Hope for Animals and Their World

by Jane Goodall; Thane Maynard; Gail Hudson

  When I was a young girl, it was possible for me to forgive Captain Cook and the people of his era, for they had no idea of the direction we were heading (though they were unknowingly mapping out the path of the future). But at that time, the world was largely unexplored, its wonders undiscovered—and there were far fewer human beings. Still, if a child seventy-five years from now finds that most animals have gone from the earth, she will not be able to excuse the behavior of those who destroyed them. For she will know that they were lost not from a position of ignorance, but because the majority of humans simply did not care.

  Fortunately, some people do care a great deal, and sometimes heroic efforts are being made to save and conserve threatened and endangered species. But for them, the list of extinct animals today would be much longer. I have been privileged to meet many of them, and in this book I look forward to introducing as many as I can, along with the animals, plants, and habitats to which they have devoted their lives.

  The stories we are sharing in the first two parts show how complicated a business this conservation of wildlife is. For it is necessary to integrate research, protection in the wild, habitat restoration, captive breeding, and raising awareness in the local population. And there are restrictions—everything must be undertaken under the watchful eyes of government authorities. Also, it is inevitable that when passionate people with different perspectives try to work together, differences of opinion arise, and these opinions will be hotly defended—and although, through discussion and compromise, agreement will usually be reached, a good deal of time and effort may be wasted along the way. In the best-case scenario, organizations working to protect an animal and its environment cooperate for the good of the species, and the public volunteers its help.

  Part 1 tells the stories of six mammal and bird species that actually became extinct in the wild. They were saved only through captive breeding with the goal of returning their progeny to the wild once their numbers had increased and areas of habitat had been set aside for their lasting protection. But the issue of captive breeding was—and still is—highly controversial. There are objections to such projects from those who feel last-minute solutions will not work, and are a waste of time and above all money. Fortunately the passionate biologists who worked to save the six species in this section refused to listen to them.

  I have fallen in love with black-footed ferrets. Tiny in size, mighty in courage, and utterly enchanting, they have been brought back from the brink of extinction by a team of dedicated and inspired biologists. For in the brilliant emerald of the ferret’s nighttime eyes lies hope for the future of the great North American prairies. (Jessie Cohen, Smithsonian National Zoo)

  Black-Footed Ferret

  (Mustela nigripes)

  In the Lakota culture, the black-footed ferret is called itopta sapa: ite—face, opta—across, sapa—black. The Lakota admired itopta sapa for its cunning and elusiveness and held it sacred. Creatures that were hard to kill, like itopta sapa, were thought to be protected by the earth power and the thunder beings. Today the Lakota still consider this ferret sacred.

  At one time, short- and mixed-grass prairies, home to the black-footed ferret, covered nearly one-third of North America, from Canada to Mexico. This vast area was also home to the great bison herds as well as the prairie dogs that lived in huge colonies, and provided food and homes for the ferrets, who lived in their burrows.

  When Europeans arrived in North America, things began to change. Human developments transformed the prairies, so that more and more prairie dog habitat was destroyed, and the ranchers began their ongoing campaign to poison as many as possible. They maintained that the rodents competed with their livestock for grass and that their burrows would cause broken legs. By 1960, using the most conservative calculations, prairie dogs had lost some 98 percent of the land they had once occupied. New diseases were also brought to the prairies: Sylvatic plague, for example, entered North America around the turn of the century and is having a devastating impact on prairie dog towns to this day.

  Prairie dogs, being rodents, can quickly bounce back from a population decline, but not so black-footed ferrets. They are predators with a naturally low population that is spread out over a wide area. As their numbers declined, it became more and more difficult for them to replenish themselves.

  Disappearing into Extinction

  In 1964, the federal government was actually debating whether these wild ferrets should be listed as extinct when a small population (only 20 of the 151 prairie dog colonies in the area were occupied) was discovered in Mellette County, South Dakota. As time went on, however, it became clear that this small population was decreasing, probably because of fragmented habitat and the poisoning of prairie dog colonies.

  In 1971, six of the Mellette County ferrets were captured to form the nucleus for a captive breeding program. Tragically, four of these precious lives were lost when they were vaccinated against distemper, even though the vaccine had not harmed the Siberian ferrets on which it had been tested. Three more were then captured, but the program seemed doomed. Over the next four breeding seasons, one of the captive females refused to mate, and although the other twice produced litters of five, each time four of the five were stillborn, and the fifth died soon after birth. Meanwhile, the wild ferrets of Mellette County were disappearing—the last time one was seen was 1974.

  I can imagine the desperation of the team working on the captive breeding as they watched the species falling into extinction. In 1979, the last remaining captive black-footed ferret died of cancer, and the federal government again debated listing the species extinct.

  A Fateful Encounter

  And then, on September 26, 1981, two years after the death of the last captive black-footed ferret in South Dakota, something very exciting happened. In Meeteetse, Wyoming, on the property of John and Lucille Hogg, a small animal got too close to Shep, their blue heeler ranch dog, when he was eating his dinner—and Shep naturally killed it. John found the strange-looking animal by Shep’s dish and tossed it over the yard fence, but when he told his wife about it, she became curious and retrieved the body. She was enchanted by the beautiful little creature, and took it to the taxidermist to be preserved. And the taxidermist recognized a black-footed ferret!

  A group of excited ferret enthusiasts quickly gathered to survey the area. How excited Dennie Hammer and Steve Martin must have been when they saw two emerald-green eyes shining as a little head popped up from a burrow—vindication at last for their conviction that wild ferrets still existed! Yet only pure luck had provided this proof. Over the next five years, private, state, and federal conservation biologists and many volunteers worked to learn more about the ferret population. They searched for the ferrets with spotlights, trapped them and marked them with tags, fitted them with tiny radio transmitters on neck collars (so the team could spy on the ferrets’ nocturnal habits), and used a new technology, tiny transponders that could be implanted in the neck (which allow short-range identification of an individual animal).

  “None of us took them for granted,” Steve Forrest, a team member, told me later. “We knew the ferrets as individuals. We lived with them. We knew these were the last members of the species.”

  My Night with the Ferrets

  In April 2006, thanks to my friend Tom Mangelsen, the photographer, I met some of that original dedicated team—Steve and Louise Forrest, Brent Houston, Travis Livieri, Mike Lockhart, and Jonathan Proctor. We gathered in Wall, South Dakota, at Ann’s Motel. I soon found that this would be an all-night experience, for the ferrets are not active till around midnight. We set out in the evening, stopping for a picnic to watch the sun set behind the extraordinary rock formations of the Badlands, bringing out the fantastic colors—ocher, mauve, yellow, gray, and all the subtle shades between.

  Gradually, as we drove toward the prairies, the day faded until all color was drained from the landscape. There was no light pollution apart from the headlights of our trucks, and the stars were lar
ge and brilliant in the wide sky. It was strange to think that we were driving over the thriving underground prairie dog towns—that were home, too, to the black-footed ferrets.

  It was close to midnight when Brent called out: “There’s one!” And I saw the eyes of a small animal shining brilliant emerald green as they reflected his spotlight. As we drove closer, I made out the ferret’s head as she looked at us, listening to the engines. She did not vanish as we cautiously drove closer. And when she did duck down, she could not resist popping up for another look before disappearing. When we eventually went over to peek down the burrow, there was her little face, peeking back at us, not at all afraid. Travis later returned to take a reading of her transponder chip—which is how I know she was female.

  Travis, who was in a second truck, found another ferret—a male—who soon darted into a burrow. It was the time of year, Travis explained, when males check out the burrows looking for females in estrus (in heat). Sure enough, after a while the ferret bounded out and raced to another burrow. He moved like lightning, his tiny body stretched out long and thin. We followed. Obviously, no suitable female there, for soon he reappeared, stood upright to look around, and stretched tall as he could—checking for coyotes and foxes. Then he streaked off and vanished into yet another burrow. That burrow was apparently female-less also, for he soon emerged again. During his next cross-country run, our ferret bumped into—physically bumped into—a horned lark! As the startled bird flew up, the ferret did a complete backflip to land, like the acrobat he is, on all four feet facing the way he was going before. Without a pause he raced on toward the next burrow. It was a fabulous show! I doubt anyone has ever seen a black-footed ferret–horned lark encounter of that sort.

  How Bureaucratic Obstinacy Nearly Led to the Extinction of the Ferrets

  The next day, Tom and I were able to sit down with Travis, Steve, and Jonathan (the others had to leave) and talk about the black-footed ferret recovery program. Steve described the harrowing events that took place four years after the miraculous discovery of the wild Meeteetse ferrets. In August 1985, they got permission to assess the status of the ferret population, as they had done each year. They found 58 individuals, a marked decline from the 129 found the previous summer. In September, they estimated there were only thirty-one, and by October the wild ferrets were down to just sixteen.

  The biologists believed that the ferrets had been afflicted by distemper, and they sought permission from the Wyoming Game & Fish Department (responsible for the black-footed ferret program) to capture some individuals so they could get blood samples for veterinary testing. Permission was refused on the grounds that the procedures were too invasive. The situation worsened—it became clear that the juveniles were not surviving.

  Brian Miller, whom I met later, was part of the team at that time. “Walking the area was not like previous years, when ferrets reliably occupied areas,” he told me. “Now you would see a ferret in his or her territory on one night, and the next night that area was empty.” This situation, while desperately alarming to the biologists, was ignored by Wyoming G&F. Finally, a meeting was arranged to discuss the ferrets’ plight. Steve, Louise, and Brent, along with other biologists, were all present, as were various staff of Wyoming G&F, a representative of IUCN, and a group of old-time game rangers who had no understanding of—or patience with—conservation biology.

  At this meeting, the scientists were criticized for not providing good data—data about the suspected distemper epidemic that they had not been allowed to collect! The discussion became heated. The scientists stressed the urgency of trapping more ferrets for intensive captive breeding. Permission was again refused. Things were going badly for the researchers and, thus, for the future of the ferrets when the Wyoming G&F veterinarian came into the room, clearly agitated.

  At that time, there were six ferrets in captivity, trapped earlier for the captive breeding program that had, after prolonged pressure from many sources, eventually been agreed to by Wyoming G&F. One of the six, reported the veterinarian, had died, and another was very sick. The reason—distemper, almost certainly contracted in the wild. “All at once it was very quiet,” said Steve, flashing a broad smile as he recalled the discomfort of their obstinate adversaries. At last, the scientists had their evidence.

  Gone in the Wild

  Yet even then, they were only allowed to catch animals from the central part of the range—leaving the most vulnerable individuals in the peripheral areas to disappear, lost forever. And despite the fact that the ferrets were clearly on the brink of extinction, Wyoming officials did not deviate from a planned strategy—only six more ferrets (the original six were dead or dying) could be caught. And they could only trap one per day—because that was the rate at which cages were being constructed. Offers to bring in a company to make them faster were ignored.

  “We started right away,” Steve told me. Over the next three nights, they covered forty square miles of prairie, trapping ferrets in a desperate attempt to save the species. On the third night, Brent had just trapped two when an officious local game officer arrived and told him he had exceeded his quota. “He told Brent to release one of the two,” said Steve, “and Brent refused.” They practically came to blows as the game officer simply cut the trap open.

  By that time there were so few ferrets, and Wyoming G&F had been so uncooperative, that there had been little choice as to which individuals were trapped. Thus the nucleus of the breeding group was three adult females and one juvenile (Emma, Molly, Annie, and Willa), as well as two juvenile males (Dexter and Cody). A specialist in captive breeding warned that without an adult male the onset of breeding would be delayed, but Wyoming G&F ignored this advice, and though an adult male was seen in a peripheral area, his capture was not permitted. Thus there were no litters in the captive group the next season.

  It was an agonizing time. Brian Miller, who had paired the captive ferrets, told me how they had watched the breeding cages on a remote camera all night. “We were wondering,” he said, “if we were watching the modern version of Martha, the passenger pigeon.” Martha was the last individual of a species that is now extinct. She died of old age in a zoo and is now mounted in the Smithsonian. “I once went to see her,” said Brian. “Was that to be the fate of Emma, Molly, Annie, Willa, Dexter, and Cody, too?”

  By the following summer, 1986, it seemed that only four adults—two males (Dean and Scarface) and two females (Mom and Jenny), each of whom gave birth—were left in the wild. Now, finally, Wyoming G&F agreed that all four adults and the eight remaining juveniles should be trapped for the breeding program.

  The biologists worked hard for the rest of the summer, and eventually the last ferret was captured—Scarface. At this point, eighteen captive black-footed ferrets, a handful of biologists, and an unproven captive breeding program were all that was left to buffer the species from extinction. Despite the fact that discord and bad feelings continued to plague the program, the ferrets began to breed, and gradually other centers were established across the country, so that the outbreak of disease or some other disaster at one facility would not wipe out the entire captive population.

  Hard Versus Soft Release

  Next, the arguments began over when and how ferrets should be reintroduced into the wild. The most acrimonious argument concerned the pros and cons of “hard release” (when animals are taken straight from the cage and let loose, usually with some food provided for a while) versus “soft release” (when the animals are given a variety of opportunities to gradually get used to a new life in the wild). Many of the field biologists felt strongly that it was not ethical to suddenly dump ferrets from small cages into the dangerous world of the prairies with no experience or training, but in 1991 the first forty-nine captives were hard-released into Wyoming’s wilderness.

  The next release site was Conata Basin in South Dakota, where I had met my first ferrets. Later I would meet Paul Marinari, who told me about one night he will never forget. He was searching fo
r ferrets with Travis and four other biologists, spread out over the prairie. Suddenly his radio sprang to life and a message “crackled through the South Dakota night proclaiming that multiple ferret eye-shine was detected from one burrow. This signified the first observation of a wild-born ferret litter (from captive-born parents) in the state. Those moments were goose bumps on goose bumps!”

  Paul Marinari releases a black-footed ferret into a preconditioning pen before its final journey into the wild. (Ryan Hagerty)

  Eventually, it was proved conclusively that hard release is not the best option—not only does soft release lead to much better short-term survival rates, but more individuals live to breed the following season as well. Gradually, more and more released ferrets survived. It had been established that they could be bred in captivity and that they could survive and breed in the wild. But could their habitat be preserved?

  Saving the Prairies

  During my visit with the team, as I came to understand the challenges they faced, I was interested to talk further to Jonathan Proctor about his work with the prairie dogs and the prairie ecosystem. Jonathan explained that one of the main problems for conservationists is that almost no rancher has a good word for prairie dogs. I met one of these old-timers as he drove by Ann’s Motel. The prairie dogs, he said, were a real nuisance. There were all those holes in the ground that caused cattle and horses to break their legs. And, he said, the prairie dogs competed with the herds for the new grass. While no one I talked to had actually encountered any cows or horses with broken legs on the prairie, I listened to his point of view and respected what he had to say. I said it was a shame there wasn’t some way around the problem without poisoning those cute little animals.