Disappearing Animal Migrations

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http://www.orionmagazine.org/index.php/articles/article/508/

 

Disappearing Animal Migrations

These magnificent spectacles can still be saved

by David S. Wilcove

Published in the January/February 2008 issue of Orion magazine

 

 

 

AS A LITTLE BOY with a passion for birdwatching, I joined the local

Audubon Society. Each spring as we chased warblers, tanagers, and

thrushes, the old timers would complain about the migration. The

birds, they griped, were fewer, just a fraction of the numbers that

used to pass by. I dismissed their laments. After all, these people

were fifty, sixty, even seventy years old. Their diminished eyesight

and hearing, or the frailties of memory, could explain any apparent

declines in the number of songbirds. Now, nearly four decades later, I

find myself complaining too. Either I am getting older or they were

right. Or both.

 

In fact, all around us, the mass movements of birds, mammals,

reptiles, fish, and insects that are so important to our environment,

economy, and culture are under siege, victims of habitat destruction,

overexploitation, and climate change. The flocks of songbirds that

protect our forests by consuming defoliating insects have been fading

since at least the early 1960s, according to data gathered by U.S. and

Canadian birdwatchers. Since 1990, the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service

has placed over twenty-five populations of Northwestern salmon on the

endangered list--victims of dams, irrigation projects, logging, and

sprawl. In the Yellowstone region, nearly three-quarters of the

migratory routes of pronghorn antelope have been severed due to

farming, fences, oil and gas drilling, and residential development.

 

And yet scant public attention is being paid to the decline of the

world's great animal migrations--a singularly profound change in the

natural world. Why? First, disappearing migrations do not equate to

disappearing species--in most cases, the animals survive, but in

diminished numbers. Accustomed to rescuing species at the brink of

extinction, we tend to ignore those animals that are still relatively

common, but becoming less so every year. Second, ecologists speak of

the concept of " shifting baselines, " a process whereby each generation

takes for granted that what it sees in nature is the norm. From one

generation to the next, we lose track of how great the migrations used

to be, so we fail to appreciate the magnitude of the loss.

 

History suggests that once a great migration is diminished, there is

little prospect of re-creating it, usually because the breeding or

wintering habitat, or the migratory route in between, has been

destroyed or usurped by people. Thus, the time to save a migration is

while the animals are still abundant. Governments and the public must

be prodded to take action before a migratory species is actually

endangered. And they must protect key habitats across jurisdictions

and boundaries, including international borders. The latter requires a

level of cooperation that is all too rare.

 

But it can be found. Canada and the United States signed a joint

waterfowl management plan in 1986 that led to the protection of

millions of acres of wetlands for ducks, geese, and swans. Decades

ago, Kenya and Tanzania created protected areas on each side of their

border to safeguard the Serengeti's spectacular migration of

wildebeest, zebras, and other mammals. Unfortunately, nothing

comparable exists for bats, butterflies, dragonflies, pronghorn, and

numerous other migratory animals.

 

If we strive to protect animal migrations in all their glory, we will

protect much more: our forests and rivers will be healthier; important

habitats from the Arctic to the Amazon will be secured; and future

generations will be able to witness some of the greatest spectacles in

nature.

 

If, on the other hand, we fail to protect the great migrations, our

descendants are unlikely to be angry. They probably will have no idea

what they are missing.

 

 

Real knowledge is to know the extent of one's ignorance.

Confucius