The Last One

Scientists from Woods Hole Oceanographic Institution study whales. One way that they do this is by studying the singing of the animals – their sonic signature. Each whale has one that is somewhat unique, and the frequency of the call can help identify what species of whale they’re listening to.

In 1989, they heard the plaintive call of a whale at 52-hertz. This was unusual. None of the whales in their database called at 52-hertz, and they were unaware of a species that regularly sang at that frequency. They heard it again in 1990, 1991, and almost every year after that. They know that it swims from the Aleutian Islands of Alaska, down to the California coast, and then back again. They also know that – unlike their other whales – “52” swims alone.

When you consider the fact that whales sing to communicate, and a whale song can travel almost 3,000 miles through the water, “52” may be the loneliest whale in the world.

Around a year ago, different sorts of scientists near Cody, Wyoming, managed to attach a radio collar to a young Gray Wolf, who became known as “Echo.” Echo traveled down the Rocky Mountains and into Grand Canyon National Park in Arizona. In addition to being a daunting 750-mile journey, Echo was the first Gray Wolf seen in the Grand Canyon since at least the 1940’s. Perhaps she was the loneliest wolf?

A few weeks ago, a hunter mistook Echo for a coyote and shot her.

At one point in America’s history, one out of every four birds flying our skies was an Ectopistes migratoius, or Passenger Pigeon. Slightly larger than a mourning dove, it was fast and maneuverable, with bright red markings. It was said that flocks contained so many birds that they blocked out the sun, and when they roosted at night the weight of the flocks would break the tree branches upon which they sat. In the early 1800’s, our expansion westward reduced their habitat, and their huge numbers made them a plentiful food source, so we hunted them. On September 1, 1914, the Cincinnati Zoo announced the death of “Martha,” their Passenger Pigeon. She was the last of her kind.

All of this made us imagine what it must be like to be the “last one.” Like Will Smith in Legend. No one else to talk to. No one else to share with.

The thing is, losing a single species has a tremendous impact. Each animal and creature serves a purpose. Big fish eat little fish and the world keeps spinning on greased grooves (a sentiment John Steinbeck would’ve appreciated). Granted, there are nuisance animals that we would rather not see (think: mosquito). As someone who grew up with farmers, I can vouch that my family would be perfectly content to never see another groundhog.

But here’s how it works: Talk to farmers and recreational gardeners today, and conversation will ultimately come around to deer. They’re everywhere. The eat crops, nosh on gardenias, and eliminate forest seedlings. Why are they such a problem? Because we’ve successfully eliminated almost all of their natural predators.

The other issue is the health of the few remaining members of these vulnerable species. There’s a pride of lions that live in the Ngorongoro Crater in Tanzania. This is an area in a dormant volcanic cauldron that’s virtually cut off from the rest of Africa. Like creatures of Madagascar, the animals in Ngorongoro have developed separate from their outside relatives. This lack of diversity has caused inbreeding and disease, and today they number around 75. When they’re gone, they’re gone.

And it isn’t just the animals. Throughout the Appalachians miners use a process called “mountaintop removal” to get at the coal buried beneath the ancient hilltops. The first step is the removal of all of the trees. When they’ve gathered their coal, they replant the flattened spine of the mountains, but they use highland grasses and evergreens, because they’re cheap and grow faster. This certainly helps to bring these areas back to “green,” but it doesn’t replace those old-growth forests of oak, elm, and maples. The mountains of the Appalachians are among the most biologically diverse in the world. They’re like the Rain Forest of North America. This is due in large part to the long-term geologic stability of the mountain range. And in a few years we’ve managed to screw it up.

Remember, when they’re gone, they’re gone. Don’t let them get lonely.