They are nature’s most mobile pedestrians. They display the longest migrations of any land animal. For millennia, they have been pivotal to human survival. Now, as reports have highlighted, they are vanishing from the Canadian landscape.

They are caribou. Rarely in the spotlight, caribou were featured last week among the hundreds of Canadian species in decline since 1970. In some caribou populations, numbers have fallen 99 per cent in a few decades.

But to most Canadians, caribou seem distant. This animal is merely a figment of remote wilderness, a relic from a forgotten era, or a figure on the 25-cent piece. Few people have seen, or will ever see, caribou in their surroundings. As a biologist, I spent many months and much effort searching for them. My encounters were vivid — and rare.

This is the paradox of caribou. Despite our growing detachment from nature, despite our divorce from the living world, the distance between people and caribou is shrinking. We are closer to caribou than ever.

It’s a relationship that has endured 30,000 years — since the emergence of modern humans in Europe. Caribou were the staple that sustained the ancients. And they remained the sustenance for people into the 20th century. These days, in many Indigenous communities, the return of caribou is still cause for celebration. This animal is the cornerstone of cultural survival.

But further south, in the cities, towns, and farms that dot the Canadian landscape, we may lack a bond to this species. To grasp the modern connection, we need a modern perspective — a view that spans generations and landscapes. This is the entrée into the world of caribou.

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Take woodland caribou, secretive creatures of the boreal forest. Across the northern expanse of woodlands and peatlands, these animals are surprisingly scarce — typically just one caribou per 16 square kilometres. Each animal occupies an immense area, sometimes thousands of square kilometres. Its home range, the area covered in one year, is the largest of all land mammals. On this grand landscape, caribou live big.

Such wide-ranging habits lend special value to caribou. They serve as an indicator, signifying the forest is connected. They serve as an umbrella, furthering the conservation of other wildlife, like birds, insects, and small mammals. Keeping caribou means keeping countless other creatures.

And with this broad perspective, we notice another pattern, both poignant and clear: Woodland caribou are in trouble. Since our great-grandparents’ day, they have vanished from 40 per cent of their continental range. A great swath of their homeland — including New England, Maritimes, and a wide belt from Quebec to British Columbia — is devoid of caribou. Today, two out of every three populations are in decline.

Science reveals why. The loss of caribou stems from loss of habitat. By encroaching into the boreal forest for its riches — minerals, hydroelectricity, timber, oil and gas — we do more than alter the face of the landscape. We rearrange its fauna.

Industrial disturbances invite more moose and deer, more wolves and bears, and more predation on caribou. When too far and too fast, disturbances undermine caribou survival. But the finale is not immediate. The disappearance of caribou is a tragedy in slow motion, unfolding over decades.

Conservation, however, is not just about biology. It is about identity. And while we have learned much about caribou, we have overlooked the key question: What might we learn from caribou? Indeed, all true learning is about identity.

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The fate of caribou is being decided in our time. The answer will be telling: Whether we favour enduring prosperity over hurried exploitation, whether we choose sustainability over boom-and-bust volatility. Because caribou are intimately tied to the land and to people, if we keep caribou, we are likely to succeed at a whole constellation of challenges — economic, social, as well as environmental. Their fate will be our lasting portrait.

A broad perspective, I have learned, is all that conservation requires. Caribou are that invitation — a chance to rethink how we measure our accomplishments in the long haul. They are very much a 21st century animal.