There’s a fire-breathing
dragon in our mountains. Should you
request a photograph, he is invisible, but breathes his torch upon our coldwater
flowages, ever more intensely as years progress.
Pine Creek, PA suffers from early autumn low water. Photo by Matt Reilly. |
You’re skeptical? Scientific academies the world over confirm
his existence; and should you, being biologically inquisitive, wish to know
where such a creature was birthed from, I would inform you that those very same
scientists are in concurrence that you and I are the culprits at large.
A brute of such stature
and appetite, you reason, must have some significant impact on his
environment. This is true. However, I will counteroffer that he is a
habitat generalist, omnipresent. His
impact is slow, yet steady—relatively undetectable to the untrained eye.
Still, this intangible
monstrosity of Sagan speciation affects quantifiable damage. Our very own Environmental Protection Agency
(EPA) has taken note (as of last summer) that his very existence on planet
Earth results in rising water temperatures and altered streamflow so
significant that 62 percent of coldwater fisheries habitat is projected to be compromised without intervention by the year 2100.
In layman’s terms, our
dragon has the life ambition of forcing our trout and salmon from Appalachia,
the continental lowlands and hills, and all but the highest elevation streams
of the Rocky Mountain West. Any individual
concerned with ecological diversity, recreational fishing, or economics should
consider such an antagonist a cold-blooded murderer.
Still, he can neither
be touched nor seen, and thus we have a decision to make. Either we intervene, or we refrain, on faith
that the dragon is merely a figment of our imagination.
Greg Craven, author of What’s the Worst That Could Happen?, an
innovative, rational response to the climate change debate, offers a model that
fits our dilemma quite nicely. In
reality, there are four possible actions and outcomes to this question.
First, our dragon does,
in fact, exist, but we decide not to intervene.
As a consequence, 62 percent becomes a very real number, and our trout
and salmon are ravaged by a destructive reptile.
Second, our dragon
exists, and we decide to oust him. As a
result, we invest greatly in destroying the invasive fire-breather and save the
majority of coldwater fisheries from slow death.
Third, the dragon is
actually make-believe, and we decide not to pursue his execution. In this case, all is well that ends well.
Finally, our dragon is,
after all, a figment of our imagination, and we do decide to act.
Unnecessary economic downturn is the result, as we invest in
dragon-killing measures that are effectively a wild goose chase.
Mere days following the
release of the EPA’s dramatic statement, I was having lunch with a handful of
coldwater fisheries conservation professionals, employed by Trout Unlimited,
delivering the comprehensive State of theTrout report—a critical look at the risks posed against coldwater
fisheries, and the proposed solutions to those problems. Many of those problems are related to climate
change.
In that setting, the
aforementioned model would have served useful, as an aged gentleman sitting in
on the discussion dug his heels into the dirt.
“Why are we focusing on
climate change when the real problem is the health of our coldwater fisheries?”
he questioned.
“Because their decline
is tied to climate change,” it was
countered.
The conversation hit a
wall.
What failed to be
recognized is that failure to act, based on the claim that climate change is not occurring, gambles with the viability of the ecosystems
in question.
Within our four real
options, two require action and two don’t.
Of the two that don’t, the only positive outcome relies on the premise
that our dragon doesn’t exist (an idea which is strongly and collectively
opposed by the international scientific community), while the worst results in
the loss of over half of our coldwater fisheries. Of the two that do require action, the
positive result is a country of relatively healthy salmonids, while the worst
reality is an unnecessary investment.
Thus, it is
irresponsible to get hung up on the question of whether or not a scaled beast
inhabits our hills. The question that
should be asked is whether or not we should act; and the steward’s answer is “yes.”
And so we are called to
make an assumption: there is a fire-breathing dragon in our
mountains. For should at last his
unhindered wreckage be permitted to culminate, skeptics will see and believe,
and all will mourn the loss of our finned protagonists, begging to trade a
blinding societal ego recognized for an irreplaceable ecosystem so ignorantly
sacrificed. □
*Originally published in The Rural Virginian
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