Becoming a Keystone Species
Embracing a higher role within our ecosystems
Not long ago I took a course that included training in “Leave No Trace.” Leave No Trace (LNT) is a national educational program developed over the past fifty years by land management agencies, as well as groups like the National Outdoor Leadership School (NOLS) and the Boy Scouts, to teach people how to reduce damage caused by outdoor recreation.
The training was well done, but over the course of the discussion, I felt a growing uneasiness. The problem wasn’t with the program’s central tenets, which include things like “dispose of waste properly” and “minimize campfire impacts.” They are all basic ways of respecting the environment. Without some kind of guardrails, people are often careless and destructive.
I’ve camped at plenty of campsites that have been utterly trashed by prior users, so much so that I’ve taken to bringing an extra garbage bag for clean-up. LNT is a valuable corrective to that kind of mindless abuse and degradation, and I wish more people were versed in its principles.
The unease I felt had more to do with an underlying message, or a potential interpretation, at least, about the relationship between humans and the natural world. Listening to the presentation I got the distinct impression that we are outsiders when it comes to wild spaces. Though we may visit, we really don’t belong there, and our presence is at best benign. The effect of this kind of message, I’m afraid, is that it places us outside the ecosystem as observers rather than true participants.
Now, I understand context matters. LNT is directed at the millions of humans, many from urban areas, who visit America’s parks and other natural areas every year. These people are outsiders, in the sense that they aren’t a permanent part of the ecosystem in the way a bear or beaver is, and without some constraints (or even with constraints) the sheer volume of bodies can be incredibly harmful.
But I worry about perpetuating a sense of separation between humans and nature. In my experience there is often a purity mindset when it comes to wilderness, an attitude that in order to be wild, a place must remain pristine and untouched. This attitude creeps into “Leave No Trace” discourse when hardliners insist that any discernable sign of human presence, even a moved stone, is a form of contamination. Someone might know you were there!
In a way, I find this to be its own kind of objectification. The landscape is no longer a subject with whom we can be in relation, but an object of reverence — a museum piece placed behind glass for safekeeping.
The truth is, wilderness is not restricted to areas untouched by human hands, and we are, for better or worse, part of the ecosystem. There is nothing wrong with leaving our mark on the land. The more important questions are what type of mark, and why?
A trace of better ways
It has been established that the indigenous peoples of the Americas were actively involved in what we might now call “land management” prior to the arrival of Europeans. In his best-selling book 1491: New Revelations of the Americas Before Columbus, Charles C. Mann notes that native peoples “did not live lightly on the land” prior to the arrival of Europeans. (Mann, p.248)
“Rather than domesticate animals for meat, Indians retooled ecosystems to encourage elk, deer, and bear. Constant burning of undergrowth increased the numbers of herbivores, the predators that fed on them, and the people who ate them both. Rather than the thick, unbroken, monumental snarl of trees imagined by Thoreau, the great eastern forest was an ecological kaleidoscope of garden plots, blackberry rambles, pine barrens, and spacious groves of chestnut, hickory, and oak. The first white settlers in Ohio found woodlands that resembled English parks — they could drive carriages through the trees.” (Mann, 250–251)
These groups certainly “left a trace,” and yet they seem to have gone about their activities in a way that, by and large, did a far better job maintaining harmony and balance than the European pioneers and settlers who followed. Their methods minimized damage done by taking resources, and in many cases helped the overall ecosystem to thrive.
The same is still true of many indigenous people today. There is an often-cited statistic that says 80% of the world’s remaining biodiversity is found within the territory controlled by indigenous peoples, who make up only 5% of the global population. While the reality isn’t quite that straightforward, the overall point is valid. Indigenous peoples play an important role in protecting the land, and in general are far better caretakers for the environment.
It could, in fact, be argued they are acting as a keystone species.
A keystone species
Keystone species are those that play a pivotal role within their ecosystem, and when they are removed, the biodiversity and health of the ecosystem as a whole suffers. The term “keystone species” was first coined by ecologist Robert Paine in the 1960s. Paine was studying starfish along the rocky Pacific coastline, where he found that starfish kept the mussel population in check. When starfish were removed, mussels quickly overwhelmed the tidal pools and drastically reduced biodiversity.
Since then, many creatures have been recognized as keystone species. Coral, beaver, wolves, otters, elephants, ants — all play a keystone role in certain environments. They might be as small as bacteria or as large as a mangrove forest, but keystone species are essentially the glue that holds an ecosystem together.
Consider the bison of North America, for instance. It is thought that there were up to 30 million bison on the continent at the time when Columbus arrived. You would think that gargantuan herds of beasts that weigh up to a ton each would cause massive amounts of stress and destruction as they range through an ecosystem.
It turns out, however, that the presence of bison herds actually helped to maintain the health of the Great Plains. Researchers now know that bison droppings not only act as fertilizer, but their trampling and eating of the grass actually spur more growth and create healthier prairie. Their wallows collect water and create habitat for smaller creatures and the paths they clear in the snow provide “highways” that assist the migration of other animals. The drastic reduction of bison through hunting has greatly affected the lands where they once roamed, and not for the better.
Humans, too, are capable of being the “glue” that holds an ecosystem together. As we noted earlier, the native peoples of the Americas have played a keystone role in the past, and in many cases continue to do so.
Human beings have unique gifts that make us especially suited for the role. Our minds are adapted to grasp large, complex systems, and to think ahead, anticipating outcomes and planning for the future. Our ingenuity and technological aptitude enable us to find creative solutions to problems.
What if we used these gifts primarily for the benefit of all creatures and the planet as a whole, rather than primarily for profit? What if we recognized that non-human beings, mountains, and rivers have their own intrinsic value apart from their usefulness to us, and that we have obligations to them?
Our mastery of fire is another example of how humans are suited to play a keystone role. We are a uniquely fire-wielding species, according to Stephen J. Pyne, author of The Pyrocence: How We Created Fire and What Happens Next. We alone among the creatures of the animal kingdom have the ability to control fire. Pyne notes that this skill has shaped our evolution and given us incredible power. It’s not just our capacity to light a campfire — fossil fuel-powered engines, metallurgy, chemical engineering, nuclear reactions — all can be understood as extensions of our mastery over fire.
Pyne explicitly links this mastery to our identity as a keystone species, even as he notes that our relationship with fire has gotten out of control. So out of control, in fact, that we are cooking our planet. Reestablishing a healthy relationship with fire is one of the most important factors in reclaiming our place as a keystone species.
But another uniquely human ability may be most needed of all right now — our ability to tell stories. We are the “storytelling animal,” as author Jonathan Gottschall puts it. Our brains are wired to weave stories — it’s how we process the world. It’s also what shapes our identities, both individual and collective. “Story — sacred and profane — is perhaps the main cohering force in human life. A society is composed of fractious people with different personalities, goals, and agendas. What connects us beyond our kinship ties? Story.” (Gottschall, p.138)
Myths and stories have the power to shape culture, values, and worldviews. They have the power to unite and mobilize us toward a common cause. “The real difference between us and chimpanzees is the mythical glue that binds together large numbers of individuals, families, and groups,” says Yuval Noah Harari in his book Sapiens: A Brief History of Humankind. “This glue has made us the masters of creation.” (Harari, p.38)
We have done so much damage as a species, and there is a lot of work to do if we want any chance of fixing it. To reclaim our role as a keystone species, we need stories that can inspire people to be in closer relationship with the land, not just to leave nature untouched, but to become active caretakers.
From LNT to keystone
I want to be clear that I don’t have a problem with “Leave No Trace” programs. As I’ve said, they are necessary and valuable. Minimizing destructive behavior is definitely a step in the right direction. Someday I just hope we can move beyond LNT to embrace our role as a keystone species.
We should aspire to be active agents for good, fostering deep and healthy connections with the natural world, and relationships built on reciprocity and respect. There’s no reason ecosystems can’t be better because humans are a part of them. It simply depends on us harnessing our gifts and directing them toward the right goal.
After all, if huge herds of lumbering bison can pass through an area and leave the overall ecosystem better for it, then perhaps we can find a way for the same to be true of the herds of human visitors that pass through our national parks.
As for me, I’m teaching my kids LNT principles. When we go camping, we make a point of picking up any trash that may have been left by previous visitors. We also have a tradition as we prepare to leave. After we pack up all our equipment, we collect a handful of fallen sticks or twigs and use them to spell the words “thank you” on the ground where our tent had been, or sometimes we just arrange them to make a pretty pattern. It is our offering to the land, to the spirits of the forest, to the creatures who are full-time residents of that place. Thank you for welcoming us and sheltering us. Thank you for the hospitality.
To leave nothing behind, no trace at all of our gratitude, would feel like disrespect.
Originally published in The New Outdoors