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NINTH
LIFE FOR NATIVES?
by Stephen Schoof
[originally
published July/August 2002 Blue Ridge Country)
In
February 1999, President Clinton signed an Executive Order to
combat a major environmental problem.
"[N]ow is the time to take action," remarked
Interior Secretary Bruce Babbit.
"The costs to habitats and the economy are racing out
of control."
This
was good news for the Appalachians, though the order didn't deal
with urban sprawl, hydrocarbons, low-level ozone, buffer zones, or timber sales. "Biopollution"
would be a new word for plenty of Americans, but it could also
threaten native plants and animals more than anything except
habitat loss.
Since
1492, more than 50,000 organisms have been brought to the New
World from the rest of the world.
Though most are harmless or beneficial, the small minority
run rampant coast to coast, disrupting agriculture, killing
forests, driving out native species, and costing the U.S. an
estimated $137 billion each year.
The
Blue Ridge has taken its share of hits in the last century.
Biological invaders have little respect for the arbitrary
borders that define our wilderness areas so effectively on maps.
It's no surprise that the quiet loss of native organisms
doesn't draw the same attention as valley smog or cell towers: an
ecosystem that looks healthy at a glance may have been altered by
exotics long ago.
Growing
up in rural western North Carolina, I never guessed that all those
yummy tangles of honeysuckle penetrating woodpiles and fencerows
originally came from Japan. The
multiflora rose that smelled nice but smothered the edge of our
woods is also an escapee from Asia.
Conversely, I never missed natives like American elm or
American chestnut - they'd been gone long before I got here,
succumbed to diseases from the other side of the world.
Our
current generation is in the unwelcome position of watching gypsy
moths defoliate oaks, starry sky beetles destroy maples, balsam
woolly adelgids kill Fraser firs, anthracnose wipe out dogwoods,
wild hogs trample plants and streams, and brown and rainbow trout
displace native brookies. If
your favorite native doesn't show up on this list, there's always
a chance it will make the next one.
While
debates rage over cloning and genetic engineering, the spread of
exotics violates basic biology on a far grander scale.
Before the Age of Exploration, ecosystems evolved in
isolation, separated by everything from mountains and rivers to
the splitting of the continents 100 million years ago.
It's hard for humans, living threescore and ten, to fully appreciate the eons of
independent selection that gave each community a unique, fragile balance of predator and prey, resource
allocation, and
disease resistance, without which any species could monopolize
territory just by steadily reproducing itself. In
the old days, this wasn't an issue -- the sudden introduction of new
organisms, whether caused by wind, waves, or their own feet, were
comparatively few and far between.
These
days, species from across the globe can become instant neighbors thanks to ballast-water dumped
from ships, fill-dirt brought cross-country,
international trade of plants and animals, and seeds or spores
that hitch rides from planes, trains, and automobiles.
So many introductions are taking place that the fact only
1% turn critical is cold comfort.
If that earlier figure of $137 billion sounds exaggerated,
consider that the exotic Formosan termite does $300 million in
damage just in New Orleans, or that leafy spurge costs farmers,
ranchers, and taxpayers $144 million dollars in four western
states alone.
Ecologist
Gordon Orian may be right to dub our epoch of global blending the
"Homogocene," and future world travelers may find more than just the hotels and
restaurants looking the same. Many environmental sins of previous generations are atoned
and forgotten, but we could pay forever for old mistakes with
exotics. Surely every
Southerner can appreciate the irony of a 1930s Soil Conservation
Service decision to pay farmers to plant some 85 million kudzu
seedlings for erosion control.
The
rising tide of exotics fully caught my attention through one of my
favorite native organisms, the Eastern hemlock.
"Stately" is a cliché for trees, but the hemlock
is worthy of the word. Growing
from 2,000-foot valley coves up to the 5,000-foot realm of spruce,
they keep color in the winter woods.
They feed and protect deer, squirrels, chipmunks, and over
ninety different songbirds, and they
shade streams for brook trout.
Undisturbed,
they've grown 160 feet tall and almost 1,000
years old. Now, they
could disappear thanks to yet another exotic insect, the hemlock
woolly adelgid.
This
adelgid was imported to the West Coast in the 1920s, this time
from Asia. Spotted in
Virginia in the 1950s, it has spread rapidly on both Eastern
hemlock and the less common Carolina hemlock.
Like the balsam woolly adelgid, it sucks sap and stunts
growth until the host calls it quits. In Asia, there were natural predators; here, it has no
opposition, particularly in natural forests where chemical
controls are impractical.
The
insect has plagued Shenandoah National Park's small but remarkable hemlock
population for more than a decade. It also shocked
scientists when it recently appeared in sections of the Great
Smokies, where old-growth stands weren't expected to be threatened
until 2010. As a Forest Service publication
has coolly summarized the situation: "The hemlock woolly adelgid will continue to spread . .
. causing devastation of the hemlock resource in its wake.
Many entomologists fear the worst for both Eastern and
Carolina hemlock, believing that HWA holds the potential for
wiping out both tree species."
In
the years since, we've been given just one good reason to hope
otherwise. The
paradoxical use of one exotic to control another has worked with
earlier pests, such as when the Vedalia beetle was brought from
California to control Australian cottony cushion scale in North
Carolina. (After
killing the scale, the beetle itself kindly died out, having
depleted its food supply.) In
the end, native hemlocks may be at least partially saved by a
predatory beetle from Japan, formerly undescribed by
entomologists.
Drs.
Mark McClure and Hiroyuki Sasaji named the new insect
Pseudoscymnus tsugae after McClure collected it throughout Honshu,
where it was eliminating 86 to 99 percent of native adelgid
populations. Back
home, McClure and his team carefully introduced the beetle to
field plots on a Connecticut experiment station. Early results
were encouraging: P. tsugae spontaneously moved from hemlock to
hemlock, survived both harsh and mild winters, multiplied in
number, and, best of all, consumed 70 to 100 percent of exotic
adelgids without damaging other organisms.
McClure's lab and other agencies have since raised and
released hundreds of thousands of adult beetles for ongoing trials
in ten states.
"It
is not hard to get excited about a biocontrol agent that displays
so many of the desirable characteristics scientists select for
when screening potential biocontrol candidates," writes Brad
Onken of the Forest Service.
But Onken also points out that P. tsugae is probably not
"the 'silver bullet' that will save our hemlock forests . . .
it is uncommon for an individual predator to control a forest pest
single-handedly." Some
scientists continue to study different species of beetles and
fungi as control agents, while others work to produce adelgid-resistant
hemlock hybrids. Any
workable solutions could take years to begin working in whole
forests.
That's
why some researchers continue to study the variety of seeds and
spores occurring in hemlock stands - if all efforts fail,
including P. tsugae, at least we'll know what may take the big
trees' place.
The
continuing struggle with hemlock woolly adelgid characterizes the
invasive species problem and begs the question: Wouldn't it be
simpler to keep exotics off native organisms to begin with, rather
than scouring pests' home ecosystems after the fact, with the
uncertain hope of finding natural predators that must then be
transported to North America, raised en masse, introduced to secure but natural ecosystems, and studied
through years of droughts, temperature fluctuations, and other
variables that could potentially confuse data - none of which may
keep the invader from killing its host anyway?
The catch-22 with most harmful
exotics is that an ounce of prevention is
worth tons of cure, but prevention is never easy, or popular.
Historically, potentially invasive exotics have been fought
primarily on paper. In
the words of ecologist Daniel Simberloff, federal laws are "only
invoked after a species is already in the U.S. - in other words,
too late." Underfunded,
understaffed agencies can't keep up with invasives not only coming
into the country, but spreading between states as well.
Things
are similar on the international level.
Several laws and treaties address invasives, but not with
the firm precautionary stance required for an increasingly global
society. Instead,
ecological concerns get a polite nod while governments balk at
doing anything that might hinder free trade.
Clinton's
Executive Order of February '99 promised a more aggressive
approach for the U.S. by directing relevant federal agencies to
crack down on risky introductions, and by creating an Invasive Species
Council
co-chaired by the Secretaries of the Interior, Agriculture, and
Commerce. Much of the
Council's initial work was simply organizing the 20 existing
agencies plus offices from all 50 states into a unified force
against organisms that have a natural disregard for jurisdictional
borders.
Future
directives call for rapid response teams, networks of scientists,
and informed community groups working quickly to identify, prevent
or reverse potential "invasions" before (if possible) they
get totally out of hand.
In the Blue Ridge, that could mean ongoing efforts to
eliminate new pests like hemlock woolly adelgid, contain old
outbreaks of kudzu and multiflora rose, and keep a sharper eye on
traffic with the rest of the world's temperate zones.
All this sounds encouraging,
but most of the plans were, of course, developed before September
11, 2001. Even then, writing the first draft of this article
in November 2000, I concluded on a low note, citing lack of public
awareness and political initiative as major impediments to
real-world action. Progress has since been predictably slow,
and whether our current world situation will allow a long and
expensive war on exotic species is very much in question.
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