We hear the word "extinction," and many of us still
think dinosaurs. The last of its kind? My kids' thoughts turn to scenes from The Last Unicorn …
"She's the last unicorn in the world," laments
Schmendrick the
blundering magician (self-proclaimed last of the red hot
swamis.)
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But extinction is not a prehistoric concept, and
"last" is not simply a work of fiction. Just ask Lonesome George:
Lonesome George, the last Pinta Island tortoise. Photo by putneymark / Wikimedia |
Well, you can't really ask George. He died last Sunday, and with him died the entire subspecies of the Galápagos Pinta
Island tortoise, which is said to have weathered the ups and downs of some 10
million years.
George was, in fact, the last of his kind.
But, hey, we humans have a knack for the quick and dirty,
and it seems our species' sudden prevalence was more than even this hearty chelonian could endure.
"My
son, your ineptitude is so vast, your incompetence so profound, that I am
certain you
are inhabited by greater power than I have ever known. Unfortunately, it seems to
work backwards at the moment, and even I can find no way to set it right. It must
be that you are meant to find your own way to reach your power in time; but
frankly, you should live so long as that will take you. Therefore I grant it
that you shall
not age from this day forth, but will travel the world round and round, eternally
inefficient, until at last you come to yourself and know what you are. Don’t thank
me. I tremble at your doom." - The mighty
magician Nikos to Shmendrick the magician in PeterS. Beagle's The Last Unicorn
Perhaps Schmendrick the Magician was a metaphor for
humankind all along. Who knew? But, let's bumble our way back to George …
For better or worse, George was not a wild tortoise, at
least for the last half of his life. Rescued from a solitary struggle for
existence on goat-trampled Pinta Island where he
hatched approximately 100 years ago, he spent his latter 40 years in an
enclosure at the Charles DarwinResearch Station on the island of Santa Cruz.
George was a big, strapping fellow weighing in at 200 pounds
and measuring 5 feet in length. Nevertheless, he was an incurable loner. Much
to the dismay of his 2-legged benefactors (and environmental advocates at
large), George refused to contribute his genes to a new generation of hybrid Galápagos tortoises
(even when enticed by an ambitious
zoology student steeped in female tortoise hormones). The frenzy over impending
extinction was lost on George.
Perhaps instinct, like ignorance, is bliss.
George's death, it seems, was unexpected and rather untimely
for a tortoise. “It is a very sad story for all of us,” Santa Cruz park ranger
Christian Saa told The New York Times.
“We were expecting to have George another 50 years.”
Tomorrow is promised to neither man nor tortoise, I suppose.
The question is:
Will we lose another species today?
If you'd like to read more about Lonesome George, delve into the TheLife and Loves of the World's Most Famous Tortoise.