The way of the Auk?

November-December 1994

This is an article from WaveLength Magazine, available in print in North America and globally on the web.

The following is an excerpt of a talk given at the Great Auk Conference by Dr. Leslie Harris, OC, PhD, former president of Memorial University in St. John's Newfoundland on Canada's east coast. The Great Auk - a huge, flightless bird, standing 30" tall - was plundered to extinction in the 1840s. The annual conference in its name has taken on even greater significance in the face of the collapse of the once super-abundant codfish stocks, and the message is vital to us on the west coast as we see the inevitable decline in our fishes and forests due to over-harvesting.

I believe, perhaps over optimistically, that we are coming painfully to the realization that we do not stand apart from, but are directly involved in, the processes that constitute the dynamics of our ecosystem. The nature of our involvement is clearly that of the ultimate predator, whose powers, sharpened by intellect and enhanced by technology, are virtually limitless.

As creatures whose ancient home was the sea and whose very cells are awash in its briny waters, we long since left our native element. Then, having spent many centuries dabbling around its edges, we returned to it through the miracle of modern technology. But we returned without those biological controls that have over the centuries enabled cod and capelin and seals and murres and gannets and whales and a host of other species to live in some sort of rough equilibrium one with the other.

Rather we returned with the arrogant belief that all things were made for our use and enjoyment; that it was our mandate, as the great ones set in exaltation above all other creation, to eat up the little ones; that the great creative power would ensure that those little ones like Elija's cruse of oil would never be depleted. For long we seemed to deny any responsibility for stewardship, any moral commitment to protect the integrity of other creatures who were, like the great auk, rendered powerless, in the face of our technology, to survive. Which is to say that our predation, unlike any other, is, if not controlled by deliberate acts of will, to the death. Our technology can be utterly destructive and no biological mechanisms exist to counteract it. If we do not engage our intellects to develop and apply strategies of control, the end is certain.

But as I say, I am an optimist. The blows that we have recently endured seem to have softened our thick skulls to permit the entry of new ideas. Few of us, perhaps, would yet go so far as to admit fellowship with a dogfish, but, I believe, most of us would now accept that as humans we have a responsibility for the conservation both of individual species and of species diversity. I believe that many of us have indeed gone beyond purely economic self-interest in reflecting upon our ecosystem relationships.

Recently I visited virtually every community accessible by road in a 300- 400 mile stretch of coastline, talking to people, bird watching, botanizing, and enjoying the scenery. I was, I may say, impressed and exalted not only by what I saw, though it is a magnificent bit of coast, but also by what I heard. I recognized not only a sophisticated awareness of the issues, but as well a real sense of responsibility, both personal and communal, that bodes well for a future, if, indeed, a future is vouchsafed to us.

I was absolutely delighted to find, in Comfort Cove, for example, a bird sanctuary, right in the heart of town where I was able to watch greater Yellow legs, Hudsonian godwits, semipalmated ringed plover, semipalmated sandpipers, least sandpipers, ring necked ducks, green winged teal and black ducks.

In the bottom of Northern Arm of Botwood I found a splendid flock of Canada geese, blackduck, pintail, blue and green winged teal, ring necked duck, two caspian terns, yellow legs in number, and an assortment of 'peeps'.

But what delighted me most was that most of the birds I saw were well within sight of the residents of the communities... and none were being harassed or hunted or in any way disturbed. ...To me, recollecting the hunting and gathering culture in which I grew up, and the mores that generally informed, until quite recently, the common attitude towards wild creatures, the experience was uplifting to a degree that I find difficult to express or explain.

At bottom, I suppose, it exposed a hope that at some future time, mankind will cease altogether to be killers; and that in the meantime we will confine our killing to species that do have great economic significance and even in such cases that we will manage our harvest with due regard to the integrity of the ecosystems for which our special powers give us such an overwhelming responsibility.