Extinction

I once saw a mountain lion.  On Friday afternoons, to avoid the traffic on U.S. 101, I often drove home from San Jose to Fairfax by way of Mountain Road.  About 20 miles longer, Mountain Road had beautiful views of the Pacific and Mount Tamilpais, and redwoods--and no traffic.  One day I saw this large animal streak across the road.  I immediately pulled over and got out of the car, and then it hit me--that was a mountain lion.  I quickly got back in the car.

I had been aware of mountain lions.  When I hiked in the Marin Municipal Water District property, signs at the trailheads contained instructions on what to do if you came across a mountain lion.  Look big, yell, don’t run, and if attacked, fight back.

When I hike in Pennsylvania, I will never see an eastern mountain lion.  The federal Fish and Wildlife Service has declared them officially extinct.  We knew that already, but somehow the official declaration makes it so final.  The last one died in the 1930s.  I will never see one.  My daughter won’t see one.  My grandson won’t see one.  No one will ever see one.  

I sometimes think that people don’t appreciate the finality of extinction.  The eastern mountain lion, a species that lived during my father’s lifetime, is now gone forever.