Jane calls them witch birds because of the season, because of their sinister appearance, but mostly because their cry sounds disturbingly like a cackling witch.
Comorants hold a special place in my heart. When we first brought Eolian down to Seattle, a comorant welcomed us to the area. He attempted to land on our wind vane at the top of the mast, but finding it to be too tippy a perch, he left. But not without unloading before takeoff.
Thankfully I was wearing a hat.