Remembering Lonesome George

In 2012 the world lost something unique.  I wanted take a minute to remember Lonesome George.

He was the last of his kind, the sole representative of the Pinta Island subspecies of Galapagos tortoise.  A $10,000 reward was offered to anyone who could find a female like him. None did.  His keepers tried for a few years to breed him with a different subspecies but with no success.  For those of us who love tortoises, I think the hardest part is the awful finality of “The End.”  I can’t even comprehend it.

Species go extinct everyday, frogs, insects, tiny mammals.  Sometimes it’s part of the order of things.  And sometimes it’s because we royally screwed up.  It’s the hardest to take when I know that people are responsible.  It’s hardest when that species is 800lbs.  And when it has a name.  And liked it’s head scratched.

We did it ourselves.  Maybe not us, personally, but our kind.  From the introduction of injurious species like rats and goats, which eat tortoise eggs and young and destroy habitat, to actual consumption by people.  Sailors traveling through often loaded up their ships with tortoises so they could have fresh meat on their travels.  Darwin himself survived almost exclusively on tortoise meat while he visited the islands.  It was all on us.  We didn’t know what we were doing, and we sure didn’t mean to, but we did it.

I was always rooting for the old guy, that he would make the money shot and reproduce himself.  That a hero would step out of the wings with a female (or three) just like him.  I pinned on him the hope that we could make up for some of our mistakes.  If we could save George’s line, then just maybe we could undo some of the other ugliness that we as humans have created.  This time we didn’t quite make it.

All is not lost for Galapagos tortoises.  There are a couple of other subspecies, and there has been real success in their reproduction.  Numbers have climbed from 3,000 all the way to about 20,000 in the last thirty years or so.  But these are managed populations.  Lacking the ability to eliminate rats on the islands, human intervention is required to rescue eggs, which must be transported to an entirely different island where they are raised for several years before returning to their home.  There is no wild for them anymore.

So what can we do?  That’s an easy answer with difficult follow-through.  I can strive each day to leave the world a little better than I found it.  As there’s a direct link between carbon emissions ad global warming, I can choose a day a week where I walk anywhere I need to go.  The Aldabra Atoll where the other giant species of tortoise lives, is only 26 feet (yes, feet) above sea level.  It won’t take much of a global temperature rise for their entire habitat to be under water.

I can choose to not throw food out of my car window.  Hunting the small mammals that are drawn onto the road for these easy pickings, thousands of owls are hit by vehicles each year.  I can choose to buy fish from companies that do their jobs responsibly and in a sustainable manner.  I can support an accredited zoo or aquarium.  They have ongoing captive-breeding and conservation projects to help endangered animals survive.  I can teach my kids that it’s not all about me. There are other people who share this planet.

I can even join the Turtle Survival Alliance and help them achieve their goal of zero turtle or tortoise extinctions in the twenty-first century.  Sign up for their newsletter here.  It’s free and offers regular updates on conservation projects around the world.  There’s even an Amazon.com affiliate link. By clicking the link and then shopping, a portion of the money we spend will go toward saving turtles and tortoises around the world.

My desire is not to be preachy here.  My goal is to challenge us all to do a little better than we have done.  I think we owe that much to George.  We owe that much to ourselves.  Despite what we read in science fiction, this is the only planet we have.

Farewell, George.  We’re going to get it right one day soon.

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*Originally published at Becoming Cliche.  Reposted, in full, with permission of the author.

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