Gobi: Tracking the Desert
1999. John Man. Yale University Press,
New Haven. 212 pp. Hardcover, $24.95.
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In
1997, ZooGoer ran an article on Mongolian biodiversity.
Until then, I knew little about Mongolia beyond some vague
notions about where it was (stuck landlocked between Siberia
and China) and that lots of it was the Gobi desert. Camels
came to mind.
I was surprised first by the Gobi's stunning landscapes, reminiscent of Montana and South Dakota, then by the wildlife. Enlivening the scene are snow leopards, Gobi bears-a rare brown bear subspecies -wild Bactrian camels, gray wolves, khulan or wild asses, huge herds of black-tailed and goitered gazelles, 92 species of birds, and a rich diversity of reptiles. Tahki, or Przewalski's horses, are being reintroduced. (National Zoo scientists at the Conservation and Research Center, with FONZ support, are contributing to this project.)
Although many of these species are rare, it is a testament to Mongolia's strong conservation ethos that they exist at all. Consider that Mongolia established its first protected area in 1778, nearly a century before Yellowstone National Park was declared. The Great Gobi National Park encompasses more than 20,000 square miles, the second largest national park in the world. Fully one-third of the country is protected land!
Will it stay that way? Mongolia's population is growing rapidly, as is the number of livestock-cattle, sheep, goats, camels, horses-- putting pressure on the pasturelands that have sustained Mongolia’s people for millennia. Conflicts between traditional herders and snow leopards and wolves that kill livestock are ever present, making conservation unpopular. The country is vigorously courting foreign investment in extractive industries, such as oil and mining, that are seldom environmentally friendly. But after reading about a place that fires a deep desire to experience it firsthand, you hope it can protect its natural wonders and improve the well-being of its people.
In Gobi: Tracking the Desert, John Man artfully interweaves sketches of Mongolia's natural and human history, reportage on past and current research in biology and paleontology, and an assessment of the country's conservation and development future, with an account of his own summer traveling there.
He summarizes Mongolian history, from favorite son Genghis Khan’s imperial conquests to the recent emergence from the former Soviet Union’s domination to embrace a freewheeling capitalism. He talks with a biologist studying snow leopards and meets snow leopard hunters (technically, former hunters; hunting this endangered species is illegal now). He visits sites of breathtaking natural beauty, dank Soviet-style hotels, and traditional gers-- large tents equipped with electricity and satellite dishes to receive CNN and MTV. We share his culinary adventures-- mutton, dried curds, and salty buttered tea are staples--and his dismay at the prospect of relieving himself behind a bush when the "bush" is a stubble of short grass. Man tells fascinating stories, made all the more so by their unfamiliarity, to me at least.
If I were a dinosaur aficionado I would have known lots more. As Man tells it, in the 1920s American Roy Chapman Andrews was a much feted celebrity, with the appeal of "the hero of Raiders of the Lost Ark, its star Harrison Ford and David Attenborough rolled into one" His claim to fame? A paleontologist at the American Museum of Natural History, he organized the first major scientific explorations of the Gobi, returning with vast numbers of new dinosaur fossils at a time when popular fascination with these extinct creatures was even greater than it is today. He remains a legend among fossil hunters, and to this day the Gobi turns up amazing treasure troves of new finds.
Chapman Andrews' success hinged on what was then fairly new technology: three cars and two trucks. Even without roads, motor vehicles could rapidly crisscross the Gobi's flat plains, enabling the scientists to cram as much into five summer months as previous explorers did in ten years. On the downside, the publicity that surrounded the motorized expedition opened the eyes of fur and wool traders, who rushed in to exploit the region’s wildlife.
It's not too different today. A nation the size of Alaska, Mongolia boasts just about 1,000 miles of roads, only 250 of which are called paved. But as Man finds out, paved means something different there. "It seemed," he wrote of the good road out of the capital Ulan Batar, "the road was little more than a suggestion. Still, the Gobi is well trafficked, and entrepreneurs are scrambling to attract tourists. Already, there are concerns about too much tourism in this fragile environment.
Man writes beautifully of what he sees and how he feels. Much of his time in the Gobi he was a little lost, he and a varied assortment of drivers, guides, and translators utterly alone, charging ahead not knowing how far or even where their destination was. He describes how strange this is for him. "I felt that odd, and by now familiar, sense of suspension, rare in the West, in which all control is absent. The future was a blank and any concern fruitless. For a timeless moment, half an hour perhaps, I suspended animation." And, "People and places are found by hearsay."
Anyone interested in wildlife and wild places, in paleontology, or in the history and culture of a little- known people, will enjoy Gobi especially on a cold winter day: Learning that winter temperatures in the Gobi plummet to -40 degrees--the point, in fact, where degrees Fahrenheit and centigrade meet--will warm you faster than a cup of salty tea with butter.
--Susan Lumpkin
ZooGoer 29(1) 2000. Copyright 2000 Friends of the National Zoo. All rights reserved.
