R SCOT DUNCAN CAN TELL YOU how Alabama ranks among the 50 states for its number of imperiled species (third). He can say how much temperatures have already risen in the region (three degrees Fahrenheit over the last two decades). He will talk about legacy river issues and compare damming to “dropping a nuclear bomb on a river.” And he can detail the complex and seemingly contradictory climate change impacts affecting the Southeast’s water supply.

But R. Scot Duncan does not despair in the face of these biodiversity, climate, and water crises. For all the environmental problems he faces on a daily basis as a conservation biologist in a state where it’s particularly hard to be such a thing, Duncan fixates on solutions.

“I learned early on in teaching that I can’t hit people with doom and gloom because they just check out. Instead, what I put in front of them is ‘Here’s the future that we need. It’s good for biodiversity. It’s good for people. It helps eliminate poverty. It helps people live healthier, happier, more fulfilling lives,’” Duncan says. “When you start putting it in those terms, looking at the future becomes less burdensome and instead one we can work toward and we all want to be part of.”

Duncan is in his mid-50s. He wears a goatee and keeps his dark hair short. He speaks with the light, gentle confidence of someone who has given university lectures for 20 years. He’s a life-long bird lover and notices the feathered creatures like a cat — interrupting our conversation to point out a wren’s churr from my side of the phone. And he wants all life in Alabama to prosper.

But a couple of decades ago, Duncan had no notion of Alabama’s biodiversity beyond its coastal bird populations. Duncan grew up in Florida. He completed his master’s and PhD programs at the University of Florida, where he researched tropical forest restoration in parts of Africa and Central and South America, before accepting an assistant professorship at Birmingham-Southern back in 2002. As Duncan and his partner Ginger hauled their infant daughter and worldly belongings to Birmingham, they agreed: We will not be here long.

That sentiment didn’t last. Two weeks after the move, Duncan’s younger brother Will, a freshwater ecologist and Birmingham-Southern College alumnus, visited. He knew the local sights. So he stole Duncan away for a day at the Cahaba River.

“It was like going into another universe. Will showed me how to actually look at a river,” says Duncan, who was more familiar with the coast than inland waterways.

Birdsong reverberated across the riverbanks as their canoe flowed southeast from the city. Lifting riverside rocks revealed dozens of insects and invertebrates. They used nets to scoop up some of the river’s 35 fish species, like the Cahaba shiners, crystal darters, and longear sunfish.

“I’m looking at these bright colored fishes and am like, ‘Shouldn’t these be on a coral reef down in the tropics somewhere?’” Duncan says.

The Cahaba piqued Duncan’s curiosity. Then he got his hands on a biodiversity report from senior scientist Bruce Stein of the North American biodiversity data organization NatureServe. In 2002, Alabama boasted 4,533 species — the fourth highest in the nation.

“How could it be possible that Alabama, Alabama, could lead most of the nation and all of the eastern United States in the number of species within its borders?” Duncan asked.

Since then, Duncan has published a book called Southern Wonder: Alabama’s Surprising Biodiversity, forwarded by naturalist E.O. Wilson. He’s worked to inspire his college students to care about conservation. He joined Alabama Audubon as executive director in August 2022, and he published a new book in March this year with the University of Alabama Press, Southern Rivers: Restoring America’s Freshwater Biodiversity, which has been selected by the Library of Congress Centers great reads for adults for the state of Alabama. In other words, he’s become a dedicated steward of the state.

“If people don’t understand what’s out there,” Duncan says, “they’re not going to know that it needs protecting and that, in fact, their survival depends on protecting it.”

Duncan has journeyed from “embarrassingly ignorant” of Alabama’s biodiversity to a devoted expert. He’s heard a call to action, too, in the many threats facing Alabama’s diverse wildlife. He desperately wants to share that call with others. As he said in a 2015 TEDx Talk, “It’s time for humanity to fall in love with nature.” He wants us all to fall in love with Alabama’s nature. Because if we do, we might just be able to help him save it.

I CAN SPEAK TO the effect of hearing Duncan’s call. In December 2017, my family moved to northern Alabama from the Midwest. Like the pre-2002 Duncan, I had no notion of Alabama’s environment. I had heard about the natural wonders of the West and the conservation efforts to save things like salmon, bison, and wolves. I knew of the national parks to the east and in the wild recesses of Florida. But Alabama — all I knew was that the politics were conservative and the history was grim.

As we settled into our new home, though, I met a different side to the state — one full of a bounty of plants, animals, and rain (more rain, in fact, than the state of Washington). “Maybe they keep their nature a secret for some reason,” I joked with my partner.

I wanted to get to know the landscape and its life better. I bought a couple of regional field guides and started poking around greenways and low plateau trails. I hesitated to venture too far from the safety of my city home. Then I found Southern Wonder: Alabama’s Surprising Biodiversity by R. Scot Duncan.

Within its 400-some pages, I traipsed over five dozen landscape ecosystems, from the plateaus of the Appalachian Mountains with its karst and caves to the Gulf Coast with its marshes and sand dunes. I met endemic species like the Alabama beach mouse (endangered), the Red Hills salamander (threatened), and the eerie Alabama cavefish (rare). I read descriptions of an Alabama that had been taken from me long before I arrived — one holding airy forests of longleaf pines (now over-logged), blackland tallgrass prairie in the southeastern plains (now replaced with agriculture), and free-flowing rivers that formed the center of culture and life (now dammed and degraded).

“Scot really made the academic case and wove together the answer to [questions like], Why are we so biodiverse? Where’s it coming from? What are all the factors that have come together?” Beth Stewart, the executive director of the Cahaba River Society, says. “He got his arms around something very big to help us understand why Alabama is so special.”

Duncan helps people see Alabama in a new light in part because he interprets landscapes differently. He understands how the past cotton plantations of the Black Belt, a former tall grass prairie atop a once-rich black soil, contributes to modern-day environmental injustices rife with poverty and pollution. When he’s in Ruffner Mountain Nature Preserve in Birmingham, he likes to stare at Red Gap, a natural break in the mountain, and imagine herds of mammoths and mastodons migrating there during the brutal winters about 7,000 years ago. Once, on a hike with his students at Oak Mountain State Park, he explained that the beautiful woodlands they were trekking through were actually a longleaf pine forest in its last stages of death. A student turned to him and said, “It must be really hard for you to walk through these places and to be aware of all the deterioration.”

“That’s just part of being someone that is in the conservation movement these days,” Duncan reflects. “There will continue to be lots of loss. But the important thing is that we’re continuing to fight back to turn the tide.”

From coastal bird monitoring and public outreach to encouraging birdwatching and ecotourism in the Black Belt region, Duncan’s role as executive director at Alabama Audubon helps him turn the tide by engaging local communities in bird stewardship and conservation efforts that tend to have a trickle-down effect in overall conservation.

“Birds are one of the best ambassadors for getting people interested in nature,” Duncan says. “They are everywhere. They advertise their presence by singing and flying. And some even have bright colors.”

Stewart, who has known Duncan for the past 20 years, believes he’s a key leader helping to inspire change in conservation across the state.

“Before [Southern Wonder], I don’t think there was as widespread recognition within the Southeast or beyond of the value and the threat of our ecosystems,” Stewart says. “The Southeast wasn’t seen as being up there in significance that deserves special attention and protection and investment. And Scot is one of the people who has helped make that case.”

IN 2016, DUNCAN WANTED TO celebrate the women and men who restore Alabama’s creeks and rivers by writing a new book. After all, E.O. Wilson had pegged this “the aquatic state.” About 132,000 miles of river and stream channels rush, trickle, and meander toward the Gulf, with 56 percent of Alabamians tapping them for 33.5 trillion gallons of drinking water a year. Wetlands span more than 3 million acres. All these freshwater bodies create habitats for 40 percent of North America’s freshwater fish species, 57 percent of its freshwater turtle species, and about 60 percent of its freshwater mussel species.

But as Duncan dove into this passion project during a two-year sabbatical, his celebratory approach to the book floated away in a deluge of issues.

“Once I started doing the research, I realized how big the challenges are not only to rivers of the Southeast but also to the people of the Southeast due to climate change,” Duncan says.

The climate emergency is changing rainfall distribution. While the amount of rain in the region is increasing only slightly, most is already falling as heavy downpours in fewer events than in years past. Flash floods are worsening. Erosion, pollution runoff, and over-sedimentation are surging. At the same time, temperatures have been rising, increasing the evaporation rate.

The state’s biodiversity sits on the line too. Freshwater creatures account for the majority of the 151 threatened and endangered species in Alabama. “What we’re seeing is the collision of the extinction crisis and the climate crisis right here in ground zero in the Southeast.”

Duncan spent two years on a quest to find a solution to how the greater Southeast region could protect its aquatic biodiversity while also getting people the water they need. His new book Southern Rivers is the result. In it, he shares multi-solver approaches — focused in particular on water conservation and climate adaptation, such as low-impact development approaches and greening urban centers — he can get behind.

“You’re solving the problems of flooding, you’re solving the problems of threats to urban wildlife and yourself by creating habitat, and you’re solving the problem of urban heat island,” Duncan says. “It’s basically a win-win-win situation for biodiversity and for people, and that’s the direction that we have to go.”

IN A POSSIBLE ALABAMA OF 2050, Duncan imagines sitting in a canoe at Mountain Brook Cahaba River Walk Park, ready to undertake a 415-mile journey to Dauphin Island. He floats down free-flowing river systems atop clean water, surrounded by thriving wildlife and happy humans. Forests flanking the rivers are rebounding into bastions of protection from sedimentation and runoff — and supporting abundant habitats. Locals’ lives intersect with the river for fishing and kayaking, community fish fries, and responsible, sustainable commerce. Tourists flock to the state for the fishing, for the scenery, for the wild and wonder.

But this is not some wishful daydream. Duncan lays out the solutions that can support this future Alabama.

“The restoration of mussel populations through reintroduction programs and improved water management across Alabama is one reason why our streams are just as clear as they were when Alabama gained statehood.” Plink.

“Farmers now plant drought-tolerant crop varieties and use conservation tillage strategies to restore the soil’s water- and carbon-storage capacities.” Plink.

“Fossil fuel plants were replaced with wind and solar farms and battery storage power plants by 2032 … When wind and solar energy farms became widespread in Alabama in the late 2020s, it became unreasonable to maintain the state’s fleet of hydropower dams.” Plink.

Duncan drops these wishes into the waters for others to find.