John Wamsley is an imposing-looking fellow, particularly if you happen to be a cat. At 6 foot 2, with a chest-length gray beard and bushy brows, he lumbers around in a Daniel Boone-type hat made from a large, feral feline he skinned years ago. A blunt hatred of cats – and foxes and rabbits, who are likewise immigrants to his native Australia – is Wamsley's trademark, in his defense of the tiny marsupials and delicate plants they've feasted on for decades. “The only good cat is a flat cat”, Wamsley likes to say, and he's been known to make the motto manifest, with the aid of dogs and poisons, throughout the hundreds of thousands of Australian acres he has set aside as ecotourist preserves. As may be supposed, this approach has made Wamsley enemies. Pet lovers resent his calls for recipes for “pussy tail stew”. Yet even more offensive, to some, has been his main strategy for rescuing endangered Australian wildlife: treating the rare numbats, wombats, and wallabies on his land as tradable commodities. In the past several years, Wamsley has become an ecotourism industry leader with a simple strategy. He buys degraded properties, installs electric fences to keep out predators, and restores the area with native plants and threatened native animals. Then he invites high-paying visitors on low-impact tours. In May of 2000, he put his company, Earth Sanctuaries Ltd, on the Australian stock exchange, declaring it the first firm “with a core value of conservation” to be publicly traded. But even more remarkable was his achievement one year earlier, when he successfully lobbied for an inclusion of “ selfgenerating and regenerating assets” in Australian accounting standards. Fish farmers and foresters have thus been able to include on their balance sheets the value of non-human living organisms held for commercial purposes. Wamsley, too, can total the value of his stick-nest rats, yellow-footed rock wallabies, and platypuses, thereby coming up with a new, and obviously much larger, measure of his company's net worth. To be sure, the very notion that “shares” in biodiversity can be converted into something like pork bellies raises the hackles of many who believe that we should revere nature as it is. Yet Wamsley, whom I met on an eye-opening trip to Australia in 2000, insists that only such hard-headed measures can help tackle what has become the worst epidemic of extinctions in human history. The situation is especially bad Down Under, where rampant deforestation has led to a full quarter of the world's mammal extinctions over the previous 200 years. Pressed in part by the need to increase value to his thousands of shareholders, he has become an expert breeder of platypuses, while his company “is doing the best job of anyone in Australia in terms of preserving native animals”, according to government economist Carl Binning. Wamsley's philosophy remains as subtle as his headgear. “There are two things that motivate people”, he told me. “Greed and fear. And the fear is the fear of losing out.” Yet unsettling as this view of human beings may be, it is, in fact, an understandable outgrowth of two important trends. One is the relatively recent awareness that nature's vital, everyday work – in this case, the complex web of ecosystems that nurture biodiversity – can acquire financial value, making conservation a profitable endeavor. The other is a growing willingness among environmentalists to learn more about the world of business, and even adopt some of its practices. It all comes down to the idea that most people need concrete incentives to care for the environment. They shouldn't be forced to choose between saving for their children's education or trying to rescue a species of kangaroo. As Wamsley says, “bake sales haven't done the job”. Philanthropy and governmentregulation have barely made a dent in our environmental crises; we need to find other tools. And this applies not only to preserving numbats, but also threatened forests, coral reefs, and wetlands. Experiments are underway, for instance, in finding markets for these ecosystem services, including the capture of heat-trapping carbon dioxide by forests and water purification by wetlands. Earth Sanctuaries Ltd has fallen on rough times since its initial launching in the heyday of the global stock boom. Wamsley, according to most reports, overextended himself, and in past months has had to sell off some of his large reserves. His firm's share price has fallen, though he still boasts of 7000 committed shareholders. But whether this experiment succeeds or not, Wamsley has certainly given impetus to an emerging debate about nature – including human nature. As he puts it, “You can say let's change the world, or you can say we've evolved the way we are, and we're a lot of bastards, and let's work with that”. Katherine Ellison