Long before the word “conservation” existed, there was a story about a man who received a warning—whether from God, a dream, or something deeper— his very first instinct wasn’t to save gold, or power, or even people.
It was to save animals.
As a kid, that story meant something to me.
In Sunday school, I didn’t care about the rest of the stories, I just wanted to hear about the ark. About the animals. About the idea that someone would do everything they could to make sure no creature was left behind.
It was the only thing I wanted to talk about or learn about.
The story of Noah’s Ark is ancient—older than many of us realize, and echoed across cultures in flood myths from Mesopotamia to Mesoamerica.
But take away the religious framing, and what you’re left with is something even more profound:
a story of one man’s vision to protect life in its most vulnerable and voiceless form.
Imagine being told the world was about to be destroyed.
Noah had a vision so vivid it shook his soul.
Whether you call that divine guidance, a psychedelic experience, or a moment of deep inner knowing… the point is, he believed it.
And what did he do with that belief?
He built an ark.
But not to save a civilization. Not to preserve human culture.
He built it to save wildlife. Every species he could get his hands on. The crawling. The flying. The growling.
Authorities capture and tag polar bears that come too close to the town of Churchill. The bears are safely relocated far away from people.
What hits me most is that Noah’s story, at its core, is about recognizing the value of animal life when everything else is collapsing.
That resonates deeply today. We’re facing our own slow flood—climate change, habitat loss, mass extinction—and still, too often, the animals are last in line. Treated as background. As scenery. As expendable.
Noah didn’t see them that way, and neither do I.
Tracking endangered porbeagle sharks in the Bay of Fundy, Canada.
Whether that story is myth or memory, it tells us something powerful.
That saving the wild isn't just practical. It’s instinctual. It’s moral. It’s deeply human.
And maybe that’s the message.
You don’t need to save everything to make a difference.
You just need to act. To care. To respond to what the world is showing you.
Maybe, in a strange way, every time we choose to protect a species, or defend a habitat, or give a voice to the voiceless, we’re building a small ark of our own.
Dehorning rhinos to save them from poachers.
So here’s to the modern conservationists.
To the ones fighting poachers in Africa, to the ones tracking sharks in the Bahamas, to the photographers reminding everyone that we still have wild places left that are worth protecting.
Thank you for being a soldier in Noah’s army.
Please continue telling stories that might just move someone to act.
Whether your “vision” comes in the form of a dream, a documentary, or a dive—you’re answering the same call… The wild is worth saving.
