by John Morano
25th Anniversary Edition
Book 1
The John Morano Eco-Adventure Series
A Wing and a Prayer
by John Morano
A Wing and a Prayer
Is dedicated to Kris;
My blue sky,
My love,
My dream…
Introduction
By Mark R. Tercek
President and CEO, The Nature Conservancy
When John Sawhill wrote the introduction to A Wing and a Prayer 25 years ago, the Nature Conservancy (TNC) had just launched an ambitious campaign. The idea was to raise $300 million to preserve 40 of the “Last Great Places” on Earth—wild and pristine areas like the “Islands of Life” in John Morano’s wonderful tale, places that rare and threatened species call home.
The campaign was a success—it resulted in the protection of millions of acres in the United States and Latin America. It raised the bar for what TNC and our great partner organizations thought possible in our efforts to protect the Earth’s special places.
But fast forward 25 years, and we must set that bar even higher.
Don’t get me wrong—the environmental movement has a lot to be proud of, from expanded protected areas to government policies that safeguard the air we breathe and the water we drink. Yet every year, the things we want more of—forests, fisheries, healthy soil, coral reefs, biodiversity—continue to decline. And things we want less of, such as carbon pollution that is causing global warming, continue to increase. We need to accelerate and scale up our efforts. But how?
Protect
At TNC, we’re very proud of our work to protect important places. That might mean rebuilding an oyster reef, replanting a forest or restoring a grassland. This work is critical to help stop species like the Guadalupe Petrel, which Morano introduces us to in this book, from disappearing.
Take our work on Santa Cruz Island, off the coast of southern California. When TNC purchased the island with the National Park Service in 1978, ten species of plants and animals found nowhere else on Earth—including the Santa Cruz Island fox—were on the brink of extinction. Non-native pigs had attracted golden eagles to the island, which also preyed on the foxes. But intense restoration efforts, including relocating the golden eagles, brought the island back to life. More than 1,200 foxes now live there, up from fewer than 100 in 2004.
Now TNC is taking traditional land protection work like this to a whole new scale, from a recent project that protects millions of acres of forestland in Montana and Washington State to a first-of-its-kind nature preserve in China that is protecting panda habitat and inspiring other similar preserves across the country.
Transform
At the same time, we now realize that buying land to protect it will only get us so far. As we approach a world of 9 billion people, one of our newer strategies is helping others reduce their impacts on the environment. With smart science, we are transforming the way businesses, governments and communities use nature.
For example, in Indonesia, growing demand for palm oil—a common ingredient in our food, cosmetics, soaps and detergents—is destroying habitat for orangutans, as the rainforest is cut down to make room for palm oil plantations. That’s why TNC is teaming up with governments, businesses, communities and other organizations to find solutions that work for both nature and people. For example, by working with farmers to produce more palm oil on land that has already been cleared for plantations, we can help prevent additional deforestation—and save crucial orangutan habitat.
Inspire
Perhaps most importantly, we need more people on our side. That’s where you come in—and one reason this book is so important.
Through the story of Lupé, John Morano brings to life the connection between our actions and the fate of a species. I hope this book will inspire you to take action to protect the environment.
What can you do? At TNC we are expanding opportunities for young people to get involved in nature.
If you’re a student, gather your classmates and participate in one of our virtual nature field trips or encourage your teacher to explore our other digital education resources. Get involved with volunteer work—like building a school garden or planting trees—to tackle conservation problems in your own community. Or apply for a high school or college internship at an environmental organization. Find out more about ways to get involved with TNC at nature.org/youth.
If you’re a parent, uncle or aunt, or teacher, get your kids outside. There’s growing evidence that exposure to nature helps children lead happier, healthier lives and helps them excel in school. Not sure where to start? Try getting involved in citizen science projects, many of which you can download on your smartphone. From counting birds near your house to reporting the first time a tulip blooms in your neighborhood, there are lots of ways you can get outdoors and use your observation skills to help scientists collect data about our natural world.
The more we can show people the role that nature plays in all of our lives—clean water and air, protection from storms, flood control, food, enhanced human health and well-being, just to name a few—the better chance we have of saving it. What will drive progress on the environment is compassion, caring about others and caring about future generations.
Our work today is not just about saving the last great places, but about saving the natural systems all around us—the lands and waters on which all life depends, including the species John Morano gives voice to in his important stories.
Original Introduction
A half century ago, pioneering conservationist Aldo Leopold attended the dedication of a small monument marking a great tragedy. Erected by the Wisconsin Society for Ornithology, the monument read, “Dedicated to the last Wisconsin passenger pigeon shot at Babcock, Sept. 1899—this species became extinct through the avarice and thoughtlessness of man.”
As we move into the 21st century, I often wonder what Leopold would think about the accelerating loss of species that we have witnessed in recent times. No monuments will be built to the losers in the current extinction epidemic; in many cases, species vanish before they have been fully described by science. But like the passenger pigeon, each signifies another thread in the web of life that we have eliminated through our careless treatment of the planet in the modern era.
I believe that Leopold would share the chagrin and disappointment of the modern day conservationists at the state of our natural heritage. The fact is, the birds and other animals and plants that represent the wonderful diversity of life on Earth are in serious trouble, and for many of the rarest species, time is running out. Moreover, I think Leopold would see the continuing decline in bird populations as an indication not only of the plight of specific species but also of the troubled condition of our lands and waters.
In A Wing and a Prayer, John Morano presents a compelling tale of species extinction as well as an indictment of our mistreatment of the environment. Through his story of a lonely Guadalupe Petrel—a species last seen at the beginning of the 20th century—he clearly illustrates the obstacles faced by birds at risk. But perhaps more important, A Wing and a Prayer also offers us hope: hope that those endangered species struggling to survive have a better-than-fighting chance. After all, the protected colony of Hawaiian dark-rumped petrels that appears in Morano’s tale represents a stunningly successful conservation effort.
At high-priority sites around the world, the Nature Conservancy and other conservation organizations are working to protect critical habitat for at-risk animal and plant species. And in particular, by saving habitats for bi
rd species, we hope to ensure the long-term survival of migratory birds, including songbirds, shorebirds, raptors, and waterfowl.
Through the efforts of the Conservancy and others, I strongly believe that we can accomplish lasting conservation results—that we can turn the tide against the kind of species extinction described in A Wing and a Prayer. But ultimately, the future of our natural heritage still depends upon people’s attitudes about nature, plants, animals—and birds. While dedicating that Wisconsin monument to the passenger pigeon, Aldo Leopold noted that people must achieve “a sense of community with living things and of wonder over the magnitude and duration of the biotic enterprise.” Until we fully understand and embrace our close connection to the natural world, the fate of magical creatures such as the petrel remains imperiled.
John C. Sawhill
President and Chief Executive Officer
Of The Nature Conservancy
Part One: A Bird in the Hand
For Lupé, the day began like every other day, with the mindless flick of a finger followed by instant light from a long thin sun that did not warm or move. This did not compare to the slow rise of Pettr’s glowing eye, the eye that watched over the planet and every morning rinsed the night from the sky.
The sunrise Lupé remembered was anything but silent and quick. It sang with the songs of thousands of birds and the constant crash-swish, crash-swish of the steady surf. The sunrise of Lupé’s freedom was a slow, deliberate celebration of life, a beautiful beginning to each new day. This wonderful memory, however, had been interrupted by the cold reality of a painful captivity.
Lupé was a prisoner, held in what he believed was a hard silver web spun by the man-flock. Although it was large enough for him to stretch and pace, flight was impossible. So he sat, remembered what it was like to be free, and waited for a sign from his savior, Pettr.
Lupé was a very proud petrel, and like most petrels, he worshipped Pettr, the Creator, the first to walk on water. However, it wasn’t being a petrel that made Lupé special, for there were many living on the planet. What made him special was his flock—the Gwattas—and the very real possibility that he might be the last of their kind. And that is precisely why the man-flock held him.
Even so, Lupé saw no sense in his captivity but realized that this was typical of the man-flock. No other creature was given more power with less knowledge. “Why did Pettr create them at all?” he wondered.
The petrel knew he must find a female of his flock somewhere on the planet and mate with her before either of them perished. Unfortunately, there were two problems with this solution: the man-flock physically prevented him from conducting his search, and he was not sure if there was a female from his flock still alive. As far as he was concerned, all his confinement did was waste valuable time, since he knew he would not live forever.
The petrel was tortured with the thought that he might not fulfill his quest, that his species would die with him locked in the silver web of the man-flock. One way or another, he was determined to escape. And he prayed to Pettr to help show him the way.
For a moment, Lupé drifted back to the day he was plucked from the Earth like a minnow from the sea. He had been standing on a rock, deciding whether to sleep or fish, when he had heard the sound he thought he might go his entire life without hearing: the call of a female from his flock. Every muscle in his body had tensed as he had tried to catch her scent.
For some reason, the wind would not deliver the sweet smell to his beak, yet he could still hear her faint calling. Carried by small, powerful wings, the petrel flew toward the confusing caw.
As her call became clearer, Lupé noticed a crevice between two huge rocks. The throaty purr of the female came from deep within. It occurred to Lupé that this would have been a wonderful nesting site had the man-flock not left their rodents and cats on the island.
The petrel began an ancient song he had never sung before, the mating song born within him that could save the Gwattas.
Still, the female quietly called.
“Why does she not join in the sacred verse?” Lupé questioned. “Is she hurt?” Then he wondered whether he was singing the song correctly. Whatever the reason for her reluctance, Lupé knew he couldn’t let her get away. He flew into the crevice prepared to meet the future of his flock and prepared to battle any who threatened her.
Suddenly, there was a loud pop. Lupé was tangled and bound. His tiny body flailed and convulsed. The more he fought, the tighter he was held. He struggled so viciously, he felt his wing tear from his flank. Soon he was covered with his own warm blood, the precious blood of an entire species. Then he felt them for the first time, those disgusting featherless fingers of the man-flock.
They held him firmly and snapped a silver ring around his ankle to match the empty silver web they had waiting for him on the other side of the planet. The female he had flown to was nothing more than an empty voice, a trick of the man-flock. Lupé was taken from his home.
As the petrel’s memory faded, he returned to the reality of the moment and wondered why the man-flock would want to hold him. If they wanted to ensure the extinction of his flock, why not kill him? If they wanted to help, why not release him and allow him to continue his search? This torture, this cruelty, made no sense.
Lupé thought, They cannot learn anything from me like this. I am kept. What they see before them is not a petrel… I am the Earth, and it is me. We define each other. I am not merely feather and bone, but ocean and sky as well. It is only among my friends, the wind and the water, that I can be understood… The petrel does not sit, it soars.
Every so often, one of the man-flock would remove Lupé and clip feathers from his wings. For any bird, this would be the ultimate humiliation. It was especially true for Lupé, who believed he could fly like no other. The petrel was proud of his dark plumage that enabled him to blend in with the deep water and the lava-stone islands of his origin. His pale underside and white chest helped him disappear against the clouds and the surf. Sitting inside the shiny silver web, Lupé looked like a shadow of himself, dark and quiet.
Suffering the humiliation of having his wings clipped, combined with the revulsion of being held by those fingers, provided Lupé with two more reasons to plot his escape.
While he was sitting quietly in a place he would rather not be, a hand would invade and grasp him, preventing him from moving. He would be removed momentarily while another hand pulled his wing from his flank and stretched it. Feathers would be eliminated, cut down to the skin so that flight fell away with the quills.
The petrel was subjected to the indignity randomly, at the whim of his captors. Ironically, it was the clipping, an act intended to keep him where he was, that led to the first phase of his plan to get away.
If Lupé was the sole survivor of his species, it was not because he was a coward or because he was stupid. Lupé had survived because he was fearless and cunning. Had the flock been tasked to select a single petrel to continue their line, Lupé would have been a solid choice. He began to form his plan.
The petrel decided that no matter what happened, if he wanted to escape, he’d have to be able to fly. Also, he assumed that because he was still alive, the man-flock wanted him to stay that way. He would not allow his wings to be clipped anymore. He decided that he would be killed before he was snipped again. Faced with the death of their prisoner, perhaps the man-flock would abandon the practice of docking his wings.
The next time the featherless hand reached into the silver web, Lupé went wild, pecking, flapping, thrashing, and spitting sticky, hot oil through a short tube on the top of his beak. Lupé had no regard for himself as he tried to tear the flesh from the hand. He even reinjured his wing during the protest. Although it was really a minor wound, the petrel was aware that in the wild, any injury could have fatal results.
Damaged and bloody, Lupé lost the battle with the man-flock, but he hoped he had won the war. If it was the last time his captors attempted to clip his wings, then o
nce his feathers grew back, should the opportunity present itself, he would be able to fly to freedom.
For the most part, Lupé spent his days doing two things: praying to Pettr and staring at the sky through a strange opening just above him that was clear, yet sealed. At first, Lupé was confused by the sight of the open sky. He didn’t know what to make of it. He could see the clouds, but he could not feel the wind, taste the rain, or touch what was out there.
After a while, he believed he had figured it all out. He decided that the opening was covered by the frozen water he had seen during his travels to the cold seas. How the man-flock managed to keep it frozen, even when it was warm outside, he could not say. Nothing passed through the opening, but he could not his see what was on the other side, the side he wanted to be on.
Outside, the petrel saw a tall tree with many branches. One of the limbs reached right up to the opening. When the breeze blew, Lupé could occasionally hear the branch tap against it. He enjoyed listening to the gentle beat that moved with the rhythm of the wind. The sound enabled him to imagine the subtle shifts and tremors of the old friend who carried him in flight. Lupé tried to relive the sensation of the wind blowing through his feathers, carrying him to the deep water to feed until he was full. Then his friend would help ferry him home to the island of his flock, where Lupé would thank both the wind and Pettr for taking such good care of him.
Mostly, Lupé missed the fragrance of the sea, the touch of the rocky earth, and the call of the breeze. Having his senses and feelings contained was one of the most painful parts of his captivity. Every aspect of the petrel’s being was locked up except for one, his desire to be free. Although he couldn’t see or feel the wind through the opening, he knew it was out there calling him, waiting for him.
