We
humans are not light travelers. We take things with us, leave
things behind. We leave our mark like the trails of comets tracing
over the earth, the lingering fire of a sparkler as it cuts through a
summer night.
Nowhere
is this more apparent than in New Zealand, which, according to a
recent New Zealand Geographic article, has more introduced species
from more sources than perhaps any other country in the world. And we
only just got here. Deep in the southern hemisphere, New Zealand was
the last country on the planet to be discovered by humans. While
early hominids were planting the seeds of agriculture in the Middle
East in 8,000 B.C., Maori people first stumbled upon the shores of
New Zealand just 800 years ago.
Perhaps
because we arrived so late, we are better able to envision what these
islands are “supposed” to look like. We can picture an untouched,
pre-human New Zealand more vividly than an Egypt free of pyramids or
a North America teeming with mammoths. In most places in the world,
we left our mark so long ago that we've lost sight of what it
“should” look like, but here in New Zealand, paradise lost is
still in sight, and there's a growing sentiment that it's our
responsibility to return to that state.
Among
conservationists in New Zealand, a battle is being waged against
invasive and introduced species. The list is long: rats, birds,
weasels, cats, goats, fish, deer and countless other creatures were
brought to these islands by both Maori and European settlers, some
intentionally, others not.
Originally,
New Zealand was a land free of mammals, with the exception of two
species of bats and some seals. The Jurassic-like forests were filled
with fantastic birds of all shapes and sizes, from giant,
ostrich-like moas to green alpine parrots to the iconic, diminutive
kiwi. When Australia and New Zealand separated from the
mega-continent Gondwana 13 million of years ago, Australia got all
the poisonous spiders, snakes and mammals, while New Zealand squeaked
by with only birds. But with the arrival of human beings, New
Zealand's avian biodiversity took a nosedive -- much like native
wildlife has wherever humans have arrived. Early hominids hunted
mammoths to extinction, our more recent ancestors drove buffalo to a
few protected reserves and we ourselves introduced pests
that wiped out the American chestnut. Why would New Zealand be any
different?
Europeans
understandably needed food when they arrived here, and they populated
the wilderness with deer and game birds for hunting and the rivers
with trout and salmon for fishing. But they didn't stop there. New
Zealand was viewed not as an evolutionary wonder but a blank slate,
ready to accept all the comforts of home: songbirds resonant of an
English garden, pastoral fields dotted with sheep, the spreading
boughs of oak trees to picnic under. Buoyed by such successes, some
colonists began to dream even bigger, envisioning a New Zealand
filled with kangaroos, zebras and monkeys.
Meanwhile,
a war was waged against native species. Farmers shot kea by the
thousands, as the highly intelligent birds were harming sheep in much
the same way that wolves now badger ranchers in the American west.
Other birds of prey were hunted with equal vigor.
Now,
less than 150 years later, the attitude has shifted dramatically.
Riding a wave of eco-tourism and national pride, native species are
now glorified and invasives utterly vilified. Recently, I kayaked
with a Kiwi who complained bitterly that deer were eating native
plants, without mentioning that the deer are filling an ecological
niche left by the moa: clearing the forest underbrush. There is no
season on deer; they can be hunted at any time, with whatever means
necessary. Weasels are trapped, possums poisoned and roadkill
applauded. In 2012, a group of conservationists gathered to create a
plan for a predator-free New Zealand. That's the ideal: no more
mammals, just the birds, free and wild. Joined, of course, by
ourselves. Is it wishful thinking that we can return a land to its
original state while continuing to live there?
And
the actions of today's environmentalists can be as misguided as those
of 19th
century colonists. Cyanide and the poison known as 1080 are widely distributed to kill possums and other mammals, but also damage native plants, insects and birds. Driving through the South Island, handmade signs everywhere denounce the use of 1080.
But
although human actions have eliminated half of New Zealand's native
birds and imposed many new species, there have been a few positive
consequences as well. A wallaby introduced to New Zealand may prove
to be the species' savior as it becomes more endangered in its native
Australia. Similarly, on the other side of the world, a species of
fish known as the Sunapee trout has become nearly extinct from the
lakes in New England where it evolved, but it continues to thrive in
remote alpine lakes in Idaho where it was introduced for
sportfishing. Ebb and flow. Give and take. We humans bumble our way
through this world, bending it to suit our needs while trying somehow
to do what's right. Sometimes we succeed, more often we fail, but
rarely are the consequences those we had in mind.