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The California grizzly bear, gone for 100 years, could thrive if brought back

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Tuesday, April 15, 2025

Grizzly bears are extinct in California but still show up everywhere you look.The golden bruins emblazon the state flag and seal, live on in cartoonish effigy as university mascots, and roll off the tip of our tongue in place names like Grizzly Flats and Big Bear Lake.But what if the real ursine deal could be brought back?A new study indicates that they can be — roughly 1,180 of them — and Southern California mountains are among prime potential habitat for the apex predators. Whether they should be is a question for 40 million Californians and their policymakers.The state’s official animal inspires awe and holds cultural significance for tribes, and researchers note that they pose low statistical danger. But some wildlife officials say reintroducing grizzlies — which can weigh up to 1,000 pounds and run 35 mph for short bursts — would lead to increased conflict between humans and bears. An estimated 60,000 black bears roam the state, and property damage, break-ins and the first confirmed fatality linked to the bruins have made headlines in recent years. “Recovering grizzly bears in California is a choice,” said Alex McInturff, co-editor of the study and assistant unit leader of U.S. Geological Survey’s Washington Cooperative Fish and Wildlife Research Unit. “We can choose to do it by making necessary investments and creating the necessary partnerships to make it possible. There’s habitat available. A number of questions can be answered. But it’s a choice.” A grizzly stands over a cub at Grand Teton National Park. (C. Adams / Grand Teton National Park / AP) California was home to as many as 10,000 bears before the Gold Rush in 1848, but their fortunes turned swiftly. Human-fueled habitat loss drove down their numbers, but their ultimate demise came at the hands of hunters and trappers. In 1916, the last known grizzly roaming Southern California was gunned down in the Sunland area of L.A., and aptly became known as the Sunland Grizzly. Just a few years later, in the spring of 1924, California’s last known grizzly bear was spotted in Sequoia National Park. While they’re unlikely to return to the state on their own, “[a] well-planned, well-resourced and well-managed reintroduction and recovery program could, however, likely establish a sustainable California grizzly population in one or more recovery areas over several decades,” the study released Tuesday states.Behind the study is the Grizzly Alliance Network, a group of collaborators that include researchers, tribal leaders and wildlife advocates working to bring the bears back to the state. Spanning just over 200 pages, the report pulls together novel and existing research to explore where in the state bears could live and how many could live in those areas, as well as economic effects, safety considerations and other dimensions. Reintroducing the bears would require moving them from a place they currently live, such as Yellowstone National Park, into California.Using several habitat suitability models, the study identifies three potential regions where the bears could live: in the Transverse Ranges stretching from the coast to the desert in Southern California (with a focus on large, protected areas in the Los Padres National Forest); the entire Sierra Nevada (with emphasis on the southern part of the range); and the Northwest Forest (which includes the Klamath Mountains, Trinity Alps and other nearby ranges in the northwest corner of the state).The study reports that the regions contain large swaths of protected, high-quality habitat, but does not advocate for any or all of them to actually be used.Assuming bears couldn’t live outside the designated regions, the study estimates that California could house around 1,183 grizzlies: 115 in the Transverse Ranges, 832 in the Sierra Nevada, and 236 in the Northwest Forest. Two young grizzly bear siblings tussling in the early morning along Pelican Creek in Yellowstone National Park. (Jonathan Newton / Getty Images) Researchers priced a “well-resourced” recovery program at up to $3 million a year for the first decade. It represents .4% of the budget for the California Department of Fish and Wildlife, based on 2024–25 figures, according to the study. Grizzlies often invoke fear — as an animal standing 8 feet tall with prodigious claws does — and human safety is often a top concern when discussing grizzly recovery. But the study says the statistical risk the animals pose to humans is “extremely small.” Of the estimated average fatalities caused by wildlife every year in the U.S., 96% stem from car collisions with deer, the study reports.Still, the risk isn’t zero. In North America, there are roughly 1.5 fatalities associated with bears annually, researchers said.A separate 2019 study examining brown bear (a group that includes the grizzly) attacks on humans across much of their global range between 2000 and 2015 found that attacks increased significantly over time. Researchers said the increase was likely due to several factors, including the growth of bear and human populations, leading to increased habitat overlap. They also noted that a growing number of people are recreating in areas bears live.Grizzly bears also bring benefits, including dispersing seeds and aerating soil. At large enough numbers, they can keep other species like black bears in check.Peter Tira, a spokesperson for the California Department of Fish and Wildlife, said the state lacks the resources and wouldn’t be able to prioritize reintroducing grizzlies, given all its existing responsibilities.California, he said, no longer offers abundant stores of salmon that bears are believed to have once fed on or opportunities to roam on the now-highly developed coast. Given their tendency to range widely, he said there’s no reason to assume they’ll stay put in far-flung areas.“Reintroducing grizzly bears potentially into places where people live, recreate and raise livestock would likely necessitate further management of human-wildlife conflicts, which is already extremely challenging with the animal species that are here — notably mountain lions, wolves, black bears and coyotes,” Tira said in a statement.Bruce McLellan, a retired grizzly bear research ecologist and author of “Grizzly Bear Science and the Art of a Wilderness Life,” admits he initially thought the idea of reintroducing grizzlies in California was crazy — in part because of the sheer number of people who live in the state. But much of the population is jammed into the lower half of the state, he realized upon closer inspection.In British Columbia, where McLellan lives, the southern part of the province is home to most of its 5 million people — and that region now supports hundreds of grizzlies as the population has rebounded over time. People have largely acclimated to their presence, he said.“It makes me think that it’s certainly biologically possible to have grizzly bears in those remoter corners of California,” he said. Sure, he said, it would bring conflicts — an odd bear will wander down from the mountains and snatch someone’s chickens; an odd bear would have to be shot — but there are effective ways of dealing with conflict. People would need to be “bear aware” and potentially install electric fences, he said.Grizzlies are also “very adaptable,” he said, noting that they don’t need salmon or unfettered beach access to survive.“A lot of people where I live like to see grizzles in their yard,” McLellan said. “I love it.” Yet even if Californians decided they wanted bears, he believes the U.S. lacks an adequate process to make it happen.McLellan was involved in efforts to restore grizzlies in the North Cascades in Washington state and the Selway-Bitterroot Wilderness Area in Montana and Idaho. Yet decades of expending money and energy hasn’t brought them to fruition, he said.“I’ve been disheartened having been involved with both of them,” he said.Peter Alagona, an environmental studies professor at UC Santa Barbara who led the study, however, sees a California grizzly comeback as a way to dispel such ideas. “I think it would light a fire under people to show that we can do some things that we didn’t think we could do,” said Alagona, who in 2016 founded the California Grizzly Research Network.Alagona also said it would serve as a form of reparative justice.In a foreword for the study, Octavio Escobedo III, chairman of the Tejon Indian Tribe, highlights what he describes as “parallel paths” forcibly walked by Native Americans and grizzlies subject to state-sanctioned ideology that “drove the relentless persecution of both Indigenous people and grizzly bears.”The Tejon tribe, he writes, is among hundreds of Indigenous nations that value and revere the grizzly, and are leading efforts to conserve and coexist with the species.McInturff, the federal employee, who is also an associate professor at University of Washington, said the new study marks a turning point in the discussion by providing a compilation of the best available science.“There were a lot of speculations, a lot of assumptions, and now we actually have a body of research that we can look at to speak in an informed way about this topic,” he said.At some point, Alagona intends to present the findings of the study to the California Fish and Game Commission, which sets wildlife policy for the state.Last year, the Commission and the state Senate passed resolutions recognizing the centennial anniversary of the extirpation of the California grizzly, with the Senate declaring 2024 the “Year of the Grizzly.” This month marks the 101st anniversary.

A new study found that it's possible to return grizzly bears to California. Whether that's a good idea is a matter for residents and policymakers.

Grizzly bears are extinct in California but still show up everywhere you look.

The golden bruins emblazon the state flag and seal, live on in cartoonish effigy as university mascots, and roll off the tip of our tongue in place names like Grizzly Flats and Big Bear Lake.

But what if the real ursine deal could be brought back?

A new study indicates that they can be — roughly 1,180 of them — and Southern California mountains are among prime potential habitat for the apex predators. Whether they should be is a question for 40 million Californians and their policymakers.

The state’s official animal inspires awe and holds cultural significance for tribes, and researchers note that they pose low statistical danger. But some wildlife officials say reintroducing grizzlies — which can weigh up to 1,000 pounds and run 35 mph for short bursts — would lead to increased conflict between humans and bears. An estimated 60,000 black bears roam the state, and property damage, break-ins and the first confirmed fatality linked to the bruins have made headlines in recent years.

“Recovering grizzly bears in California is a choice,” said Alex McInturff, co-editor of the study and assistant unit leader of U.S. Geological Survey’s Washington Cooperative Fish and Wildlife Research Unit. “We can choose to do it by making necessary investments and creating the necessary partnerships to make it possible. There’s habitat available. A number of questions can be answered. But it’s a choice.”

A grizzly bear stands on its hind legs next to a cub.

A grizzly stands over a cub at Grand Teton National Park.

(C. Adams / Grand Teton National Park / AP)

California was home to as many as 10,000 bears before the Gold Rush in 1848, but their fortunes turned swiftly.

Human-fueled habitat loss drove down their numbers, but their ultimate demise came at the hands of hunters and trappers.

In 1916, the last known grizzly roaming Southern California was gunned down in the Sunland area of L.A., and aptly became known as the Sunland Grizzly.

Just a few years later, in the spring of 1924, California’s last known grizzly bear was spotted in Sequoia National Park.

While they’re unlikely to return to the state on their own, “[a] well-planned, well-resourced and well-managed reintroduction and recovery program could, however, likely establish a sustainable California grizzly population in one or more recovery areas over several decades,” the study released Tuesday states.

Behind the study is the Grizzly Alliance Network, a group of collaborators that include researchers, tribal leaders and wildlife advocates working to bring the bears back to the state.

Spanning just over 200 pages, the report pulls together novel and existing research to explore where in the state bears could live and how many could live in those areas, as well as economic effects, safety considerations and other dimensions. Reintroducing the bears would require moving them from a place they currently live, such as Yellowstone National Park, into California.

Using several habitat suitability models, the study identifies three potential regions where the bears could live: in the Transverse Ranges stretching from the coast to the desert in Southern California (with a focus on large, protected areas in the Los Padres National Forest); the entire Sierra Nevada (with emphasis on the southern part of the range); and the Northwest Forest (which includes the Klamath Mountains, Trinity Alps and other nearby ranges in the northwest corner of the state).

The study reports that the regions contain large swaths of protected, high-quality habitat, but does not advocate for any or all of them to actually be used.

Assuming bears couldn’t live outside the designated regions, the study estimates that California could house around 1,183 grizzlies: 115 in the Transverse Ranges, 832 in the Sierra Nevada, and 236 in the Northwest Forest.

Two grizzly cubs play by a creek.

Two young grizzly bear siblings tussling in the early morning along Pelican Creek in Yellowstone National Park.

(Jonathan Newton / Getty Images)

Researchers priced a “well-resourced” recovery program at up to $3 million a year for the first decade. It represents .4% of the budget for the California Department of Fish and Wildlife, based on 2024–25 figures, according to the study.

Grizzlies often invoke fear — as an animal standing 8 feet tall with prodigious claws does — and human safety is often a top concern when discussing grizzly recovery. But the study says the statistical risk the animals pose to humans is “extremely small.” Of the estimated average fatalities caused by wildlife every year in the U.S., 96% stem from car collisions with deer, the study reports.

Still, the risk isn’t zero. In North America, there are roughly 1.5 fatalities associated with bears annually, researchers said.

A separate 2019 study examining brown bear (a group that includes the grizzly) attacks on humans across much of their global range between 2000 and 2015 found that attacks increased significantly over time.

Researchers said the increase was likely due to several factors, including the growth of bear and human populations, leading to increased habitat overlap. They also noted that a growing number of people are recreating in areas bears live.

Grizzly bears also bring benefits, including dispersing seeds and aerating soil. At large enough numbers, they can keep other species like black bears in check.

Peter Tira, a spokesperson for the California Department of Fish and Wildlife, said the state lacks the resources and wouldn’t be able to prioritize reintroducing grizzlies, given all its existing responsibilities.

California, he said, no longer offers abundant stores of salmon that bears are believed to have once fed on or opportunities to roam on the now-highly developed coast. Given their tendency to range widely, he said there’s no reason to assume they’ll stay put in far-flung areas.

“Reintroducing grizzly bears potentially into places where people live, recreate and raise livestock would likely necessitate further management of human-wildlife conflicts, which is already extremely challenging with the animal species that are here — notably mountain lions, wolves, black bears and coyotes,” Tira said in a statement.

Bruce McLellan, a retired grizzly bear research ecologist and author of “Grizzly Bear Science and the Art of a Wilderness Life,” admits he initially thought the idea of reintroducing grizzlies in California was crazy — in part because of the sheer number of people who live in the state. But much of the population is jammed into the lower half of the state, he realized upon closer inspection.

In British Columbia, where McLellan lives, the southern part of the province is home to most of its 5 million people — and that region now supports hundreds of grizzlies as the population has rebounded over time. People have largely acclimated to their presence, he said.

“It makes me think that it’s certainly biologically possible to have grizzly bears in those remoter corners of California,” he said.

Sure, he said, it would bring conflicts — an odd bear will wander down from the mountains and snatch someone’s chickens; an odd bear would have to be shot — but there are effective ways of dealing with conflict. People would need to be “bear aware” and potentially install electric fences, he said.

Grizzlies are also “very adaptable,” he said, noting that they don’t need salmon or unfettered beach access to survive.

“A lot of people where I live like to see grizzles in their yard,” McLellan said. “I love it.”

Yet even if Californians decided they wanted bears, he believes the U.S. lacks an adequate process to make it happen.

McLellan was involved in efforts to restore grizzlies in the North Cascades in Washington state and the Selway-Bitterroot Wilderness Area in Montana and Idaho. Yet decades of expending money and energy hasn’t brought them to fruition, he said.

“I’ve been disheartened having been involved with both of them,” he said.

Peter Alagona, an environmental studies professor at UC Santa Barbara who led the study, however, sees a California grizzly comeback as a way to dispel such ideas.

“I think it would light a fire under people to show that we can do some things that we didn’t think we could do,” said Alagona, who in 2016 founded the California Grizzly Research Network.

Alagona also said it would serve as a form of reparative justice.

In a foreword for the study, Octavio Escobedo III, chairman of the Tejon Indian Tribe, highlights what he describes as “parallel paths” forcibly walked by Native Americans and grizzlies subject to state-sanctioned ideology that “drove the relentless persecution of both Indigenous people and grizzly bears.”

The Tejon tribe, he writes, is among hundreds of Indigenous nations that value and revere the grizzly, and are leading efforts to conserve and coexist with the species.

McInturff, the federal employee, who is also an associate professor at University of Washington, said the new study marks a turning point in the discussion by providing a compilation of the best available science.

“There were a lot of speculations, a lot of assumptions, and now we actually have a body of research that we can look at to speak in an informed way about this topic,” he said.

At some point, Alagona intends to present the findings of the study to the California Fish and Game Commission, which sets wildlife policy for the state.

Last year, the Commission and the state Senate passed resolutions recognizing the centennial anniversary of the extirpation of the California grizzly, with the Senate declaring 2024 the “Year of the Grizzly.”

This month marks the 101st anniversary.

Read the full story here.
Photos courtesy of

New technologies are helping to regrow Arctic sea ice

But should we use them?

In the dim twilight of an Arctic winter’s day, with the low sun stretching its orange fingers across the frozen sea, a group of researchers drill a hole through the ice and insert a hydrogen-powered pump. It looks unremarkable — a piece of pipe protruding from a metal cylinder — but it holds many hopes for protecting this landscape. Soon, it is sucking up seawater from below and spewing it onto the surface, flooding the area with a thin layer of water. Overnight this water will freeze, thickening what’s already there.  The hope is that the more robust the ice, the less likely it will be to disappear in the warm summer months.  Since 1979, when satellite records began, Arctic temperatures have risen nearly four times faster than the global average. Sea ice extent has decreased by about 40 percent, and the oldest and thickest ice has declined by a worrying 95 percent. What’s more, scientists recently estimated that as temperatures continue to climb, the Arctic’s first ice-free day could occur before 2030, in just five years’ time.  NASA The researchers are from Real Ice, a United Kingdom-based nonprofit on a mission to preserve this dwindling landscape. Their initial work has shown that pumping just 10 inches of ocean water on top of the ice also boosts growth from the bottom, thickening it by another 20 inches. This is because the flooding process removes the insulating snow layer, enabling more water to freeze. When the process is done, the patch of ice measured up to 80 inches thick — equal to the lower range of older, multi-year ice in the Arctic. “If that is proved to be true on a larger scale, we will show that with relatively little energy we can actually make a big gain through the winter,” said Andrea Ceccolini, co-CEO of Real Ice. Ceccolini and Cian Sherwin, his partner CEO, ultimately hope to develop an underwater drone that could swim between locations, detecting the thickness of the ice, pumping up water as necessary, then refueling and moving on to the next spot.  This winter, they carried out their largest field test yet: comparing the impact of eight pumps across nearly half a square mile off the coast of Cambridge Bay, a small town in the Kitikmeot Region of Nunavut, part of the Canadian Arctic. They now wait until June for the results. During a January 2024 field test, a hydrogen-powered pump sucks water from Cambridge Bay, Canada and spews it onto the surface. The water will freeze and thicken the existing ice. Video courtesy of Real Ice Their work is at the heart of a debate about how we mitigate the damage caused by global warming, and whether climate interventions such as this will cause more harm than good.  Loss of sea ice has consequences far beyond the Arctic. Today, the vast white expanse of this ice reflects 80 percent of the sun’s energy back into space. Without it, the dark open ocean will absorb this heat, further warming the planet. According to the Scripps Institution of Oceanography at the University of California, San Diego, if our sea ice disappears entirely, it will add the equivalent warming of 25 years of carbon dioxide emissions. There are also huge implications for our weather patterns: Diminishing sea ice is already changing ocean currents, increasing storms, and sending warmer, drier air to California, causing increased wildfires. Within the Arctic, loss of ice means loss of habitat and food security for the animals, microorganisms, and Indigenous communities that depend on it. “Personally I’m terrified,” said Talia Maksagak, Executive Director of the Kitikmeot Chamber of Commerce, about the changing sea ice. It’s freezing later and thinner each year, affecting her community’s ability to travel between islands. “People go missing, people are travelling and they fall through the ice,” she continues. They also rely on the ice for hunting, fishing, and harvests of wild caribou or musk ox, who migrate across the frozen ocean twice a year — although they, too, are increasingly falling through the thin ice and drowning.  Maksagak has been instrumental in helping Real Ice to consult with the local community about their research, and she is supportive of their work. “If Real Ice comes up with this genius plan to continue the ice freeze longer, I think that would be very beneficial for future generations.” Researchers get ready to connect their pump system to the hydrogen battery that powers it. Real Ice There are still many questions around the feasibility of Real Ice’s plan, both for critics and the Real Ice researchers themselves. First, they need to establish if the principle works scientifically — that the ice they’ve thickened does last longer, counteracting the speed of global warming’s impact on the region. At worst, adding salty seawater could potentially cause the ice to melt more quickly in the summer. But results from last year’s research suggest not: When testing its pilot ice three months later, Real Ice found its salinity was within normal bounds. If all goes well with this year’s tests, the next step will be an independent environmental risk assessment. Noise is one concern. According to WWF, industrial underwater noise significantly alters the behaviour of marine mammals, especially whales. Similarly, blue cod lay their eggs under the ice, algae grows on it, and larger mammals and birds migrate across it. How will they be impacted by Real Ice’s water pumps? “These are all questions that we need to ask,” said Shaun Fitzgerald, Director of the Center for Climate Repair at Cambridge University, which has partnered with Real Ice, “and they all need to be addressed before we can start evaluating whether or not we think this is a good idea.”  Fitzgerald predicts four more years of research are needed before the nonprofit can properly recommend the technology. For now, the Nunavut Impact Review Board, Nunavut’s environmental assessment agency, has deemed Real Ice’s research sites to cause no significant impact.  New ice forms on the surface of Cambridge Bay, Canada. Real Ice But critics of the idea argue the process won’t scale. “The numbers just don’t stack up,” said Martin Siegert, a British glaciologist and former co-chair of the Grantham Institute for Climate Change. He pointed to the size of the Arctic — 3.9 million square miles of sea ice on average — and how many pumps would likely be needed to freeze even 10 percent of that. More importantly, who is going to pay for it? Ceccolini is undaunted by the first question. Their technology is not complicated — “it’s technology from 50 years ago, we just need to assemble it in a new way” — and would cost an estimated $5,000 per autonomous pump. Their models predict that 500,000 pumps could rethicken about 386,000 square miles of sea ice each year, or an area half the size of Alaska. Assuming the thicker ice lasts several years, and by targeting different areas annually, Ceccolini estimates the technology could maintain the current summer sea ice levels of around 1.63 million square miles. “We’ve done much bigger things in humanity, much more complex than this,” he said.   As for who pays, that’s less clear. One idea is a global fund similar to what’s been proposed for tropical rainforests, where if a resource is globally beneficial, like the Amazon or the Arctic, then an international community contributes to its protection. Another idea is ‘cooling credits’, where organizations can pay for a certain amount of ice to be frozen as an offset against global warming. These are a controversial idea started by the California-based, geoengineering start-up Make Sunsets, which believes that stratospheric aerosol injections — releasing reflective particles high into the earth’s atmosphere — is another way to cool the planet. However its research comes with many risks and unknowns that has the scientific community worried, and has even been banned in Mexico. Meanwhile faith in the credits system has been undermined in recent years, with several investigations revealing a lack of integrity in the carbon credits industry.  A researcher looks out from a field site tent onto Cambridge Bay, Canada, where Real Ice ran back-to-back tests in 2024 and 2025. Real Ice Panganga Pungowiyi, climate geoengineering organizer for the Indigenous Environmental Network, a nonprofit for environmental and economic justice issues, is vehemently against cooling and carbon credits in principle, explaining that they are “totally against our [Indigenous] value system.” She explained that, “it’s essentially helping the fossil fuel industry escape accountability and cause harm in other Indigenous communities — more pain, more lung disease, more cancer.”  This gets to the heart of the debate — not whether a solution like this can be done, but whether it should be done. Inuit opinion is divided. Whilst Maksagak is supportive of Real Ice, Pungowiyi says the technology doesn’t align with Indigenous values, and is concerned about the potential harms of scaling it. In addition to the environmental concerns, Pungowiyi notes that new infrastructure in the Arctic has historically also brought outsiders, often men, and an increase of physical and sexual assault on Indigenous women, many who end up missing or murdered. Ceccolini and Sherwin are aware of such risks and they are clear that any scaling of their technology would be done in partnership with the local community. They hope the project will eventually be Indigenous-run. Scientists use augers to drill through Arctic ice to install the pumps. They do this work in the winter, with the hope that the thickened ice lasts longer during summer months. Real Ice “We don’t want to repeat the kind of mistakes that have been made by Western researchers and organizations in the past,” said Sherwin.  Real Ice is not the only company that wants to protect the Arctic. Arctic Reflections, a Dutch company, is conducting similar ice thickening research in Svalbard; the Arctic Ice Project is assessing if glass beads spread over the ice can increase its reflectivity and protect it from melting; and engineer Hugh Hunt’s Marine Cloud Brightening initiative aims to increase the reflectivity of clouds through sprayed particles of sea salt as a way to protect the ice. “I think these ideas are getting far too much prominence in relation to their credibility and maturity,” said Seigert, referring to conversations about Arctic preservation at annual United Nations climate change meetings, known as COP, and the World Economic Forum. It is not only that these technologies are currently unproven, Seigert noted, but that people are already making policy decisions based on their success. It’s an argument known as ‘moral hazard’ — the idea that developing climate engineering technologies will reduce people’s desire to cut emissions. “This is like a gift to the fossil fuel companies,” he said, allowing them to continue using oil, gas, and coal without change. “We have the way forward, decarbonization, and we need every effort to make that happen. Any distraction away from that is a problem.”  Freshly pumped seawater freezes to form layers of new ice in Cambridge Bay. Real Ice “It’s a strong argument,” agreed Fitzgerald, of Cambridge University, when asked about moral hazard. “I am concerned about it. It’s the one thing that probably does cause me to have sleepless nights. However, we need to look at the lesser of two evils, the risk of not doing this research.”  Or as Sherwin said: “What is the cost of inaction?” Those in support of climate intervention strategies stress that although decarbonization is vital it’s moving too slowly, and there is a lack of political will. Technologies like those being developed by Real Ice could buy ourselves more time. Paul Beckwith, a climate system analyst from the University of Ottawa, espouts a three-pronged approach: eliminating fossil fuels, removing carbon dioxide from the atmosphere, and protecting the Arctic.  “It should be less a conversation of one over the other and more how we run all three pillars at the same time,” said Sherwin. “Unfortunately we’re in a position now where if we don’t protect and restore ecosystems, we will face collapse.” This story was originally published by Grist with the headline New technologies are helping to regrow Arctic sea ice on Apr 14, 2025.

Oregon wolf population grows slightly but illegal killings still a concern

Oregon’s wolf population increased last year, with the animals continuing to expand their habitat westward, according to a new state report.

Oregon’s wolf population increased last year after four years of nearly flat growth, with the animals continuing to expand their habitat westward, according to a new state report.The population grew by 15% to 204 wolves, up from 178 in both 2023 and 2022, according to the annual wolf report released Friday by the Oregon Department of Fish and Wildlife. The number of wolf packs – four or more wolves traveling together in the winter – also went up. A total of 25 packs were documented in 2024, up from 22 packs in 2023. Seventeen of the packs met the criteria as breeding pairs, up by two from the previous year, state wildlife officials said.The annual count is done each winter and based on verified wolf evidence, including visual observations, tracks and remote camera photographs. It represents the minimum number of wolves in Oregon. Some wolves may not be found during the count, so the actual number of wolves in Oregon is likely higher than the count, officials said. Most of the known Oregon wolves – 76% – live in eastern Oregon, primarily in the Wallowa mountains, the report shows. But wolves continued to expand westward last year, with five new packs counted west of The Dalles and Bend. courtesy of ODFWIn Oregon, wolves are considered a “special status game mammal” and protected by law throughout the state. Oregon does not allow sport hunting of wolves. They are federally protected and listed under the federal Endangered Species Act in a central swath of the state, roughly east of The Dalles down to Lakeview and west of Canyon City and Burns. courtesy of ODFW courtesy of ODFWLast year’s 26 wolf deaths were down from 36 in 2023. People killed 22 of the wolves, all in the eastern part of the state. Fourteen wolves were killed by ranchers and state or federal wildlife officials in response to the wolf chasing or attacking livestock. To many Oregon ranchers, wolves are a threat because they kill and harass cattle and sheep, especially young calves. In 2024, two-thirds of the animals killed by wolves were sheep. Seven of the wolves were illegally killed by poisoning or shooting. Wildlife officials said wolf poaching continued to be a serious concern. The cases remain under investigation. (Twelve wolves were killed illegally in 2023, seven in 2022, eight in 2021 and four in 2020.)One wolf died after being hit by a car on Interstate-84 in Union County. The other wolves died of natural or unknown causes.Last year, wildlife officials confirmed 69 livestock killings by wolves, a slight decrease from 73 in 2023. The Oregon Department of Agriculture awarded $789,565 in compensation to ranchers in 13 counties, up from $477,661 in 2023 – though ranchers say the state’s compensation isn’t enough to make up for the long-term impacts of trauma on the herd and the ranchers themselves. Almost two-thirds of the money went toward non-lethal measures, including bright flags, electric fencing, dogs and other guard animals, humans monitoring the range, drones or devices that emit flashing lights and loud sounds. — Gosia Wozniacka covers environmental justice, climate change, the clean energy transition and other environmental issues. Reach her at gwozniacka@oregonian.com or 971-421-3154.Our journalism needs your support. Subscribe today to OregonLive.com.

Quad biking: five eco-friendly adventure spots in South Africa

Discover the best eco-friendly quad biking spots in South Africa, from the valleys of Franschhoek to urban Soweto. The post Quad biking: five eco-friendly adventure spots in South Africa appeared first on SA People.

South Africa’s diverse landscapes offer the perfect backdrop for a thrilling quad biking adventure, whether you’re cruising through valleys, game farms, or even iconic urban landmarks. As the push for local tourism gains momentum, South African Tourism recently spotlighted quad biking as one of the most fun and adventurous ways to explore the country. Here’s a look at where to go and how to enjoy the ride while being kind to the environment. Discover top spots for quad biking in South Africa Tradouw Valley, Western CapeFor an off-the-beaten-track experience, head to the Little Karoo’s Tradouw Valley, nestled between Montagu and Barrydale. Here, Tradouw Quads has carefully hand-built trails, limiting mechanical impact on the environment and preserving the natural charm of the area. Hartbeespoort, GautengOnly a short drive from Johannesburg, Segwati Safari Quad Bike Trails lets you cruise across a 650-hectare game farm on electric quad bikes. The trails offer panoramic views of the Witwatersberg and Magaliesberg Mountains and a unique wildlife experience with minimal environmental disruption. Soweto, GautengFor something completely different, head to urban Soweto, where Soweto Outdoor Adventures combines thrill-seeking with township tourism. Riders zip past famous local landmarks like Vilakazi Street and the Orlando Towers, providing a cultural twist to this quad biking tour. Franschhoek, Western CapeIf you’re looking to mix wine country with outdoor adventure, Wine Valley Adventures in Franschhoek offers eco-conscious quad biking trails. Their approach prioritises sustainability, ensuring trails harmonise with the region’s lush beauty. Greater Addo, Eastern CapeIn the scenic Greater Addo area, riders can explore the Valley Bushveld, Sundays River, and citrus farms. Crisscross Adventures stands out for its transition to electric quads, making it one of the more environmentally considerate quad biking options in South Africa. The eco impact of quad biking – and how to reduce it While this activity offers incredible views and adventure, it does raise environmental concerns. Much of the criticism is aimed at off-road riding, which can damage delicate ecosystems and disturb wildlife. Plus, petrol-powered bikes emit carbon dioxide and create noise pollution. Keeping your adventure eco-friendly Responsible quad biking starts with choosing the right operator. Always book with a company that sticks to designated routes and uses electric quads where possible. Ride only during daylight hours to avoid disturbing nocturnal animals, and never veer off established paths. These simple steps can help preserve the very landscapes that make quad biking in South Africa so unforgettable. Whether you’re cruising mountain trails or city murals, this is a thrilling, eco-conscious way to explore South Africa. The post Quad biking: five eco-friendly adventure spots in South Africa appeared first on SA People.

Oops, we accidentally drugged the world’s fish

For those of us with anxiety (hello!), the class of prescription drugs known as benzodiazepines, or benzos, can be a boon in times of crisis. Though they are addictive, they’re pretty good at chilling us out.  But it turns out that by drugging ourselves with these pills, we are inadvertently drugging wild animals as well. […]

Michelangeli, a study coauthor, releases young salmon into the river as part of the experiment. | Owen Humphreys/PA Images via Getty Images For those of us with anxiety (hello!), the class of prescription drugs known as benzodiazepines, or benzos, can be a boon in times of crisis. Though they are addictive, they’re pretty good at chilling us out.  But it turns out that by drugging ourselves with these pills, we are inadvertently drugging wild animals as well. Especially the ones that live in water.  Our bodies don’t absorb 100 percent of the drugs we ingest, so traces of them end up in the toilet. And because sewage treatment plants usually can’t filter them all out, those compounds ultimately end up where treated sewage is released — in rivers, lakes, and coastal habitats.  This means that fish and other aquatic critters that live in these environments are, for better or worse, exposed to our meds. Basically fish are on drugs — our drugs. What, exactly, does that mean for wildlife? That’s what a relatively new field of research is trying to figure out. And a study just published in the journal Science offers some compelling clues.  The authors gave young Atlantic salmon in Sweden a dose of clobazam — a benzo used to treat seizures and anxiety that’s often found in wastewater — equal to what some fish might naturally be exposed to in streams. Then they monitored what the drug did to the fish as they migrated, as young salmon do, from a river out to the Baltic Sea.  Remarkably, the study found that more of the salmon on benzos made it out to sea than those that were drug-free, perhaps because they were more likely to survive the journey. The clobazam fish also passed through obstacles along the way — two hydropower dams — at a faster clip.  These results highlight a strange irony: Humans have made the world more stressful for all kinds of animals by, for example, destroying their habitat and damming up rivers. At the same time, we’re flooding the environment with mood-changing meds. Is that somehow helping them cope?  Our meds are their meds Pretty much everywhere scientists look for drugs in the water, they find them. Caffeine. Metformin. Antidepressants. Antibiotics. Birth control. Tylenol. Basically, if we use a lot of them, they’re part of aquatic habitats.  Thankfully, they appear in low enough doses that if you, say, chug a glass of river water those chemicals are not likely to affect you (again, for better or worse). Most fish, however, are much smaller. And previous research shows that these micro-doses can influence them in serious ways. A seminal 2007 study, for example, showed that small amounts of synthetic estrogen — a common ingredient in birth control that often makes its way into the environment — can “feminize” male minnows. This means they can produce early-stage eggs in their testes, essentially becoming intersex. That ultimately impairs their ability to mate and can, as the study showed, cause fish populations to collapse.  Researchers have also shown that male fish exposed to estrogen struggle to build nests and put on courtship displays for females. Trace levels of antidepressants, like fluoxetine (Prozac) and sertraline (Zoloft) affect fish behavior, too — sometimes in bizarre ways. I came across one study linking fluoxetine exposure to larger “gonopodium” size. That’s basically a fish penis. The drug can also “increase male coercive mating behavior,” the authors wrote.  A study on sertraline, meanwhile, suggests the drug can make fish less anxious and more likely to take risks and explore. Some research on the benzo oxazepam has similarly been shown to make fish bolder.   Oh, and I also found some interesting experiments with metformin, which is used to treat Type 2 diabetes and thus one of the most widespread drugs in wastewater. A 2018 paper suggests that when Siamese fighting fish — like the betta fish you can buy at pet stores — are exposed to levels of metformin that have been found in the environment, they become less aggressive. Fighting fish, fighting less! “Subjects exhibited less aggression toward a male dummy stimulus,” the authors wrote.  Over the last two decades scientists have turned up plenty of evidence that drugs in our wastewater alter the lives and behavior of fish (and some other animals). The problem is that most of these studies are done in labs, in fish tanks, and not in the wild. So they don’t tell us much about what this means for animals in the real world, many of which are threatened with extinction, including some populations of Atlantic salmon.   That’s what makes this new study so useful — and frankly, impressive.  More drugged salmon make it out to sea Atlantic salmon, if I may say, live remarkable lives. They’re born in freshwater streams and then, as young, go through a number of physical transformations before migrating to the salty ocean in a process that can cover thousands of miles. After living their lives at sea for a year or more, they’ll swim back up river — typically in the same river they were born in, relying on some magical-sounding navigation skills — to have babies and produce the next salmon generation.  Even in historic times, this life was probably stressful. All that travel. Swimming through rivers full of predators. Yikes! Humans have only made it harder. We’ve installed dams that fish have to navigate; there are more than 7,600 dams in Sweden alone. We’ve heated up the ocean and streams, which can deprive salmon of oxygen. We fish the hell out of them. And of course, we’ve polluted their habitat.  Key, here, is that some of that pollution consists of drugs specifically designed to make humans less anxious. Authors of the new study wanted to figure out whether they might have a related effect on fish — and, importantly, what that means for their arduous journey.  The researchers’ methods were somewhat bizarre: They collected dozens of young wild salmon from a hatchery along the Dalälven, a river in Sweden, and inserted medical implants into their flesh. Some of those implants slowly released drugs — including the benzo clobazam — at a level akin to what they might be exposed to in the wild. (The researchers didn’t detect clobazam in this particular river.) Other implants were essentially placebos, meaning they didn’t release anything.  The team also performed surgeries on the fish to insert miniature devices that emit sound; those sounds can be picked up by underwater microphones that were placed along the river to track each individual fish. (How do you do surgery on a fish? You sedate it and run water over their gills while you’re operating.) Then they released the fish back into the river — which has two hydropower dams downstream — and tracked their journey to sea.  As they discovered, the fish drugged with clobazam were more likely to make it to sea compared to those that were drug-free. It’s likely that more of the undrugged salmon died on their journey or were otherwise slowed down, said Jack Brand, the study’s lead author and a researcher at the Swedish University of Agricultural Sciences.  This might be because the benzos made the fish less social — less likely to school in the face of predators — and more likely to take risks, he said. Those traits can be helpful for navigating downstream. Solitary fish tend to move faster, Brand told me. And with benzos in their system, they may be less afraid to swim through a dam.  “These drugs can be used in humans as anti-stress drugs,” Brand said. “You can imagine passing through a hydropower dam — these are big dams with big turbines — is a fairly stressful event for a small fish. And usually what you find is that lots of predators hang around these areas. Maybe it’s helping the fish recover from stress faster.” Outside experts I talked to mostly agree with his interpretation — that the clobazam likely made the fish less risk-averse. “It probably was because they were more bold than the other fish, which were kind of shy and hanging together,” said James Meador, an affiliate professor at the University of Washington who has spent years studying how pollutants affect fish. He was not involved with the research. “Even in the presence of predators, I guess they really weren’t too concerned.”  This is pretty wild to think about. When these fish encounter stressful situations, trace levels of human anti-anxiety medications — which are, to be clear, pollution — may be sort of chilling them out. So, drugs: good?  Are drugged salmon better off?  At face value, it seems like a little dose of clobazam can help these fish out with their stressful lives, not unlike it may do for some of us. But, as I was told, that is very clearly the wrong takeaway.  “We think that any changes to natural behavior are likely to have potential negative consequences,” Brand said. Such as?  Fish on clobazam are less likely to school, or group together, which is an anti-predator response. So even though they appear better at navigating the river — and less likely to be eaten during their seaward migration — it’s possible that they may be more prone to getting killed at sea. We just don’t know. (Some past research shows that young salmon exposed to a much higher dose of a different benzo — oxazepam — were more likely to be eaten by predators during their downstream migration.) “The definition of pollution is that it causes harm,” said Karen Kidd, an ecotoxicologist at McMaster University in Canada who was not involved in the new Science study. “There are still many unknowns, such as whether it influences their survival in the ocean or their ability to return to spawn in the river as adults.” In other words, while it’s not clear exactly how clobazam is shaping salmon populations, it is influencing the complex behavior of a species — and its relationships in a food web balanced by millennia. That alone is cause for concern: It’s another way we’re messing with nature. And clobazam is just one of the thousands of prescription drugs worldwide.  That leads me to the last point: We’re pumping out more and more chemicals every year and scientists still don’t understand how most of them — there are tens if not hundreds of thousands — affect the natural world.  “If society values clean water, then we need to understand the consequences of chemicals that we put in the natural world,” said Bryan Brooks, an environmental scientist at Baylor University, who was not involved with the new research. The bottom line, he added, is that “if we put stuff in the environment, we need to understand what happens to it.” Today roughly a quarter of freshwater wildlife is in decline and at risk of extinction. Most of the threats they face are visible — dams, the destruction of habitat, invasive species. Our drugs are almost certainly another serious threat, though it’s one we can’t see and poorly understood. “Pharmaceutical pollution, or chemical pollution in general, is really this invisible agent of global change,” Brand said. “It’s probably posing a greater risk than at least what the public acknowledges. This is a potentially significant threat to our aquatic wildlife.”

The Labor party has a legacy of action for the natural world. Now is the time for us to do better | Felicity Wade

Addressing the Australian extinction crisis and the decline of our environment will be possible when political leaders embrace it Explore the series – Last chance: the extinction crisis being ignored this electionGet Guardian Australia environment editor Adam Morton’s Clear Air column as an emailI’ve been wondering if I remember all my surprise encounters with animals in the wild.I remember sitting totally still on a riverbank watching a platypus going about its business as the dusk descended, by a logging road on the boundary of Tasmania’s world heritage area. And a moose in the Yukon, blundering out of the scrub at full speed right in front of us, as terrified and surprised as we were. A huge thing, my vision filled with moose. It turned and kept bolting. And summer evenings camping on the Thredbo River where wombats make for strange silent sentinels, munching grass as humans rustle plastic and wrangle gas stoves, the fuss of cooking al fresco. Continue reading...

I’ve been wondering if I remember all my surprise encounters with animals in the wild.I remember sitting totally still on a riverbank watching a platypus going about its business as the dusk descended, by a logging road on the boundary of Tasmania’s world heritage area. And a moose in the Yukon, blundering out of the scrub at full speed right in front of us, as terrified and surprised as we were. A huge thing, my vision filled with moose. It turned and kept bolting. And summer evenings camping on the Thredbo River where wombats make for strange silent sentinels, munching grass as humans rustle plastic and wrangle gas stoves, the fuss of cooking al fresco.I remember them because they are moments of such stark joy. They are usually times of quiet in the soft evening light. Australian animals are generally both silent and reserved. And these moments are rare.In the way of oil and water, my love of nature gets expressed by being deep in the political process, with all its banality and disregard. I sit in the heart of a major political party, the Labor party, trying to build the bridge from where we are to where we need to be. This may seem quixotic, but I prefer it to melancholy resignation.Maybe politics can’t solve it. But it’s the best we’ve got.Labor has a deep legacy of action for the natural world. The Whitlam government brought environment into the heart of governing. In 1983, one of the first acts of the Bob Hawke government was to protect the Franklin River from a hydroelectric dam. Hawke ended rainforest logging, expanded Kakadu national park, led the international campaign to ban mining in Antarctica and began work on limiting greenhouse gases, appearing with his granddaughter in a 1988 documentary on climate change.An ALP brochure from Australia’s 1990 federal election with a message from Bob HawkeBut the legacy is a 20th century one.The past two decades have been dominated by responding to climate change. In the economy of politics, climate has taken all the space allotted to the environment. Finding the pathway to a safer climate hasn’t been easy, with the conservatives and vested interests weaponising it at every step, but Labor has stepped up in this term and a transition is under way. The gradual but certain collapse of the biosphere is threatening us just as comprehensively as a warming planet. And the political and policy response has been inadequate.If re-elected, now is the time for Labor to do better. Governments can only do a certain number of things at once and we muffed the environmental law reform process this term. The power and ferocity of vested interests made clear how hard it is to shift the balance between commerce and the wild.But in the last week, the prime minister has recommitted to the reform and the creation of an Environmental Protection Authority. Rewritten environment laws are the foundation on which we can turn it around. The central innovation is the creation of national standards, rules by which decisions are made about the environment. With proper application by an independent EPA there is a chance that we can begin to address our appalling record of stewardship.But it will take more than laws. And more than money. It will only happen with strong and clear leadership. There’s a complex set of community capabilities and attitudes that need to underpin working out how to live well on our continent. And a tangled mess of overlapping responsibilities at different levels of government to address. We’ll also need incentives to make business consider its impacts on the uncosted natural capital it mines.All this is politically possible because Australia is defined by its strange and magnificent environment. It shapes our culture, it sustains our leisure time, it marks who we are. As social researcher Rebecca Huntley says, “Twenty years of researching what Australians think is unique to our country, it’s not ‘mateship’ or a ‘love of sport’ but our unique natural places and iconic animals. We know they are the envy of the world, and what sets us apart.”This fact is a potent political asset to be capitalised on. Addressing the Australian extinction crisis and the decline of our environment won’t become possible because the community decides it’s their number one concern, it will be because political leaders embrace it and argue the case, grounded in our national pride in our place.

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