a “ghost experiment,” guessing that an amateur scientist had tied up the rock to keep it from moving, but over time the rope had eventually rotted away.

Loomis Dean/Life Picture Collection/Shutterstock

The post Stones on the Run: A Death Valley Spectacle appeared first on LIFE.

Lake George, N.Y. makes an unusual claim to fame: it touts itself as the America’s original vacation spot.

The basis of that claim? In 1869 a Boston preacher named William H.H. Murray published his popular book Adventures in the Wilderness, or Camp-Life in the Adirondacks, which was a mix of fiction and travel brochure touting the wonders of outdoor life in Lake George. And readers started coming there for getaways, inspired by the idea that the wilds of nature were to be enjoyed rather than merely navigated or avoided. According to an article in Smithsonian about Lake George, the people who ventured there that first summer didn’t enjoy it much because they were often unprepared for outdoor life and the weather that year was unusually cold and rainy. (Sounds like a classic vacation). But in subsequent years the weather was better and Lake George flourished as a tourist destination.

That history may help explain why LIFE photographer Nina Leen went to Lake George in 1941 to photograph a young couple enjoying a weekend in nature. The pictures are indeed stunning, particularly the one titled “Private Island,” which shows the couple sitting together on a small outcropping in the middle of a placid lake. The photo makes Lake George look like a kind of Eden. (It should be noted that the same spot looks more ordinary in other photos taken by Leen— the rock the couple is sitting on is just a few steps from the shore—but as every amateur photographer knows, when crafting that perfect vacation photo, angles are everything).

LIFE never ran Leen’s story on Lake George—one imagines it might have been bumped for news about the gathering storm that was World War II. So we don’t know much about the young man and woman in the photos: their ages, occupations, marital status, or where they arrived from. That’s fine. Their anonymity allows them become a symbolic Adam and Eve, making their way back for a couple days in paradise.

A young couple vacationing at Lake George, New York.

Nina Leen/Life Picture Collection/Shutterstock

A young couple vacationing at Lake George, New York, 1941.

Nina Leen/Life Picture Collection/Shutterstock

A couple vacationing at Lake George, New York, 1941.

Nina Leen/Life Picture Collection/Shutterstock

A young couple enjoyed a Lake George vacation in a Nina Leen photo entitled “Private Island,” 1941.

Nina Leen/Life Picture Collection/Shutterstock

A couple vacationing at Lake George, New York, 1941.

Nina Leen/Life Picture Collection/Shutterstock

A couple vacationing at Lake George, New York, 1941.

Nina Leen/Life Picture Collection/Shutterstock

A couple vacationing at Lake George, New York, 1941.

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A couple vacationing at Lake George, New York, 1941.

Nina Leen/Life Picture Collection/Shutterstock

A couple vacationing at Lake George, New York, 1941.

Nina Leen/Life Picture Collection/Shutterstock

A couple vacationing at Lake George, New York, 1941.

Nina Leen/Life Picture Collection/Shutterstock

A couple vacationing at Lake George, New York, 1941.

Nina Leen/Life Picture Collection/Shutterstock

A couple vacationing at Lake George, New York, 1941.

Nina Leen/Life Picture Collection/Shutterstock

A couple vacationing at Lake George, New York, 1941.

Nina Leen/Life Picture Collection/Shutterstock

A couple vacationing at Lake George, New York, 1941.

Nina Leen/Life Picture Collection/Shutterstock

A couple vacationing at Lake George, New York, 1941.

Nina Leen/Life Picture Collection/Shutterstock

A couple vacationing at Lake George, New York, 1941.

Nina Leen/Life Picture Collection/Shutterstock

A couple vacationing at Lake George, New York, 1941.

Nina Leen/Life Picture Collection/Shutterstock

The post The Original Vacation Spot appeared first on LIFE.

The following is from LIFE’s beautifully illustrated new special edition, Birds: The World’s Most Remarkable Creatures, available at newsstands and online:

The first bird I fell in love with—my “spark bird”—was soaring in the northeastern Florida sky one May many years ago, its pointed wings spread gracefully and its deeply forked tail gently twisting to guide its curving flight. The black-and-white coloration was distinctive, and I rushed to a local used bookstore for what would become the first of many field guides on my shelves. A few flips of the pages, and I knew I’d seen a swallow-tailed kite, an elegant raptor that is a summer visitor to Florida and the southeastern United States. 

Tens of millions of birders have had similar encounters with their own spark bird. In the United States alone, more than 45 million people are bird watchers. Roughly $4 billion is spent annually on birdseed and foods such as suet, nuts, and nectar, while another $2 billion is spent on binoculars, spotting scopes, and other equipment. Birds are the focus of conservation programs and citizen science projects such as the Great Backyard Bird Count; art projects like the Audubon Mural Project in New York City, which highlights 314 bird species; and movies like Happy Feet (about penguins) and The Big Year (about a birding competition). 

That so many people love birds may be partly because there’s a bird for everyone. The more than 10,000 known bird species come in an extraordinary variety, and they can be found—almost literally—everywhere. 

Birds thrive in all habitats, from fierce roadrunners in rocky deserts to colorful toucans in tropical jungles. You don’t need to live next to a wildlife refuge or nature preserve to enjoy a multitude of bird species—even the busiest cities are home to swallows and sparrows, hawks nesting on skyscrapers, ducks in park ponds, and hummingbirds in flower beds. Taking a trip to the beach? Watch for sandpipers running from the waves, pelicans floating on the water, and gulls flocking on the dunes. In rural areas, there might be quail, magpies, and wild turkeys at the edges of farm fields, while suburban yards can be flush with thrushes, warblers, and buntings. Wherever we are, birds provide us with an active, living connection to nature.

Birds’ often vibrant colors can distinguish a species in a beautiful way. The brilliant red of the northern cardinal stands out against winter snows, while the bright hue of the blue jay is a bold splash of color among the leaves. Birds come in every color, and some—like the painted bunting, with his blue head, lime-green back, and rich red chest—are a rainbow all by themselves.

The varied hues have a purpose. Brighter colors can help birds attract stronger mates—as a general but not ironclad rule, the more colorful of the species are the males, with female birds often more muted, more demure, in their coloring. In other cases, a mottled pattern provides camouflage to protect nesting birds, and some birds, such as the northern pygmy owl, even have false “eyespots” on the back of their head to fool potential predators.

The sight of birds in flight suggests a sense of freedom—from the awesome dive of a peregrine falcon to the swooping curves of a barn swallow, or even the quick flitting of a house wren. The long-distance migrations of birds, flying hundreds or even thousands of miles between their summer and winter habitats, highlight their endurance and perseverance, as well as a kind of navigational intelligence. Birds rely on landmarks and stars to guide their journeys. 

There’s a variety in how they fly as well. Consider the hours-long flights of albatrosses out at sea as they soar on air currents; the frantic, adrenaline-inducing flights of pheasants scattering from predators; or the flittering flights of foraging warblers navigating the high trees without hitting a single branch.

And of course, there’s their songs. Chirps, whistles, coos, and warbles are as familiar as the somewhat less melodious screeches, squawks, hoots, and quacks. Some birds, such as mockingbirds, thrashers, and catbirds, are outstanding mimics and imitate not only other birds but also other animals—as well as car alarms and ring tones. 

Birds sing to attract mates and to defend their territory, with more complex songs indicating better health and greater experience to lure the very best mates or defend larger territories. Other songs and calls communicate information about food or predators, and while in flight, flocks of birds often call to one another to maintain proper spacing with their airborne neighbors. 

The reasons why humans appreciate birds are almost as diverse as birds themselves. The bill of a roseate spoonbill, the hovering of a hummingbird, the gleam of an eagle’s eye, the trill of a nightingale in the gloaming: Maybe one of those birds is your spark bird, long since catalogued or quite literally just up around the bend.

Here is a selection of photos from LIFE’s new special edition exploring the beauty of birds, Birds: The World’s Most Remarkable Creatures.

phototrip/iStock/Getty Images

The secretary bird, native to Africa and found south of the Sahara desert, stands about four feet tall.

Mark Newman/The Image Bank/Getty Images

A red- billed blue magpie can use its wedge-shaped beak to open shells.

eiffel/500px/Getty Images

The wild flamingo owes its distinctive hue to a diet that includes that includes shrimp and algae, which contain carotenoids that, when metabolized, create those fiery-colored feathers.

Jonathan Ross/iStock/Getty Images

During migration, snow geese travel in large flocks and stick to fairly narrow routes that provide winds to follow, good visibility, and precipitation-free periods.

Spondylolithesis/iStock/Getty Images

The king vulture is more colorful than other vultures and, unlike other colorful birds, it is bald, which is believed to help prevent disease-laden animal remains from festering in dense plumage.

miroslav_1/iStock/Getty Images

Lapwings often build their nests in rough or broken ground to help camouflage the eggs.

Andrew Linscott/E+/Getty Images

Known for their smarts, blue jays can mimic the calls of hawks to let other jays know a hawk is nearby.

GummyBone/iStock/Getty Images

Mandarin duck males In spring and early summer have elaborate, colorful plumage. Females are a little less eye-catching, with gray feathers and a muted bill. After the mating season, the males’ feathers molt to brown and gray as well.

Vicki Jauron, Babylon and Beyond Photography/Moment/Getty Images

In the vast landscape of Mongolia’s Altai Mountains, ancient Kazakh hunters on horseback used eagles to track their prey. The tradition was passed down through generations. Today, the practice has become a source of tourism revenue from visitors who pay to see the famed birds in action.

Timothy Allen/Stone/Getty Images

The post Birds: The World’s Most Remarkable Creatures appeared first on LIFE.