Anyway, in fact my favourite of all the animals we went to see, my favourite, was an animal called the Kakapo. And the Kakapo is a kind of parrot. It lives in New Zealand. It’s a flightless parrot, it has forgotten how to fly. Sadly, it has also forgotten, that it has forgotten how to fly. (Laughter.) So, a seriously worried Kakapo has been known to run up a tree and jump out of it. (Laughter.) Opinion divides as to what next happens, (laughter) some people said it has developed a kind of rudimentary parachuting ability, (laughter) other people says it flies a bit like a brick. (Laughter.)He goes on about it for quite awhile, way to much to quote, but it's definitely worth reading/listening.
But the thing is—I might talk about a seriously worried Kakapo—the fact is you’re not likely to find a seriously worried Kakapo because Kakapos have not learned to worry. (Laughter.) It seems an extraordinary thing to say because worrying is something we’re all so terribly good at, and which comes so absolutely naturally to us, we think it must be as natural as breathing. But it turns out that worrying is simply an acquired habit like anything else. It’s something you’re genetically disposed to do or not to do. And the thing is that the Kakapo grew up in New Zealand which was, until man arrived, a country which had no predators. And it’s predators, that over a series of generations, will teach you to worry. (Laughter.) And if you don’t have predators then the need to worry will never occur to you.
[...]
So the Kakapo, as I say, had grown up in an environment without predators. And because they were all birds, and because nature has a way—as I say—very opportunistic and life will flow into any niche where it’s possible to make a living, so—if I can be very naughty and anthropomorphise for a moment—it’s as if some of the birds figured out, “Well, this flying stuff is very very expensive. It takes a lot of energy, you have to eat a bit, fly a bit, eat a bit, fly a bit, because every time you eat something—you know—you weight down and it’s heavier to fly, so eat a bit, fly a bit—I mean—there are other ways of life available.” And so is as if some of the birds said, “Well, actually what we could do is we could settle in for a rather larger meal, and go for a waddle afterwards!” (Laughter.)
And so gradually over many many generations a lot of the birds lost the ability to fly, they took up life on the ground. The Kiwi, the most famous bird—I guess—of New Zealand, and the Weka, and the old night parrot—as it was called—the Kakapo. Which is this sort of big, fat, soft, fluffy, lugubrious bird. (Laughter.) And because it has never learned to worry, when man arrived and brought with him his deadly menagerie of dogs, and cats, and stoats, and the most destructive of all animals–other than man—which is Rattus rattus, the ship’s rat. Suddenly, suddenly these birds were waddling for their lives. (Laughter.) Except in fact they didn’t know how to do that because they were confronted with an animal which was a predator, they didn’t know what to do, they didn’t know what the social form was, they just waited for the other animal to make the next move, and of course—as usually—a fairly swift and deadly one. (Laughter.)
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Richard Henry led me to my present career. I read "Last Chance to See" in high school, and the chapter on the Kakapo moved me to tears. I decided I needed to be some sort of environmental scientist, ecologist, someone working for conservation. And now, here I am, with a PhD in ecology, and while my present work doesn't deal directly with species conservation, I will always remember the Kakapo, and the importance of preserving our biodiversity.
posted by Jimbob at 11:59 PM on January 12, 2011 [12 favorites]