*
DOES    it  have    to  end this    way?    Does    the last    best    hope    for the world’s
most     magnificent     creatures—or,   for     that    matter,     its     least   magnificent
ones—really lie in  pools   of  liquid  nitrogen?   Having  been    alerted to  the
ways    in  which   we’re   imperiling  other   species,    can’t   we  take    action  to
protect them?   Isn’t   the whole   point   of  trying  to  peer    into    the future  so
that,   seeing  dangers ahead,  we  can change  course  to  avoid   them?
Certainly   humans  can be  destructive and shortsighted;   they    can also
be   forward-thinking    and     altruistic.     Time    and     time    again,  people  have
demonstrated     that    they    care    about   what    Rachel  Carson  called  “the
problem  of  sharing     our     earth   with    other   creatures,”     and     that    they’re
willing  to  make    sacrifices  on  those   creatures’  behalf.     Alfred  Newton
described   the slaughter   that    was occurring   along   the British coast;  the
result  was the Act for the Preservation    of  Sea Birds.  John    Muir    wrote
about   the damage  being   done    in  the mountains   of  California, and this    led
to   the     creation    of  Yosemite    National    Park.  Silent   Spring  exposed     the
dangers posed   by  synthetic   pesticides, and within  a   decade, most    uses    of
DDT had been    prohibited. (The    fact    that    there   are still   bald    eagles  in  the
U.S.—indeed  the     numbers     are     growing—is  one     of  the     many    happy
consequences    of  this    development.)
Two  years   after   the     ban     on  DDT,    Congress    in  1974    passed  the
Endangered  Species Act.    Since   then,   the lengths to  which   people  have
gone    to  protect creatures   listed  under   the act is  very    nearly, in  the literal
sense    of  the     word,   incredible.     To  cite    just    one     of  many    possible
illustrations,  by  the mid–nineteen-eighties   the population  of  California
condors  had     dwindled    to  just    twenty-two  individuals.    To  rescue  the
species—the largest land    bird    in  North   America—wildlife    biologists  raised
condor  chicks  using   puppets.    They    created fake    power   lines   to  train   the
birds   not to  electrocute themselves; to  teach   them    not to  eat trash,  they
wired    garbage     to  deliver     a   mild    shock.  They    vaccinated  every   single
condor—today     there   about   four    hundred—against     West    Nile    virus,  a
disease,     it’s    worth   noting,     for     which   a   human   vaccine     has     yet     to  be