the stocks returned to normal. No more slaughter of the seals, we said. We said that all lumbering must be stopped on the Baikal watersheds. We demanded that this treasure – one of the world’s great treasures – be cleansed until it was again as beautiful as it had been before men began to desecrate it. All over the Soviet Union the friends of Baikal fought on.
“Some people thought we could not win. We knew we could. Things are not the same in our country as they were some years ago, and not the same as most foreigners seem to think. Lenin said the will of the people must besupreme … we
were
the people. In Moscow they listened, and at last they bowed to the people.”
The battle to save Baikal brought, at its conclusion, one of the most significant human successes in recent times. It was a major victory of reason combined with deep instinctive feeling, over the senseless and suicidal passion of modern men to exploit the world around them into ultimate destruction.
To my western mind the scope of the victory seemed staggering. In 1967 the Praesidium of the Supreme Soviet of the U.S.S.R. voted to make the entire Baikal region – the lake and thousands of square miles of surrounding territory – into a national park. All fishing along the north half of the lake was prohibited for five years and along the south side for seven years. Sport fishing only will be permitted in the future. Lumbering operations on all watersheds flowing into the lake have been halted for good. Extensive reclamation projects are underway to restore tributary streams and river beds to their pristine condition. A series of new fish hatcheries are being built. All forms of wildlife ranging from wolves to wild flowers are now under complete protection. By the end of 1969 the seal population had increased to forty-five thousand animals, and even the very rare Barguzin sable was staging a remarkable comeback. The Sacred Sea has again become a Sacred Sea in truth.
I asked Boris about the fate of the multi-million ruble cellulose plants and their adjacent towns.
“It was unnecessary to abandon them entirely,” he said, with the magnanimity of a successful warrior. “So we were content to have the two factories closed until a complete filtration system was built which guaranteed no effluent of any kind would ever enter Baikal. They will continue to work, but they will be fed with wood from other districts to the south of the park regions. They can now do no more harm. Of course, the plans for the three other plants were cancelled.”
One day I visited the Baikal Limnological Institute where more than a hundred scientists are doing research on the infinitely varied problems connected with preserving freshwater lakes. The men and women of the Institute were foremost in the fight to preserve Baikal and their satisfaction in the victory knows no bounds.
“We have done more than save Baikal,” a woman zoologist told me. “The fight woke up the whole of the Soviet Union to one of the grave dangers threatening mankind. We will not go to sleep again. Our leaders now understand how great the danger is and they are really listening hard to those who can tell them how to control and stop the damage done by a thoughtless modern industrial society. What happened here at Baikal will help set the pattern for the future development of our country.”
Whether or not she was overly optimistic I cannot say. I do know that some strange things have happened since the Battle of Baikal was won. I was involved, unwittingly in one such incident.
In May of 1969, Mir Publishing House in Moscow published a translation of a book of mine called
Never Cry Wolf
.
This book was originally published in 1963 in Canada and the United States; it was an attempt to dispel the many myths about the destructive nature of the wolf, and to demonstrate that the wolf was a vital element in the balance of nature, and, as such, merited protection from those who would exterminate it.
“Some people thought we could not win. We knew we could. Things are not the same in our country as they were some years ago, and not the same as most foreigners seem to think. Lenin said the will of the people must besupreme … we
were
the people. In Moscow they listened, and at last they bowed to the people.”
The battle to save Baikal brought, at its conclusion, one of the most significant human successes in recent times. It was a major victory of reason combined with deep instinctive feeling, over the senseless and suicidal passion of modern men to exploit the world around them into ultimate destruction.
To my western mind the scope of the victory seemed staggering. In 1967 the Praesidium of the Supreme Soviet of the U.S.S.R. voted to make the entire Baikal region – the lake and thousands of square miles of surrounding territory – into a national park. All fishing along the north half of the lake was prohibited for five years and along the south side for seven years. Sport fishing only will be permitted in the future. Lumbering operations on all watersheds flowing into the lake have been halted for good. Extensive reclamation projects are underway to restore tributary streams and river beds to their pristine condition. A series of new fish hatcheries are being built. All forms of wildlife ranging from wolves to wild flowers are now under complete protection. By the end of 1969 the seal population had increased to forty-five thousand animals, and even the very rare Barguzin sable was staging a remarkable comeback. The Sacred Sea has again become a Sacred Sea in truth.
I asked Boris about the fate of the multi-million ruble cellulose plants and their adjacent towns.
“It was unnecessary to abandon them entirely,” he said, with the magnanimity of a successful warrior. “So we were content to have the two factories closed until a complete filtration system was built which guaranteed no effluent of any kind would ever enter Baikal. They will continue to work, but they will be fed with wood from other districts to the south of the park regions. They can now do no more harm. Of course, the plans for the three other plants were cancelled.”
One day I visited the Baikal Limnological Institute where more than a hundred scientists are doing research on the infinitely varied problems connected with preserving freshwater lakes. The men and women of the Institute were foremost in the fight to preserve Baikal and their satisfaction in the victory knows no bounds.
“We have done more than save Baikal,” a woman zoologist told me. “The fight woke up the whole of the Soviet Union to one of the grave dangers threatening mankind. We will not go to sleep again. Our leaders now understand how great the danger is and they are really listening hard to those who can tell them how to control and stop the damage done by a thoughtless modern industrial society. What happened here at Baikal will help set the pattern for the future development of our country.”
Whether or not she was overly optimistic I cannot say. I do know that some strange things have happened since the Battle of Baikal was won. I was involved, unwittingly in one such incident.
In May of 1969, Mir Publishing House in Moscow published a translation of a book of mine called
Never Cry Wolf
.
This book was originally published in 1963 in Canada and the United States; it was an attempt to dispel the many myths about the destructive nature of the wolf, and to demonstrate that the wolf was a vital element in the balance of nature, and, as such, merited protection from those who would exterminate it.
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