This endangered invertebrate is harmless to humans — and rabbits. Saving it from extinction might even benefit both species.
In the southern reaches of Japan lies the lush, subtropical island of Amamioshima — Japan’s garden of Eden. Although almost unknown to the larger world, Amamioshima is the country’s ecological crown jewel, with some of its richest biodiversity. The island is blanketed in native forest and skirted by vibrant coral reefs.
Photo: Mackenzie L. Kwak (used with permission)
Unsurprisingly Amamioshima is also home to scores of endemic species, including perhaps its most famous resident, the Amami rabbit (Pentalagus furnessi). This bizarre mammal, sometimes called a “living fossil,” is about the size of a miniature schnauzer and covered in a woolly black fur with such minute ears some people fail to recognize it as a rabbit when they first see it. Amami rabbits are a keystone species in the island’s warm, wet forests, regulating plant communities through their grazing, dispersing seeds, and even providing the dung relied on by several endemic dung beetles.
They’re also host to one of the world’s rarest parasites, the endangered Ryukyu rabbit tick (Haemaphysalis pentalagi).
The rabbit tick is unique to the island of Amamioshima, where it coevolved with the Amami rabbit — the two species spend most of their lives in close association. The life of a Ryukyu tick begins when it hatches from an egg deep in a rabbit’s burrow. The young tick quickly locates the resident rabbit, who will become its home, transportation, and constant companion. Although ticks feed on the blood of rabbits, this appears to have no adverse impacts on the host animals and may even serve to enhance their health by keeping their immune system primed.
A rabbit burrow. Photo: Mackenzie L. Kwak (used with permission)
Although ticks are known for their role in disease (e.g., Lyme, spotted fever, tick-borne encephalitis), Ryukyu rabbit ticks never bite humans and seem to be content in their association with the rabbits.
Unfortunately, the once peaceful island life enjoyed by the Ryukyu rabbit tick and Amami rabbit has been disrupted by human activity. In the 1970s the Japanese government introduced the small Indian mongoose (Urva auropunctata) to Amamioshima in a poorly planned effort to control venomous snakes. The mongooses, who reproduced rapidly, had little interest in snakes and instead preyed upon Amami rabbits, resulting in massive declines.
There’s good news: A 30-year campaign to eradicate the invasive mongoose was finally declared a success in 2024, providing a reprieve to the Ryukyu rabbit tick and Amami rabbit.
Tragically, feral dogs and cats still stalk the island’s forests, killing Amami rabbits and representing a major threat to both rabbit and tick — and wildlife diseases like toxoplasmosis also threaten the pair. To make matters worse, the invasive big-headed ant (Pheidole megacephala) has also been introduced to the island. This voracious invader is known to decimate communities of small invertebrates, including ticks. As they spread, they may also cause Ryukyu rabbit tick populations to decline.
Amidst these threats the world’s first conservation program for a globally threatened parasite was launched to save the Ryukyu rabbit tick in 2022. The Mohamed bin Zayed Species Conservation Fund and Japanese Ministry of Environment provided support to a small team led by researchers from Hokkaido university, who partnered with rangers on Amamioshima to begin conserving this endangered species.
Hardly anything was known about the Ryukyu rabbit tick, but within the first year the team developed monitoring methods to track wild populations and understand the trajectory of the species. An ongoing monitoring program is now in place to track the tick indefinitely and assess the impacts of conservation actions and invasive species.
Some wild ticks were collected and transported back to Hokkaido University, where they were used to start a captive-breeding program. It didn’t take long before they were reproducing successfully in captivity, and now a third generation of captive-bred Ryukyu rabbit ticks has recently been welcomed into the world.
Many people have a burning question have after hearing about the Ryukyu rabbit tick: Why should we save parasites?
At a foundational level, some argue that all species hold intrinsic value, including parasites.
A more compelling argument can be made, though: Parasites play unseen but often important roles in ecosystems, where they serve to support and stabilize entire biological communities.
Parasites even provide direct benefits to humans. In the case of the Ryukyu rabbit tick, scientists are studying its saliva with hopes of develop new pharmaceuticals to treat auto-immune diseases. Researchers are also developing the tick as a model organism (like the fruit fly and lab rabbit) to aid in their efforts to answer fundamental scientific questions and develop new technologies.
Although small, the Ryukyu rabbit tick is making a big impact on the world of conservation biology as a flagship species — a symbol that even parasites are worth saving from extinction. By conserving this rare animal, we take the first steps on the road toward a holistic new conservation, free from the old “species chauvinism” that focuses almost exclusively on larger, more charismatic animals.
On top of that, protecting the Ryukyu rabbit tick will help to safeguard its ecosystem — and may safeguard our health, too. That’s a big role for a tiny invertebrate.
Evidence from the pandemic found that bighorn sheep populations soared when people weren’t around to disturb them.
A long piece of grass hung loosely from his nose. He looked down at me from his mountain perch, about 500 feet away from where I stood. Staring at his amber eyes, I wondered how many lurking mountain lions this Rocky Mountain bighorn sheep had outwitted in his Colorado National Monument home. He’d also have battled male sheep: Hard-fought clashes to snag prized females have whittled down the edges of his imposing horns, which are etched with deep rings. Like trees, bighorn sheep generally develop one ring on their horns for each year of life.
As I scoured the ancient red cliff faces with binoculars, I noticed that he wasn’t alone. Two young rams, about 20 feet away from him, reclined on a ledge, their spindly legs tucked under lean bellies. One closed his eyes, twitching his erect ears, as if adjusting them to tune into his surroundings.
The sheep appeared at peace, as was I, listening to birds chirp and the wind rustle. No rumbling vehicles pierced the silence in this 20,500-acre monument that sits in the western corner of Colorado.
Rocky Mountain bighorn ram peers out from his perch at Colorado National Monument. Photo: Hilary Clark (used with permission)
The monument is ideal for bighorn. Rock formations tower into geologic skyscrapers, as if a giant playing Legos has stacked round and square rocks on top of each other. Over billions of years, wind and water — nature’s artists — sculpted the cliffs and mountain ranges into their present-day shapes.
Today bighorn sheep are part of the monument’s identity, but that hasn’t always been the case. Hunting and livestock diseases wiped them out from much of the Southwest by the late 1800s. In the early 1980s biologists imported a handful, hoping to restore the local population, but kept the sheep in captivity. The ungulates spent three years living in an enclosure near the monument’s visitor center.
National Park Service wildlife biologist Bill Sloan, who has studied bighorn for over 40 years, remembers when scientists relocated the herds of sheep from Lake Mead in Nevada to Colorado National Monument.
“The conventional wisdom then was that keeping the sheep in enclosures would give them time to acclimate to their new surroundings, as well as mate and reproduce,” Sloan tells me. “It didn’t work, and scientists eventually released the confined sheep back into the wild.”
The unfettered herds embraced their newfound freedom, heading west, trading Colorado National Monument for the wilderness of Dominguez-Escalante National Conservation Area.
Panoramic view of Colorado National Monument. Photo: Hilary Clark (used with permission)
Several years later, around 2010, the relatives of those sheep traveled back to the monument where their ancestors had once lived. Today their numbers have swelled to about 150 — and Sloan worries about them.
“So many sheep are competing for vegetation and water in this small area,” he says. “Their dense numbers make them more vulnerable to predation by mountain lions and disease that can wipe out their populations.”
Among the worst of those diseases is Mycoplasma ovipneumoniae, an often-fatal respiratory disease passed from domestic sheep to wild bighorn, which can extinguish entire herds.
That’s just one of many unceasing threats pummeling bighorn today. Climate change dries up springs and other water sources they rely on. Freeways, strip malls, and other modern entrapments eviscerate their habitat, and with it their ability to find and mate with other sheep. Left isolated on mountain ranges, their limited mating options weaken their gene pool. Protected areas, though important, amount to little more than postage stamps on the landscape — hardly enough for an animal that needs expansive swaths of land to roam.
Most recently, soaring visitation to national parks and other public lands is compromising bighorn survival.
“Sheep are very sensitive to human disturbance,” Sloan points out. “When people encroach on their habitat, they will spend less time foraging. That can lead to ewes not lactating enough and giving birth to weaker lambs, which are less likely to survive.”
Desert Bighorn in Mojave
I share Sloan’s admiration and concern for bighorn sheep.
I first spied these ungulates in 2006 while working as a park ranger in eastern California’s Mojave National Preserve. The desert bighorn in Mojave are the smaller, lighter-brown relatives of their robust Rocky Mountain cousins.
On an early summer Mojave morning, before temperatures rocketed to searing heights, I spotted a desert ewe balanced on a rocky high rise, known as escape terrain, where she could dash away from mountain lions and other predators. She was close, about 50 feet away. Shooting me a furtive glance, she sized me up to determine if I was a threat before deciding that I was harmless.
I froze in place, not wanting to spook her. Eventually she relaxed and went about the business of being a bighorn. I watched her boomerang off cliffs with cloven hooves that grasped rocks like rubber suction cups. Skewering a prickly pear cactus with her pointed horns, she savored the nutritious pulp under the spiky exterior. A nine-stage, complex digestive system enabled her to absorb maximum nutrients from rough desert vegetation.
Time and my worries peeled away that morning. Watching her felt like a gift I could never repay.
The desolate, remote, 1.6 million-acre Mojave is known as the lonely triangle. Cascading dunes, iconic Joshua tree forests, jagged mountain ranges, and expansive dry lake beds support the preserve’s diverse wildlife and plants. But human encroachment infringes on the wildness. Interstate 15 to the north and Interstate 40 to the south hug the preserve. The glittering lights of Las Vegas, about 90 miles from the preserve’s boundary, are visible in otherwise inky skies.
When I started working in Mojave in 2006, it was mostly unknown to the public. Not having the moniker of “national park” made the preserve less sought after. Unlike neighboring Joshua Tree National Park, about a three-hour drive south, Mojave boasted no coffee shops, restaurants, or gas stations. The preserve was more multi-use than a traditional national park, allowing hunting and grazing. But by not drawing throngs of visitors, Mojave retained a wild character that, in some ways, offered it more protection than a national park.
Wild Loss
In 2007 I left the preserve for a national forest, but the wild beauty beckoned me back. I returned in 2010, and at that time Mojave remained relatively unknown. But word soon spread that the backroads of the preserve led to a scenic drive to Las Vegas. It wasn’t long before throngs of travelers started recklessly barreling down those desert roads.
The region paid an instant price. I witnessed desert tortoises crushed under two-ton vehicles. Bighorn sheep, skittering across the road, became casualties. Kit foxes, lizards, bobcats, snakes, mule deer, and a myriad of other wildlife lost their lives to a merciless desert racetrack.
I was not the only one enraged and heartbroken by the wild loss. Sloan has long born witness to how a surge of visitors to national parks endangers bighorn sheep.
Photo: W.B. Sloan (used with permission)
He has observed hordes of people driving and camping along the 100-mile, four-wheel drive White Rim Road in Utah’s Canyonlands National Park.
When the crowds descended 27 years ago, bighorn sheep scattered and abandoned the area. Even today, hundreds of roaring vehicles and raucous parties at campsites scattered along the road keep the bighorn away.
Without people to scare them off, Canyonlands would serve bighorn well. “Cheatgrass sprouts along the edge of White Rim Road, which is very nutritious for bighorn sheep,” Sloan says. “But all the people and noise stresses them out. They fear for their lives.”
‘Your’ Park
The stark differences in the way visitors perceive public lands took center stage when the National Park Service celebrated its centennial in 2016.
That year, wanting to stay relevant with younger audiences, the Park Service launched an ambitious “find your park” campaign. Using social media, the agency encouraged people — many of whom had never visited public lands — to discover their parks. Millions did just that. Many turned to public lands for both reprieve and adventure, following a hallowed tradition of previous generations.
In 1916 the founders of the National Park Service promoted the lands the agency managed as ideal destinations for tourists in search of relaxation and recreation. In the process, the founders made the public a lofty and seemingly contradictory promise: to provide recreational opportunities while leaving resources unimpaired for future generations.
That might have made sense in 1916, when around 326,000 people visited national parks in the United States. By 2016, however, annual visitation to national parks had already risen to more than 330 million. The pressures on park wildlife continued to grow.
A Breather for Wildlife
Four years later, in 2020, the unthinkable happened: A deadly pandemic upended people’s lives.
The Park Service took immediate safety precautions, temporarily shuttering its gates to prevent the spread of Covid. Park visitors were disappointed, but wildlife, including bighorn sheep, relished the respite.
Sloan watched bighorn sheep come back to White Rim Road during Canyonland’s closure, which lasted about seven weeks from March to May 2020. The animals appeared at ease, undisturbed by Sloan’s presence. Many munched on cheatgrass. Some even bedded down close to the road.
“Lamb survival was excellent throughout 2020, despite extreme drought,” Sloan says. “Nearly every ewe I tracked with a GPS collar had a surviving lamb.”
By the end of October 2020, Sloan counted 80 lambs for every 100 ewes — more than double the number of young at any given time during the previous three decades.
“This means it’s possible, if not likely, that the absence of disturbance during the vital spring lambing season allowed pregnant ewes to find more nutritious food,” Sloan says. “Future study would enable us to check this more rigorously.”
Time for a New Campaign
Listening to Sloan, the Park Service mantra echoed in my mind — public lands belong to us.
But that begs the question, what about wildlife that make their homes in public lands? A modicum of etiquette enforces the notion of acting with care and consideration when visiting another’s home.
Perhaps that same respect could extend to wild homes in national parks and other public lands. Modeling the success of the 2016 Park Service centennial, a new campaign could endorse a different mantra: a plea to the public to protect and respect wildlife and their homes. The Park Service could carve out natural preserves that are specially designated for wildlife where the public has no access — areas where animals could be truly free.
“Without human interference, wildlife can thrive,” Sloan emphasizes.
Look closely. Photo: Hilary Clark (used with permission)
Bighorn and other species need this freedom more than ever. In the wake of the centennial campaign and after the pandemic, National Park attendance continues to soar. In 2023 it reached 325 million people. How can animals persist at that level of constant human presence?
I thought about that while watching the bighorn at Colorado National Monument. A tumbling rock whacked a cliff face, yanking me back to the present. The elder ram rested comfortably on a ledge next to a spiky cucumber-colored yucca, peering over the landscape like royalty.
This is his home, I reminded myself. Walking back to the car, I turned my head and took one last look at him, grateful for time in his presence. He watched me leave, perhaps with a sense of relief.
As teams travel thousands of miles to compete, the cost to the planet rises. But sports offer a unique opportunity to advocate for sustainable experiences.
Imagine gazing through an airplane window as you pass over Appalachia and, later, the Grand Canyon before touching down just outside of San Francisco. Or grabbing a peek at the Berkshires before feeling the hard ground of Logan airport under thin wheels.
This has been the journey of athletes, coaches, staff, and fans of California’s Stanford University and Boston College this past year as the two teams began competing directly in the Atlantic Coast Conference — yes, despite the fact that they’re on different coasts. Located about 3,100 miles apart, they are the farthest-separated competitors in a Power 5 conference and potentially all of college athletics.
It’s unclear if this matchup will truly have financial benefits for either school or the conference, but it will have environmental consequences.
I’ve always appreciated the amateur aspect of college sports and I continued to appreciate it at a distance from my work in climate activism. But my more formal work in emissions accounting and climate risk have allowed me to see it through a new lens.
My preliminary analysis indicates that just one football and two basketball games per season between the Stanford Cardinals and the Boston College Eagles over 10 years will produce equivalent emissions to driving more than 1,000 passenger vehicles for one year. That’s just the result of team member and staff travel and doesn’t even include fan travel, let alone other operations and moving equipment, as well as the many other sports at each school.
Air travel is the only real alternative for schools competing at these great distances. High speed rail in this country is years away (though I remain optimistic). Although traditional rail and other nonaviation means are used by an increasing number of professional and college teams, the average cross-country train trip takes three days each way — a difficult burden for athletes who also need to attend classes. But even the most sustainable means of travel have incremental costs and emissions — the greater the distance, the greater the climate cost.
Meanwhile many of those travel alternatives are also likely to cost more and, contrary to mainstream narratives, most college athletics, football included, are not “profitable” for universities.
Stanford and Boston College are not alone and their matchup is just one of the more egregious examples of this emerging athletic phenomenon. But as a BC alum I feel particularly empowered to call out this piece of their lack of commitment to sustainability.
Universities seek to attract students from all over, and BC ranks high for the distance students travel simply to attend. That is not inherently “bad,” but should be understood in the context of transportation emissions and universities’ role, including and beyond athletics.
Programs like this have great potential. Sports sit at an intersection of health, academia, economy, national and regional identities, international unity, youth, climate, and myriad other cultural issues. While a lot of media coverage highlights negative or outlandish examples, sports have served positively in the fight for racial equity and basic LGBTQ+ inclusion time and again. While they have their issues and can showcaseperturbednationalism or violence, there is a movement toward sports better reflecting positive developments in society.
Sports are also beyond bipartisan. Democrat Marty Walsh, a former Boston mayor and labor secretary — as well as a BC alum, I might add — leads the NHL Players Association, while former Massachusetts Gov. Charlie Baker, a Republican, currently leads the NCAA. Both have demonstrated a certain level of leadership on climate, sustainability, and transportation in their political careers, although we have yet to see that translate into their work in the sports world.
Sports can be a beautiful and unifying force, especially for climate. In 2020 the leaders of student governments at all Big Ten schools came together to call for specific climate actions from their universities. The Atlantic Coast Conference Climate Justice Coalition launched a similar call later that same year, and student activists in the Ivy League followed in 2021. And of course who would forget the disruption of the Harvard-Yale football game by climate activists? These calls represent 52 universities, 950,000 active students, more than 12 million alumni, and $306 billion in endowment funds.
While their impact on emissions is important, we must also take note of the impact of climate change on sports themselves. General travel and athletic events are often disrupted by weather, with climate change making things more volatile every year. This increases the likelihood of games being cancelled, attendance dropping due to poor weather, fans experiencing accidents on the road, or athletes being injured due to poor field conditions.
Even the athletes’ travel itself has become more dangerous: Airlines have already measured an increase in turbulence on flights, and it’s anticipated to get worse.
Despite that young athletes face increasing pressure to travel for sports. This pressure is tied into larger, and likely problematic, pressure on youth to perform and over-perform in sports and other aspects of their lives. I’ll let others take on that issue in more detail, but let’s be real — travel is, simply, exhausting.
There’s another big threat: Some sports we enjoy in colder months — like skiing — could vanish. A study published this November found that without emission cuts, the Winter Olympics may no longer be possible. Protect Our Winters, another organization I’ve worked with, anticipates that threat and seeks to address climate change in defense of winter sports.
It’s not just the Olympics: In the future, perhaps that flight from BC will take place over snowless Berkshires or never take off at all due to a flooded Logan Airport. Already built at sea level and on landfill never meant to be habitable, Logan — like many airports, infrastructure, homes, and other buildings — faces the risk of repeated flooding and damage, making it nearly inoperable as it faces its own contributions to the crisis. It is quite difficult to face this conundrum as both contributor and victim.
Wherever you stand politically, in your view of how to raise children in the context of sports, or what your position is on whether college athletes should be paid, we can agree that sports affect emissions, emissions affect sports, and both are powerful aspects of much larger systems. This offers an area of intersection that many in the world not often moved by mainstream climate actions might find interesting or action-provoking, and it’s worthy of further analysis.
Individual sports still involve a team at the highest level, and we all are or have been athletes or fans. Climate change is the same — our individual actions count, but our collective work is what affects the system.
Park boundaries can’t protect against everything, and the trees that give the reserve its name remain threatened by climate change, fire, and an invasive fungus.
The Place:
Torrey Pines State Natural Reserve, Central Coast of San Diego County
Why It Matters:
Southern California’s coast is better known for its beaches than its woodlands. Torrey Pines State Natural Reserve is home to both. The woodlands are formed by one of the few trees that naturally grows on Southern California bluffs — the IUCN red-listed Torrey pine (Pinus torreyana).
The California State Parks system manages 280 park units, but this is 1 of only 14 to have reserve status, which designates areas of conservation importance that contain threatened species, habitats, or unique geological formations. The presence of Torrey pine, the rarest pine tree in the United States, meets this requirement. Torrey pines are tenacious trees, growing in interesting shapes on the windblown bluffs, even sprawling along slopes, or growing straight and robust trunks in protected canyons. The trees only grow naturally in this small stretch of coast, with a cousin taxon found on one of California’s Channel Islands.
Photo courtesy San Diego Zoo Wildlife Alliance
But the quirky rare trees aren’t all that makes the state reserve special — it’s also home to several plants recognized by California as rare, threatened, or endangered. The cliffs perennially host a pair of peregrine falcons, who can be seen soaring along the cliff edge or perched atop a Torrey pine. And since this is a coastal spot, there’s a chance to observe some interesting marine life: both great white sharks and playful dolphins have been seen from the overlooks.
The Threat:
The trees that give the reserve its name have suffered tremendous losses in the past decade. Around 17% of the canopy cover was lost during the drought that dominated Southern California for most of the 2010s. The drought stressed the trees and reduced sap production, making them unable to push out native five-spined engraver beetles, who infested the trees. Hundreds of trees died.
With the return of rains, the threat has retreated — for now. Climate change makes extreme weather events more common, so it’s only a matter of time before drought stress affects the trees again and beetle threat looms.
Beetles are not the only threat at the reserve, or even for the Torrey pine. Following the infestation, and perhaps riding some beetle tailcoats, the reserve experienced an outbreak of pitch canker, an exotic fungal infection. The disease, like the beetle pests, takes advantage of stressed trees but thrives with some moisture.
Invasive plant species are a constant threat throughout the park, potentially crowding out native plants and degrading habitat quality. A change of fire regimes also has effects, with increasing fuels in some areas and the kindling of invasive grasses increasing the chances of larger fires.
Who’s Protecting It Now:
California State Parks manages the reserve and works to maintain natural processes as much as possible. This is no easy task when fire regimes have been altered, invasive species pervade, and climate change is making its effects felt. The agency is aided by volunteer docents, who do everything from leading tours to working to control some of the more pervasive weeds (as a group known as the Wacky Weeders).
Photo courtesy San Diego Zoo Wildlife Alliance
Other nonprofit groups support the management of this special place, including the Torrey Pines Conservancy, which provides key funding projects such as beetle trapping, large trash removal, facilities maintenance, and more. The San Diego Zoo Wildlife Alliance works with California State Parks on research around the Torrey pines population sustainability in the face of increasing threats, partnering with the California Department of Forestry and Fire Protection and U.S. Forest Service. The Alliance also works with The Chaparral Lands Conservancy for restoration of short-leaved dudleya.
What This Place Needs:
There are some things against which even a “protected” area can’t protect. And though the State Parks staff try to maintain natural processes as much as possible, support for active management is always needed. This support might be volunteers, funding to support management activities, or research that can inform the next management steps. SDZWA is working on helping to fill in some gaps on management, but support for more long-term work still falls short. Because the climate is becoming more erratic, we need time to study more of the variety in climate and how different trees respond; yet support for long-term research and monitoring of management impacts can be hard to find.
My Place in This Place:
My work at Torrey Pines State Natural Reserve began at the start of COVID-19 pandemic lockdowns. We did our initial surveys by walking overgrown trails in all-but-empty park during a spectacularly blooming spring. It was a such a privilege to be able to take the time to examine the plant diversity — especially at a time when the space was inaccessible to so many.
Taking in the views in the cool shade of the Torrey pine trees and seeing the beauty of the rugged coast combined with the beautiful plants kept my spirits high in tough times. That’s when I truly understood the importance of nature on mental health, and why the reserve is so incredibly popular. Its location in center of coastal San Diego County makes it accessible to many, a beautiful stretch of natural land tucked in the sprawl of suburbia connecting many to nature. Torrey Pines State Natural Reserve is a place where both nature and people thrive.
Photo courtesy San Diego Zoo Wildlife Alliance
In my years monitoring the trees, I’ve been amazed at their diversity in growth forms and their tenacity. They range from 5-foot-wide giants with full crowns tucked in ravines to wind-blown individuals that almost look like shrubs. They will continue to grow after falling over and will stretch roots over cliffs to get footholds.
It has been incredibly upsetting see so many succumb to beetles or have their crown degraded by the pitch canker fungus. I can only hope that the things we’re learning can help the species, if not the individuals we see now, survive these stresses and threats into the future.
We are working on developing restoration protocols, with some of our seedlings flourishing.
The trails reopened to the public long ago, and since then I’ve heard nothing but curiosity and support from the reserve’s many visitors — especially students. With such positive signs in the next generations, of both people and trees, I have great hope for this place.
Do you live in or near a threatened habitat or community, or have you worked to study or protect endangered wildlife? You’re invited to share your stories in our ongoing features, Protect This Place and Species Spotlight.
An alphabetical look at the environmental threats, priorities, and opportunities of the year ahead.
The new year is upon us, and the second Trump administration will soon take power. Here’s some of what we can expect, or what we should focus on, in the months ahead.
A is for Activists vs. Autocrats.
The defining conflict of our generation.
B is for Biodiversity.
Threatened and endangered species aren’t going to protect themselves.
B is also for Billionaires and Bribes.
The rich keep getting richer and consolidating power. They’ll pay whatever and whomever they want to maintain and grow their dominance, and the Earth will suffer in the process.
Truth Social screen shot.
C is for Climate Chaos.
The Trump administration will do whatever it can to dismantle climate protections, starting as soon as Day One, and, of course, is unlikely to pass any new environmental laws. Meanwhile weather will get more extreme, global temperatures will continue to rise, and communities and habitats will suffer. Be prepared — and continue to fight for progress.
C is also for Community.
Build one (or many) around yourselves. We’ll need each other.
D is for Decolonization.
As the world takes a hard shift to the right, we can’t lose sight of how that affects the people, places, and systems around us, many already suffering from decades or centuries of colonialist, oppressive acts and mindsets.
E is for Elections.
Local races will take place in late 2025, several states will hold key special elections early in the year, and the next federal elections are in 2026. What’s your plan?
F is for the Free Press and the First Amendment.
Both are friends to the environment and essential for bringing corporate and government malfeasance to light. Support your local and national media and speak your mind.
G is for Governors (and Mayors).
State and local action will be critical for maintaining progress against climate change as the federal government is robbed of power and professionalism under Trump.
H is for Hellbenders.
These amazing giant salamanders are scheduled to gain Endangered Species Act protection in 2025. Which other species will join them — or see their protections blocked?
I is for Ideas.
We’ll need a lot.
J is for Justice.
Let’s never forget the people left behind.
J is also for Jokes.
Take a cue from Mel Brooks, who spent his career satirizing Adolf Hitler — autocrats have big egos and thin skins. Parody helps cut them down to size.
K is for Kindness.
Be good to yourself and the people and wildlife around you. We’ll need a lot of that in the days ahead.
L is for Lawyers and Lawsuits.
Expect the first court filings against the Trump administration to come as early as Inauguration Day. (Meanwhile, we can count on an emboldened Trump to file more lawsuits against the media and his opponents.)
M is for Monuments
President Biden named several new national monuments while he was in office, including three during his final weeks (two of which are still pending as of press time). These designations protect important habitats or culturally important sites. Will Trump oppose or rescind them? I’m looking at you, Bears Ears.
N is for NOAA and NATO.
Let’s hope they survive the year.
O is for Obeying in Advance.
Which we must not do.
P is for Project 2025.
The extreme right has showed us its playbook. Now it’s time to use it against them and to anticipate their attacks against freedom and decency.
Q is for the Quest for Knowledge.
Never stop looking for new ways to protect life on Earth.
R is for Resting and Recharging.
It’s going to be a rough four years. Take care of yourself in the long fight ahead — nature walks help.
S is for Success Stories.
They make a huge difference. Telling stories about progress or victories helps others to replicate those successes. Reading those stories inspires people to seek their own solutions (and to pull back from the daily doom and gloom).
S is also for Sharing.
Don’t keep your victories — or your pain — to yourself. We grow when we communicate with friends and neighbors.
T is for Trump 2.0.
Of course it is.
U is for Ukraine.
And Palestine, Israel, Yemen, Somalia, Haiti, Myanmar, and so many other places on the planet. War and other conflicts are bad for people, wildlife, ecosystems and the climate. Expect more conflicts as autocrats and kleptocrats continue to grab both power and natural resources. (And let’s not forget, if Trump gives up on Ukraine, all of Europe and Western Asia could suffer from potential further Russian aggression.)
V is for Vaccines.
Polio, anyone? Or a new global pandemic, perhaps bird flu? It might be time to stock up on masks again…
W is for Wildlife.
Treasure it.
X is for eXamples.
Trump and his allies are already publicly punishing people and organizations who stand up to them and trying to scare the rest of us into not fighting back. Support the systems that will defend these heroes in need.
X is also for X.
Elon Musk, owner of the social media site, has proven himself to be a destructive force. The environmental movement should divest itself from Musk products, including X and Tesla.
Y is for Yelling
Okay, maybe you don’t need to shout, but never be afraid to make your voice heard. Put your local representatives’ offices on speed dial.
Z is for Zero Ground.
Don’t stray from the ethical, moral, professional, legal, and scientific high ground. Don’t give an inch in the fight to protect people and the planet. Draw a line and don’t let them cross it. It will be tough, but that’s the hand we’ve been dealt.
The world still faces a growing extinction crisis, but that hasn’t stopped conservation efforts or individual overachievers. Here are some of the animals who made a difference.
While the climate and biodiversity crises demand attention — and cause more than a little anxiety — we should save some bandwidth for encouraging news, too. Every year members of the wildlife communities around us achieve feats that cast new light on the world we live in. Sometimes they expand their ranges, recover territory, or simply survive against the odds.
Often these feats are aided by human conservation work.
Last year was no exception, with high-achieving wolves, blue whales, salmon, and other animals making headlines. Their stories reflect the abundance that still surrounds us and the stubborn resilience we all share.
As we welcome 2025, let’s enjoy these hopeful stories from 2024.
Klamath Salmon Surge Back
Just weeks after the removal of four dams from California’s Klamath River, biologists spotted Chinook salmon spawning in the river’s upper reaches for the first time in a century. By November hundreds of salmon were wriggling into their historical home waters of southern Oregon, 200 river miles from the ocean.
Chinook salmon on the Klamath River, Oct. 16, 2024. Photo: ODFW
They swam past young willows and other new growth creating riparian shelter in what had only recently been the murky bottom of a reservoir. Other species sure to benefit include coho salmon, steelhead, and lamprey, along with birds and mammals.
And people will partake in this success, too, including the Klamath Tribes and other Indigenous groups whose nutritional and cultural heritage were disrupted by the dams.
Agricultural runoff and rising water temperatures remain challenges. But Tribes, agencies, universities, and nonprofits are collaborating on monitoring and restoration projects. The fish themselves will inform continuing efforts as biologists follow them into newly reopened habitat.
The story repeats elsewhere, like on Washington’s Elwha River. In 2024, for the first time in decades, a ceremonial and subsistence fishery opened for the Lower Elwha Klallam Tribe, following a 2012 dam removal.
Eastern Herring Revival
Maine’s river herring are also thriving after dam removal in the Kennebec River region. Since 2010 the fish have flooded back to spawn in once-inaccessible streams and slow ponds. Runs that were recently nonexistent or numbered only in the hundreds now reach the millions and tens of millions of fish. After setting records in 2023 and 2024, they now hint at an abundance not seen in 200 years.
Herring once filled East Coast rivers and estuaries during their spawn and teemed in nearby ocean waters. Like salmon they’re a keystone species that moves nutrients within marine and terrestrial food chains, benefitting whales, seals, cod, bears, eagles, and other animals. Before the American Revolution, they supported New England’s earliest commercial fisheries; before that they were key to Indigenous cultures and diets.
Today’s revival, which occurs in neighboring states, too, is reinvigorating Indigenous practices and creating new cultural, economic, and local food opportunities. People are helping by removing obsolete dams and installing fish-friendly culverts along roads. Many hope it’s only the beginning, although pollution, bycatch, and overfishing remain challenges.
Wolves Keeping On
Wolf news was not all good in 2024, but the species nevertheless reclaimed habitat and showcased resilience. In December California biologists announced two new wolf packs in an apparent “population boom” in the Sierras. It makes for three new packs confirmed last year, all in an area between Lake Tahoe and Lassen Peak that has lacked wolves for a century. Statewide, at least 30 pups were born.
In Colorado, following voter-approved reintroduction, video captured three fresh pups from the Copper Creek Pack playing near their den. Shortly after, however, officials captured and relocated them following a reported livestock predation. But a few months later, a young disperser appeared south of I-70 for the first time since reintroduction.
It all reflects the often-uneven rhythm of recovery. Colorado officials regularly map wolf activity, which has now spread over a third of the state.
With Age Comes Eggs
In December Hawaiian officials announced that a 74-year-old Laysan albatross named Wisdom had laid a fresh egg at the Midway Atoll wildlife refuge. Wisdom is the world’s oldest known wild bird. She has outlived the ornithologists who first banded her in 1956 and survived decades of dangers, including fishing nets, sharks, and, increasingly, ocean plastics.
Biologists say Wisdom has laid 40 documented eggs in her lifetime and may even be older than her mid-seventies. Laysan albatrosses spend most of their time feeding on squid in the open ocean but come ashore to lay one egg per year in low-lying nests. The seabirds were once hunted for their feathers but enjoy healthy numbers today — thanks in part to generations of Wisdom’s descendants.
A New Ocelot in Town
In August biologists in southern Arizona saw an ocelot skulk past one of their remote cameras, the first such sighting in the Atascosa Highlands in 50 years. By analyzing its spots, biologists confirmed that the animal is new to the state and not “L’il Jefe,” Arizona’s only other known ocelot.
The Atascosa Highlands are hard country along the U.S.-Mexico border, with limited water and searing heat. Yet its grasslands and pinion-oak forests are an ocelot’s happy place, with plenty of rabbits and other small mammals to feed upon.
The landscape is also dominated by humans, with roads, development, poison traps, and an increasingly fortified U.S. border.
No one knows how long the latest ocelot has been in Arizona, but it likely dispersed from a small population in northern Mexico. Only about 100 ocelots survive in the United States, mostly in Texas. But glimpses of L’il Jefe and this new cat in Arizona show that the land, which benefits from restoration, still provides. For example, in late 2023 another camera 50 miles away captured images of a jaguar — only the eighth spotted in Arizona since 1996.
Rattlesnake Mega-Den
After decades of hunting pressure and persecution, you may be surprised to hear about a healthy rattlesnake population. But a Colorado landowner recently discovered a mega-den of prairie rattlesnakes that’s made headlines and become a viral online sensation. The rookery hosts hundreds of snakes in winter, who rest and shed their skin, while dozens of pregnant females use it as a birthing place in late summer.
As the largest known aggregation of prairie rattlers, researchers say the site is a “sweet spot” of climatic, geologic, and biological conditions. Rattlesnakes play key ecological roles, so watching them will be critical to understanding how the local ecosystem changes in the coming years.
You can see a rattle-cam of the den. Grade schoolers use it to observe the snakes, while hundreds of online viewers have seen predators and rodents and even witnessed the snakes lapping water from each other’s coiled bodies. (A fun fact: Each snake bears individualized scale patterns, just like the saddle patches of orcas, the spots of ocelots, and the fingerprints of humans.)
Blue Whale Group
In April boat captains reported an early arrival of migrating blue whales off the Southern California coast. Numbers swelled all spring, and by July an estimated 100 of the massive whales were present.
It’s doubly good news, indicating healthy prey populations and the possible continued recovery of a species hunted nearly to extinction a short century ago.
Meanwhile research in the Southern Ocean suggests that blue whale populations have started to recover around Antarctica. It’s hard to say for sure — physical sightings are rare in that remote region — but scientists have recorded whale songs with increasing frequency, a potential sign of an ongoing recovery. Either that, or they’re just getting louder.
Fly on, Condor
It’s crummy that this past March someone shot the only California condor known to enter Colorado since 2015. In September, without any leads, wildlife officials offered a $15,000 reward for the perp. There’s no news to date.
But like singer Dr. John, we’ll accentuate the positive on this one, as this bird’s travels suggest more hope than horror.
You see, California condor populations have expanded quite a bit lately — good news after the species nearly went extinct in the 1970s largely due to lead poisoning from ammunition, which they ingested from animal remnants left by hunters. In 1987 the last 22 surviving condors were trapped for captive breeding. Today, following years of work, the population has surged to more than 550, with roughly half in the wild in California, Arizona, Utah, and Mexico. Last year, some of the massive birds explored new territory near San Francisco — the kind of range expansion that perhaps the condor in Colorado was eyeing.
First Fishers
Also expanding their range: fishers, who are recolonizing northeastern Ohio for the first time in 200 years.
It started in 2013, when the midsize weasels moved westward from a successful reintroduction program in New York and Pennsylvania. Over 40 Ohio fishers have since been reported — two-thirds in the past three years, indicating they may be reproducing locally. Further evidence of breeding came in early 2024, when geneticists reported that a fisher killed on a road was pregnant.
While it shows the progress of conservation programs, roads will remain a tall hurdle for fishers and other species. But Ohio hosts parks, nature reserves, and even protected old-growth forests. State engineers hope to incorporate wildlife passages into roads, which could minimize the damage and speed up further recovery.
Growing Populations and Other Winners
In 2024 two noteworthy species also improved their endangered status. Apache trout, Arizona’s state fish, have recovered enough territory to graduate from the endangered species list entirely, while red-cockaded woodpeckers, now present from Virginia to Texas, were downlisted from endangered to threatened.
In another milestone, a cloned black footed ferret at the Smithsonian National Zoo in Virginia gave birth to two kits. She’s the first cloned endangered animal to give birth in the United States, bringing promise for maintaining genetic diversity in recovering species. (Many experts argue it’s much better to devote resources to preserving species in the wild before cloning becomes a last resort, but this birth did help to draw worldwide attention to these critically endangered species, which itself was a worthy feat.)
Other animals captured headlines in 2024 for just doing their thing, like the black bear who delighted rangers and visitors by swimming across Oregon’s Crater Lake to become the first bear seen on Wizard Island in decades. Or the “freakishly large” young bull moose spotted in Wyoming’s Bighorn Mountains, who local photographers described as dwarfing his 1,000-pound peers. Similarly, Colorado officials had to move “an absolute unit of a bear” weighing around 450 pounds after he holed up under someone’s deck. The well-fed animals may reflect abundant foods in their ecosystems.
On a lighter note, 2024 also saw three unique cases of leucistic animals, who are born mostly white. In Yellowstone Lakota people celebrated the rare birth of a white bison, an event connected to ancient prophecies. Along coastal British Columbia, a similarly colored killer whale delighted photographers. And a white raven in Anchorage, Alaska, garnered a dedicated online following and inspired a group of Yup’ik dancers visiting the city from western Alaska to create a new traditional-style song and dance in the bird’s honor.
These and other stories captured human imaginations last year, revealing an ancient and enduring bond between people and wildlife. They also demonstrate the resiliency and unique character of the animals who surround us, along with the potential of ecosystems. And nearly every story shows that conservation is working — and that people love seeing these success stories in the making.
In 2024 our experts explored subjects ranging from autocratic governments to green jobs and new ways to help endangered species.
Not long ago a writer submitted an op-ed that made me worry for their safety.
I asked, “Are you going to get in trouble if we publish this?”
Maybe, they replied. But telling the truth was more important.
Of course, a good op-ed doesn’t need to put anyone at risk. But expert commentaries can shine a light on truth, share critical information, or encourage people and systems to move in a fresh direction.
Here’s a list of some of The Revelator’s best environmental commentaries from 2024. They offer lessons from the autocracies rising around the world, advice for saving species from extinction, guidance on shaping green jobs, insights into Indigenous knowledge, and more.
Do you have a story to tell in the year ahead? We’re always open to op-eds and other commentaries from activists, scientists, conservationists, legislators, government employees, and other experts — especially anyone with insight about the regressive and repressive second Trump administration. You can find out how to submit here, or drop me a line at any time.
Solutions to our environmental ills abound in these popular Revelator articles from 2024.
Environmental news stories tend to slip through the cracks during election years — and this year we saw that like none other.
Still, this year brought more readers than ever to The Revelator. People wanted to know about the environmental threats the planet faces — and how to stop them.
Solutions stories were particularly popular this year, a sign that people are done with putting up with the status quo. Maintaining that energy and drive will be difficult but essential in 2025.
Here’s a list of some of our most popular articles of 2024. They cover people helping sloths and other endangered species, studying our blind spots, building environmentally conscious communities, looking at the threats of autocracy, and fighting climate change. They should all continue to offer inspiration and guidance in the troublesome year(s) ahead.
We asked conservation researchers to send us their best papers of 2024. They surprised us with some powerful and important science.
Every month scientific journals publish hundreds of new papers about endangered species and wildlife conservation. It’s a firehose of information in a world that feels increasingly in flames.
That’s why I started writing this column. “This Month in Conservation Science” is an opportunity to sort through some of that critical research and filter it for an audience who can put these scientific discoveries to good use.
Our first few columns looked at papers published over specific four-week periods. This month, as we all wrap up 2024, we asked researchers to send us their best or favorite papers of the past year. We received submissions that offer hope, guidance, analysis, and insight into emerging threats.
Stuart Pimm, president of Saving Nature, recommended a paper he and his colleagues published in Science Advances revealing surprising news for elephants. He wrote: “The public may think that elephants in the African savannah are in freefall. In fact, over the last quarter century, their numbers have held their own across Southern Africa (mid-Tanzania southwards), an area that holds three-quarters of them. The paper shows what strategies led to this success and recommends that connecting now-isolated populations will be vital for future progress.”
Sukakpak Mountain. Photo: Bob Wick/BLM
Aerin Jacob, director of science and research at Nature Conservancy of Canada, sent a coauthored paper from Conservation Biology about mountains — a habitat type that deserves more attention. “People often think that mountain ecosystems are so rugged and inaccessible that they don’t need habitat protection, but that’s not true,” she wrote. “We studied six major mountain regions around the world and found that on average half of them are as modified as the rest of the world; two-thirds of them don’t (yet) meet the 30×30 global protection target; and existing protected areas don’t include the vast majority of mountain ecosystem types. Mountains are super-important for biodiversity, ecosystem function, and the benefits people get from nature. We ignore them at our peril.”
Speaking of 30×30, marine expert Stacy Jupiter with the Wildlife Conservation Society recommended a paper in Marine Policy, cowritten by two other WCS specialists, that she tells us sought to “identify highly productive marine areas around the world to help the world achieve the protection of at least 30% of the planet by 2030. This analysis adds to the current body of knowledge by exploring the notion of marine productivity as an enabling condition that drives ecological integrity in marine ecosystems. It’s a critically important feature to inform and complement future conservation efforts.”
An endangered Caribbean reef shark. Photo: Brian Gratwicke (CC BY 2.0)
Sticking with the ocean, shark scientist David Shiffman (a frequent Revelator contributor) sent a commentary he published in Integrative & ComparativeBiology about how misinformation shapes the public’s perspective on shark conservation. “This invited commentary summarizes the last decade of my research into public misunderstanding of ocean conservation issues,” he wrote. “In a career sitting in rooms with global science and conservation experts and a career talking to the interested public about how to save the ocean, I’ve noticed something striking: both groups talk about the same issues, but they talk about them very differently. This inspired a decade-long research project looking at where concerned members of the public learn about ocean conservation threats and their policy solutions, and what type of information is spread through those information pathways. It turns out that nearly every information pathway is flooded with misunderstandings if not straight-up pseudoscience, a big problem as we work to save endangered species and key ecosystems.”
Sharks get a lot of press, but many other species fly under the radar. Wildlife trade researcher Lalita Gomez shared a DiscoverAnimals paper cowritten with frequent Revelator contributor Chris Shepherd about a cat-like mammal called the binturong that faces an underappreciated threat. “This little creature is currently being traded under the radar in large numbers for the pet trade, which is ridiculous considering its vulnerable status,” she wrote. “The online trade of live animals is also out of hand and with this paper we push for stronger regulation of social media platforms that perpetuate the trade.”
Shepherd, meanwhile, was the senior author of a paper in the European Journal of Wildlife Research that examined Canada’s role in international wildlife trade. “Wildlife trade is embedded in Canada’s history, dating back to the early fur traders, evolving to include multiple commodities such as the contemporary fur industry and the thriving pet trade of today,” he wrote. “Considering recent reports of animals legally and illegally imported into Canada and the potential threats of wildlife trade studied elsewhere, wildlife trade may pose risks to Canada’s natural heritage, biodiversity, biosecurity, and animal welfare. Our review underscores the need to enhance academic knowledge and policy tools to effectively identify and address trade issues concerning Canadian and nonnative wildlife.”
Continuing the theme of wildlife trade, Neil D’Cruze shared a Journal of Environmental Management paper from several authors at World Animal Protection and John Jay College of Criminal Justice that “highlights significant gaps in global wildlife trade laws despite a century of growing legislation. Examining 11 biodiversity-rich countries, the research found that the Global Biodiversity Index does not correlate with the scope of wildlife trade laws. Legislation is unevenly distributed across trade stages, with animal welfare notably underrepresented, particularly in captive breeding and farming. Our study urges the alignment of national and international regulations to address critical gaps, protect biodiversity, and prioritise animal welfare, emphasising its importance for public health and environmental sustainability.”
Moving on to a different topic, let’s talk about the damaging ways people move through the natural world. William Laurance, distinguished research professor at James Cook University, shared a Nature paper led by one of his Ph.D. students about ghost roads — often-illegal roads that don’t exist on maps but pose a serious danger to ecosystems. “Globally, ghost roads are one of the most serious, understudied threats to ecosystems and biodiversity — especially in poorer nations that harbor much of Earth’s biodiversity,” he wrote.
We also heard from Dr. Sara Cannon with the Centre for Indigenous Fisheries at the Institute for the Oceans and Fisheries, who was the lead author of a paper in Facets that argued the open data movement is putting too much pressure on Indigenous people to make their scientific data public. “This paper highlights why Indigenous data sovereignty is crucial for addressing environmental challenges like climate change and cumulative effects on ecosystems, particularly salmon-bearing watersheds in British Columbia,” she writes. “It underscores the need for respectful collaborations between Indigenous knowledge-holders and external researchers, offering actionable steps to honor Indigenous data sovereignty and improve data management practices. By reading this paper, the public can better understand how Indigenous data sovereignty supports ecosystem resilience and empowers Indigenous communities to maintain sovereignty over their territories and knowledge.”
Samantha Strindberg of the WCS submitted two papers, both authored with expansive teams, that showcased the value of large, long-term conservation monitoring programs. The first, published in Oryx, assessed the population size of the Mongolian gazelle. “The Eastern Steppe of Mongolia harbors the largest remaining temperate grassland on the planet and is home to millions of Mongolian gazelles,” she wrote. “This is the first comprehensive assessment of this species that roams over 750,000 square kilometers, predominantly (91%) in the Mongolian open plains, and also Russia and China. It highlights the importance of comprehensive monitoring surveys and the value of cross-border collaboration to provide important information for conservation of this species in the long-term.”
The second, published in Primates, examined great ape surveys: “The Republic of Congo expanded the Nouabalé-Ndoki National Park to include the gorilla-rich, previously unlogged forest of the Djéké Triangle. These survey results for western lowland gorilla and central chimpanzee are part of a 25-year history of globally important scientific research on the ecology and behavior of western lowland gorillas. Empirical evidence of the environmental value and strategic conservation importance supported the inclusion of the Djéké Triangle into the NNNP with long-term monitoring results also informing best-practice standards and ape tourism certification.”
Finally, this month, we heard from Liber Ero Postdoctoral Fellow Jayme Lewthwaite, who recommended a paper she didn’t work on as one of the best she’s seen in 2024. Published in Nature Sustainability, lead author Laura Melissa Guzman and colleagues examined the effects of pesticides on wild bee distributions in the United States. “This paper is so important because it’s the first national assessment of how pesticide use is affecting native bees across their ranges,” Lewthwaite wrote. “While overall pesticide use has plateaued in the U.S., Guzman et al. show that the novel pesticides that are increasingly being favored (such as neonicotinoids) are extremely deadly to native insects, perhaps more than any of their predecessors. While this was suspected and shown through a few studies in the UK (where they were subsequently banned), this is the first study to do so in the U.S. on such a large taxonomic and spatial scale. We should all be worried about the decline of native bees because they are by far the most effective pollinators out of any group, and this has important food security implications.”
We’ll return to our regular format next month, which will link to papers published between Dec. 15, 2024, and Jan. 15, 2025. We’re happy to hear from any author or team with a new paper coming out in a peer-reviewed journal or other publication during that timeframe, especially if you’re from the Global South or an institution without much public-relations support. For consideration in a future column, drop us a link at [email protected] and use the subject line TMICS.
Arguments abound on the benefits and dangers of trophy hunting. We need a careful, measured approach to analyzing how it’s justified and promoted.
Trophy hunting remains a contentious subject amongst scientists, conservationists, and the public. Each side fervently defends its stance, but the underlying narrative pushed by trophy-hunting proponents urgently deserves close scrutiny.
We saw it most recently in August, after trophy-hunting critic and economist Ross Harvey wrote an op-ed criticizing the killing of five “super-tusker” elephants from Kenya’s Amboseli National Park. In response, wildlife conservation professor Amy Dickman criticized his assertions as “knee-jerk reactions” ranging from “misunderstanding to misinformation.” She asserted we should aim for alternatives to trophy-hunting bans (something Harvey has previously proposed) but her language suggests those opposed to trophy hunting are too quick to engage in rash calls to action.
This is where it becomes critical that we don’t accept the many rationalizations of trophy hunting at face value and examine each one.
Who Benefits?
Proponents often use the plight of local African communities to position trophy hunting as a contribution to social justice — usually poverty alleviation, a solution for human-wildlife conflict, and food provision.
“Valuable revenue” is often touted as trophy hunting’s primary contribution to both conservation and local communities. Quantifying these benefits is a tricky affair, however. A 2013 study by Economists at Large examined the contributions of hunting and found that on average only 3% of hunting operators’ revenue trickled down to communities. More recently, a 2022 report from Harvey’s organization Good Governance Africa found that only 9% of trophy-hunting revenue (or a paltry R1,530,000, about $86,000) from South Africa’s privately owned Associated Private Nature Reserves (APNR) was allocated to community outreach and low-income households — although where and how it was distributed remains unclear.
Corruption is another significant concern, further running the risk that revenue destined for community development doesn’t reach its intended recipients, according to Economists at Large.
The report goes on to quote a local village resident in Northern Tanzania who was interviewed for a paper by conservationist Hassanali Thomas Sachedina:
“We’re more closely allied with the photographic operators than the hunters. They are finishing off the wildlife before we’ve had a chance to realize a profit from it. Hunters don’t recognize us; they only recognize the government… 25% of hunting fees goes into the ‘hole’ at the district. We’re supposed to get 5%: we don’t even see that.”
Trophy hunting generates enormous revenue for hunting operators, with bull elephants fetching $20-40,000 depending on tusk weight. But as sustainable and ethical tourism researcher Mucha Mkono told me earlier this year, “the very underdeveloped status of many of the rural areas where hunting occurs tells us what we need to know. The benefits are not trickling down enough to make a real difference in the local communities. Whatever benefits there are, their scope fails to justify the ethical and environmental cost.”
The homogenous grouping of African communities in pro-trophy-hunting messaging is worryingly unsubstantiated and too often taken at face value.
Dickman refers to “local people, who legitimately choose trophy hunting” as a wildlife management strategy. The statement requires analysis on two fronts. First, we require empirical evidence of multiple local communities freely choosing trophy hunting before a generalized statement can be made. Second, the use of “legitimately” is questionable. A 2019 paper by Mkono suggests that African social media users, for example, perceive trophy hunting as a holdover of colonialism and a sign of politicians’ greed. Furthermore, decision-making on trophy hunting often takes place at the national level, outside the realm of local communities and without public participation.
Is there genuine participation by local stakeholders, or do governments and pro-hunting organizations speak on their behalf? To what degree are the carefully crafted narratives of pro-trophy hunting groups such as Safari Club International being taken at face value?
A 2023 paper by environmental anthropologist Sian Sullivan explores Safari Club International’s original objective of making Africa the “greatest hunting grounds in the world” for its elite members. SCI’s argument that hunting contributes to conservation was promoted by dismissing any opposition as ‘neocolonial,’ despite their deeply extractivist practices that continue to see thousands of African animals exported as trophies and trinkets to the United States and other primarily western countries. Such activities benefit only a few and exploit natural resources and local community members, who are paid minimum wages for precarious jobs. Jobs within the hunting industry are temporary and the field requires fewer staff compared to safari and photographic tourism lodges, according to a 2020 paper in the journal Tourism Geographies.
This leads to further discursive inconsistencies in the debate: The assertion that trophy hunting incentivizes local communities to coexist with wildlife cannot be reconciled with “legitimately” choosing trophy hunting if those living in close proximity to hunting areas are being incentivized (i.e., motivated or led to see something as attractive). A legitimate choice suggests something freely pursued, which does not appear to be the case.
We must be cautious of the use of “local communities” as a blanket justification for trophy-hunting if this is used in place of admitting vested interests. In a recent article, conservation writer Jared Kukura highlighted a concern that JAMMA, an international conservation organization, has a vested interest (in the region of $10 million) in pursuing trophy hunting in Mozambique and providing significant funding to organizations with explicit pro-trophy-hunting agendas, including Morally Contested Conservation, a trophy-hunting public relations initiative, and Resource Africa, a campaign against anti-hunting legislation.
The intricacies of the “local communities” angle being spun into a social justice argument require the most attention. If the community benefits are minimal, trophy hunting is perceived as a colonial pursuit, and genuine grassroots participation in decision-making is lacking, is the argument valid?
As Dickman stated, “rather than amping up international pressure, we should give local stakeholders space to discuss among themselves, respect their decisions, and focus far more on listening rather than lecturing.” I couldn’t agree more, but the voices of well-funded organizations continue to drown out those of the people whose welfare they’re claiming to protect.
Likewise, where are the voices of community members who do not agree with trophy-hunting practices and do not feel their purported benefits?
Without the immense funding poured into public relations, organizational vested interests, and political influence, would trophy hunting still be legitimately chosen by local stakeholders?
Ethics, Protocols, and Outright Disregard
Dickman suggests a potential “collaborative” solution to protect Kenya’s tuskers in which Amboseli elephant researchers share their data with hunting operators to call certain elephants off-limits to hunters. She “thinks” hunters would be open to this and “apparently” concerned operators have agreed not to touch Amboseli’s most famous bulls.
It is worth drawing attention to the multiple occasions in which trophy hunters and hunting operators have not acted ethically or in accordance with protocols or researchers. The very nature of trophy hunting is to pursue the most iconic animals for trophy purposes. Can we reliably assume that Amboseli’s most iconic elephants are therefore safe from hunters?
Cecil the lion is an example that garnered immense uproar. He was being studied by Oxford’s WildCRU researchers, who had affixed him with a visible and recognizable GPS-tracking collar, when he was baited and lured outside of Hwange National Park before being shot in 2015. The hunters brazenly removed and dumped his tracking collar before discarding his body. Not only was Theo Bronkhorst, the professional hunter, a member of the Safari Operators Association of Zimbabwe, but he acted against their own regulations in which lions should not be lured and baited outside of no-kill zones. (Note: Dickman became the executive director of WildCRU in 2022.)
According to a study in Biological Conservation cited in Africa Geographic, Cecil was not alone: 24 out of 62 tagged research lions were killed by trophy hunters in Zimbabwe between 1999 and 2004. Shockingly, 72% of the tagged Hwange male lions were killed for trophies and 30% of these lions were under the age of 4 years.
In 2018 two elephant hunts occurred in Balule Nature Reserve in which the professional hunting outfitters and their clients acted against established protocols. In one hunt, Balule admits to a “harrowing and traumatizing incident” in which an elephant was shot 13 times several hundred yards from a lodge, in view of the guests. An illegal hunt also took place in 2018 in which a collared elephant studied by Elephants Alive was shot under the guidance of a professional hunter and reserve warden.
Also in Maseke, a property within Balule Nature Reserve, a botched elephant hunt took place in which the animal was shot no less than eight times after fleeing onto a nonhunting property, followed by a helicopter chase back onto Maseke. Not only was this hunt grossly unethical, but according to HSI-International, it may have been illegal due to a court interdict.
And in the APNR, Skye the lion was hunted despite several concerns raised that he should not be targeted by trophy hunters. Skye was baited using buffalo and elephant carcasses also killed by the client.
Two things are striking here: First, the wasteful use of two carcasses to simply lure a lion as opposed to the oft-heard narrative of donating meat to those in need; second, wildlife contained within the Kruger National Park are “deemed public assets” according to the Protected Areas Act (2003). Baiting and luring this lion out of the park demonstrates gross neglect alongside the fact that the hunters did not take reasonable precautions to identify a lion who was agreed to be off limits.
Another lack of reasonable precaution can be seen in the trophy hunting of young male lions. “Aging errors,” when lions of key reproductive age are killed instead of older males, further exacerbate lion mortalities, according to a study in Nature.
If Dickman’s collaborative approach to elephant hunting were implemented, what guarantee could be provided that hunting operators would act ethically and transparently in light of existing transgressions?
My goal here is not to engage in a “knee-jerk reaction” but to engage with the language and ideas of trophy-hunting proponents. With local communities and iconic African species being used to advance those narratives, critical consideration is the least we can give them.
