Cookies help us run our site more efficiently.

By clicking “Accept”, you agree to the storing of cookies on your device to enhance site navigation, analyze site usage, and assist in our marketing efforts. View our Privacy Policy for more information or to customize your cookie preferences.

P-22 lived an epic and tragic life in Griffith Park. Would a new mountain lion fare any better?

News Feed
Tuesday, June 11, 2024

A sleek mountain lion filmed from behind the wheel of a Tesla on the edge of Griffith Park last month triggered a collective double take in Los Angeles.Not long ago, the park’s long-reigning king — the cougar known as P-22 — stalked the same hills.While P-22’s stint in Hollywood brought him fame and devotion — landing him on T-shirts and culminating in a sold-out memorial — it also came with deadly trappings inherent to his urban-adjacent environment. Rat poison and car collisions battered him from the inside out. He was captured and euthanized in late 2022, deemed too sick to return to the wild because of injuries and infection.A mountain lion living in Griffith Park today would likely suffer a similar fate. Aggressive and impactful reporting on climate change, the environment, health and science. “Has anything changed, in some respects, in Griffith Park? No,” said Beth Pratt of the National Wildlife Federation, a vocal booster for Southern California mountain lions, P-22 in particular. “As much as people are really excited about this cat, a lot, including myself, are worried about him.”Cars still whiz along freeways that isolate small populations of lions and perilously limit genetic diversity. Some types of rat poison, which travels up the food chain to an apex predator like a puma, can still be bought at the hardware store.But P-22‘s high-profile plight highlighted the challenges and helped inspire efforts to make the region a safer place to be a mountain lion — even if change hasn’t caught up to the heartbreaking reality.What’s billed as the largest wildlife crossing in the world — with a staggering price tag to match — is taking shape over a stretch of the 101 Freeway in Agoura Hills. A pair of bills that recently cleared the California Assembly would expand a ban on certain rodenticides and require cities to consider wildlife connectivity in planning documents.P-22 “did spur us to action,” Pratt said. The new mountain lion was spotted May 14 near Barham Boulevard. (Vladmir Polumiskov) Very little is known about the lion spotted in mid-May in a parking lot east of Barham Boulevard on the edge of roughly 4,200-acre Griffith Park.Vladimir Polumiskov captured video of the majestic creature on his phone after he and his wife and young son returned to their Hollywood Hills apartment after a weeknight dinner out. Headlights from Polumiskov’s car illuminate the cat’s sand-colored fur as he perches on a tree.Researchers who have seen the video believe it’s a young-leaning male lion. He’s not wearing a collar and therefore not part of the National Park Service’s 22-year study of mountain lions in and around the Santa Monica Mountains, of which Griffith Park marks the easternmost end. Scientists involved with the study are trying to find him — scouting primarily via remote cameras — so they can add him, said Seth Riley, a wildlife ecologist with NPS. If he’s captured and collared, scientists will be able to track his movements and analyze his DNA to see if he’s related to other lions in their database.Typically, young male mountain lions disperse, often traveling long distances to search for mates and a suitable home to call their own. That’s probably what P-22 was after — though he ended up in an abnormally small area for his species, and one believed to be lacking in lady lions. Experts didn’t expect him to stay long, but he hunkered down for 10 years.Griffith Park, surrounded on all sides by perilous freeways and roads, isn’t an easy place for a lion to get to — or leave. Pratt said the recently sighted lion probably hails from the Santa Monica Mountains and took the same harrowing trek as P-22, who presumably traversed the 405 and 101 freeways. But it remains speculation in the absence of a genetic workup.There’s no telling whether he’ll stick around.There are some upsides to the park. Namely, plenty of deer and no other adult male mountain lions, which chase and sometimes even fight young lions to the death.“He might not be in Griffith Park anymore,” said Pratt, California regional executive director for the NWF. “Or he could be settling in and claiming this for his new home.” A wildlife crossing over the 101 Freeway in Agoura Hills, pictured in an artist’s rendering, is expected to open in 2026. (RCD of the Santa Monica Mountains / Associated Press) Last month, Pratt scrawled “For P-22” onto the final girder placed onto the Wallis Annenberg Wildlife Crossing, a construction milestone that completed the bridge’s foundation. Numerous others honored P-22 in their own signatures, she said.Those who want to see Southland lions succeed point to the $92-million crossing as holding perhaps the biggest promise. If the crossing had been built when P-22 was looking to settle down, he might have been able to cross it and go north to “mountain lion paradise,” Los Padres National Forest, Pratt surmised.The 101 Freeway functions as an “impenetrable wall,” Pratt said. Lions to the south can’t get out and lions to the north can’t get in, forcing isolation and inbreeding. Birth defects, including kinked tails and deformed testicles, have already shown up in the small population sequestered in the Santa Monica Mountains. Next is likely sterility, Pratt said. A recent study found they could face extirpation within 50 years without intervention. Based on what researchers have learned, “this crossing will really be helpful for animals to leave the Santa Monicas, but also it’s kind of even more important, from a genetic point of view, that animals are able to come into the Santa Monicas,” said Riley, who is the branch chief for wildlife at the Santa Monica Mountains National Recreation Area and an adjunct professor at UCLA.“Because we’ve documented low genetic diversity in the Santa Monicas, and we’ve documented a bunch of cases of close inbreeding, where fathers are mating with daughters and close relatives are breeding.” The crossing is slated to open in 2026. And there’s a lot of work to be done before that to get it ready for animals on the move. Pratt said they’re currently working on the structure looming over a 10-lane stretch of freeway. Soon they’ll lay down two big slabs of concrete, and by the end of the year soil and plants will be added. Next spring, they expect to begin working on the portion over Agoura Road. Beth Pratt, pictured in 2021, said she and others are worried for the mountain lion recently spotted at the edge of Griffith Park. It’s not the most hospitable place for a big cat. (Gary Kazanjian / For The Times) Meanwhile, two bills that advanced out of the state Assembly last month aim to tackle mountain lions’ top challenges: cars, connectivity and rat poison. The bills, both introduced by Assemblymember Laura Friedman (D-Glendale), need to pass the Senate by Aug. 31 to land on the governor’s desk for final approval. Vehicle strikes are the top killers of mountain lions studied by the National Park Service. Rodenticides are tied for second with fights with other animals. P-22 was struck by a car toward the end of his life a few blocks south of Griffith Park and a subsequent exam revealed an old injury that may have been caused by another collision. He was also exposed to rat poison and developed mange. Assembly Bill 1889, called the Room to Roam Act, would require local governments to consider and implement measures to protect wildlife connectivity as part of their general plan. That could entail installing wildlife-friendly fencing or lighting or identifying and protecting a corridor known to be used by animals. (It does not require crossings to be built or land to be set aside.)The bill directs cities and counties to plan development in ways that don’t unnecessarily impact the movement of wildlife, said J.P. Rose, urban wildlands policy director at the Center for Biological Diversity, which sponsored the bill. Connectivity isn’t often considered until a specific development reaches the proposal stage, Rose said, which “misses a key opportunity to take a regional look at the issue of wildlife connectivity. And because it is a regional issue, the best place to look at it is in these kind of longer-term, broader plans.”The bill arrives about two years after the passage of a law that directed the California Department of Transportation to explore wildlife connectivity when it builds or expands roadways. The Room to Roam bill addresses the “other side of the coin,” Rose said. An Agoura Hills couple, whose home is near the in-progress wildlife crossing, captured a mountain lion on video outside their home in May. (Peggy McClintick and Sally Tuchman) Though previous laws have limited the use of certain rat poisons, others remain widely available. Assembly Bill 2552 would place restrictions on additional types, including removing them for over-the-counter purchase and limiting their use in wildlife areas.“This bill is an attempt to get some of those off the shelves so that people aren’t going to Home Depot and buying these super toxic rodenticides and unknowingly poisoning wildlife,” said Rose of the bill, also sponsored by the center.The poisons being targeted — chlorophacinone and warfarin — are known as first-generation anticoagulant rodenticides. They stop a rat’s blood from coagulating and stay in the animal’s system after it dies. When an unsuspecting mountain lion or owl gobbles a dead or sick rat — or another animal that ate a tainted rat — the toxic substance is passed on.Rose called the impacts “really heartbreaking.” He said poisoned predators don’t always die right away; sometimes they “slowly bleed to death from the inside.” The poisons can cause skin diseases and lead to organ failure and a depressed immune system, which might prevent animals from being able to find food or shelter in their sickened state — another pathway to death, he said.Riley, of the National Park Service, said researchers are “still continuing to get exposure in basically every animal we test.”His team believes it’s likely that the mountain lions they study are ingesting the poison when they eat carnivores — particularly coyotes, their second-most commonly consumed prey after deer. Often cougars go straight for their nutrient-rich organs, including the liver, where the compounds are stored. There’s general consensus that these efforts are part of a long game. No single crossing or law will be enough to make Southern California a safe place for mountain lions (or other wildlife). The goal is to continue building out connectivity while detoxifying the landscape — and make environmental and development decisions with the cats in mind going forward.Big cat supporters are already scheming about where to place future crossings.National Park Service researchers are conducting a connectivity study along a portion of the 101 Freeway at the western end of the Santa Monica Mountains known as the Conejo Grade. It’s an area with undeveloped land on both sides, Riley said. Recently, there were renewed calls for crossings north of San Diego County, where the 15 Freeway strands another population of genetically isolated lions. There have also been informal talks about where crossings could be installed in or near Griffith Park, according to Pratt. The Cahuenga Pass, where P-22 is believed to have crossed, is on their radar.If all goes well, P-22 might be the last of his kind.“If, in the long run, all of these areas were better connected, then animals, hopefully, in the future, won’t end up stuck in Griffith Park like P-22,” Riley said. Is the new mountain lion in Griffith Park? And for how long? (Brian van der Brug / Los Angeles Times )

A mountain lion spotted at the edge of Griffith Park last month recalled the park's former feline king, P-22. If the new cougar stays, he'll face the same challenges as his predecessor.

A sleek mountain lion filmed from behind the wheel of a Tesla on the edge of Griffith Park last month triggered a collective double take in Los Angeles.

Not long ago, the park’s long-reigning king — the cougar known as P-22 — stalked the same hills.

While P-22’s stint in Hollywood brought him fame and devotion — landing him on T-shirts and culminating in a sold-out memorial — it also came with deadly trappings inherent to his urban-adjacent environment. Rat poison and car collisions battered him from the inside out. He was captured and euthanized in late 2022, deemed too sick to return to the wild because of injuries and infection.

A mountain lion living in Griffith Park today would likely suffer a similar fate.

Aggressive and impactful reporting on climate change, the environment, health and science.

“Has anything changed, in some respects, in Griffith Park? No,” said Beth Pratt of the National Wildlife Federation, a vocal booster for Southern California mountain lions, P-22 in particular. “As much as people are really excited about this cat, a lot, including myself, are worried about him.”

Cars still whiz along freeways that isolate small populations of lions and perilously limit genetic diversity. Some types of rat poison, which travels up the food chain to an apex predator like a puma, can still be bought at the hardware store.

But P-22‘s high-profile plight highlighted the challenges and helped inspire efforts to make the region a safer place to be a mountain lion — even if change hasn’t caught up to the heartbreaking reality.

What’s billed as the largest wildlife crossing in the world — with a staggering price tag to match — is taking shape over a stretch of the 101 Freeway in Agoura Hills. A pair of bills that recently cleared the California Assembly would expand a ban on certain rodenticides and require cities to consider wildlife connectivity in planning documents.

P-22 “did spur us to action,” Pratt said.


Video still of a mountain lion on the edge of  Griffith Park

The new mountain lion was spotted May 14 near Barham Boulevard.

(Vladmir Polumiskov)

Very little is known about the lion spotted in mid-May in a parking lot east of Barham Boulevard on the edge of roughly 4,200-acre Griffith Park.

Vladimir Polumiskov captured video of the majestic creature on his phone after he and his wife and young son returned to their Hollywood Hills apartment after a weeknight dinner out. Headlights from Polumiskov’s car illuminate the cat’s sand-colored fur as he perches on a tree.

Researchers who have seen the video believe it’s a young-leaning male lion. He’s not wearing a collar and therefore not part of the National Park Service’s 22-year study of mountain lions in and around the Santa Monica Mountains, of which Griffith Park marks the easternmost end.

Scientists involved with the study are trying to find him — scouting primarily via remote cameras — so they can add him, said Seth Riley, a wildlife ecologist with NPS. If he’s captured and collared, scientists will be able to track his movements and analyze his DNA to see if he’s related to other lions in their database.

Typically, young male mountain lions disperse, often traveling long distances to search for mates and a suitable home to call their own. That’s probably what P-22 was after — though he ended up in an abnormally small area for his species, and one believed to be lacking in lady lions. Experts didn’t expect him to stay long, but he hunkered down for 10 years.

Griffith Park, surrounded on all sides by perilous freeways and roads, isn’t an easy place for a lion to get to — or leave.

Pratt said the recently sighted lion probably hails from the Santa Monica Mountains and took the same harrowing trek as P-22, who presumably traversed the 405 and 101 freeways. But it remains speculation in the absence of a genetic workup.

There’s no telling whether he’ll stick around.

There are some upsides to the park. Namely, plenty of deer and no other adult male mountain lions, which chase and sometimes even fight young lions to the death.

“He might not be in Griffith Park anymore,” said Pratt, California regional executive director for the NWF. “Or he could be settling in and claiming this for his new home.”


Artist rendering shows planned wildlife crossing over the 101 Freeway in Agoura Hills

A wildlife crossing over the 101 Freeway in Agoura Hills, pictured in an artist’s rendering, is expected to open in 2026.

(RCD of the Santa Monica Mountains / Associated Press)

Last month, Pratt scrawled “For P-22” onto the final girder placed onto the Wallis Annenberg Wildlife Crossing, a construction milestone that completed the bridge’s foundation. Numerous others honored P-22 in their own signatures, she said.

Those who want to see Southland lions succeed point to the $92-million crossing as holding perhaps the biggest promise. If the crossing had been built when P-22 was looking to settle down, he might have been able to cross it and go north to “mountain lion paradise,” Los Padres National Forest, Pratt surmised.

The 101 Freeway functions as an “impenetrable wall,” Pratt said. Lions to the south can’t get out and lions to the north can’t get in, forcing isolation and inbreeding. Birth defects, including kinked tails and deformed testicles, have already shown up in the small population sequestered in the Santa Monica Mountains. Next is likely sterility, Pratt said. A recent study found they could face extirpation within 50 years without intervention.

Based on what researchers have learned, “this crossing will really be helpful for animals to leave the Santa Monicas, but also it’s kind of even more important, from a genetic point of view, that animals are able to come into the Santa Monicas,” said Riley, who is the branch chief for wildlife at the Santa Monica Mountains National Recreation Area and an adjunct professor at UCLA.

“Because we’ve documented low genetic diversity in the Santa Monicas, and we’ve documented a bunch of cases of close inbreeding, where fathers are mating with daughters and close relatives are breeding.”

The crossing is slated to open in 2026. And there’s a lot of work to be done before that to get it ready for animals on the move.

Pratt said they’re currently working on the structure looming over a 10-lane stretch of freeway. Soon they’ll lay down two big slabs of concrete, and by the end of the year soil and plants will be added. Next spring, they expect to begin working on the portion over Agoura Road.

Beth Pratt, wearing a black T-shirt with a drawing of a mountain lion and the words "P-22 is my homeboy."

Beth Pratt, pictured in 2021, said she and others are worried for the mountain lion recently spotted at the edge of Griffith Park. It’s not the most hospitable place for a big cat.

(Gary Kazanjian / For The Times)

Meanwhile, two bills that advanced out of the state Assembly last month aim to tackle mountain lions’ top challenges: cars, connectivity and rat poison. The bills, both introduced by Assemblymember Laura Friedman (D-Glendale), need to pass the Senate by Aug. 31 to land on the governor’s desk for final approval.

Vehicle strikes are the top killers of mountain lions studied by the National Park Service. Rodenticides are tied for second with fights with other animals.

P-22 was struck by a car toward the end of his life a few blocks south of Griffith Park and a subsequent exam revealed an old injury that may have been caused by another collision. He was also exposed to rat poison and developed mange.

Assembly Bill 1889, called the Room to Roam Act, would require local governments to consider and implement measures to protect wildlife connectivity as part of their general plan.

That could entail installing wildlife-friendly fencing or lighting or identifying and protecting a corridor known to be used by animals. (It does not require crossings to be built or land to be set aside.)

The bill directs cities and counties to plan development in ways that don’t unnecessarily impact the movement of wildlife, said J.P. Rose, urban wildlands policy director at the Center for Biological Diversity, which sponsored the bill.

Connectivity isn’t often considered until a specific development reaches the proposal stage, Rose said, which “misses a key opportunity to take a regional look at the issue of wildlife connectivity. And because it is a regional issue, the best place to look at it is in these kind of longer-term, broader plans.”

The bill arrives about two years after the passage of a law that directed the California Department of Transportation to explore wildlife connectivity when it builds or expands roadways. The Room to Roam bill addresses the “other side of the coin,” Rose said.

A mountain lion walks along a block wall in Agoura Hills

An Agoura Hills couple, whose home is near the in-progress wildlife crossing, captured a mountain lion on video outside their home in May.

(Peggy McClintick and Sally Tuchman)

Though previous laws have limited the use of certain rat poisons, others remain widely available. Assembly Bill 2552 would place restrictions on additional types, including removing them for over-the-counter purchase and limiting their use in wildlife areas.

“This bill is an attempt to get some of those off the shelves so that people aren’t going to Home Depot and buying these super toxic rodenticides and unknowingly poisoning wildlife,” said Rose of the bill, also sponsored by the center.

The poisons being targeted — chlorophacinone and warfarin — are known as first-generation anticoagulant rodenticides. They stop a rat’s blood from coagulating and stay in the animal’s system after it dies. When an unsuspecting mountain lion or owl gobbles a dead or sick rat — or another animal that ate a tainted rat — the toxic substance is passed on.

Rose called the impacts “really heartbreaking.” He said poisoned predators don’t always die right away; sometimes they “slowly bleed to death from the inside.” The poisons can cause skin diseases and lead to organ failure and a depressed immune system, which might prevent animals from being able to find food or shelter in their sickened state — another pathway to death, he said.

Riley, of the National Park Service, said researchers are “still continuing to get exposure in basically every animal we test.”

His team believes it’s likely that the mountain lions they study are ingesting the poison when they eat carnivores — particularly coyotes, their second-most commonly consumed prey after deer. Often cougars go straight for their nutrient-rich organs, including the liver, where the compounds are stored.


There’s general consensus that these efforts are part of a long game. No single crossing or law will be enough to make Southern California a safe place for mountain lions (or other wildlife). The goal is to continue building out connectivity while detoxifying the landscape — and make environmental and development decisions with the cats in mind going forward.

Big cat supporters are already scheming about where to place future crossings.

National Park Service researchers are conducting a connectivity study along a portion of the 101 Freeway at the western end of the Santa Monica Mountains known as the Conejo Grade. It’s an area with undeveloped land on both sides, Riley said. Recently, there were renewed calls for crossings north of San Diego County, where the 15 Freeway strands another population of genetically isolated lions. There have also been informal talks about where crossings could be installed in or near Griffith Park, according to Pratt. The Cahuenga Pass, where P-22 is believed to have crossed, is on their radar.

If all goes well, P-22 might be the last of his kind.

“If, in the long run, all of these areas were better connected, then animals, hopefully, in the future, won’t end up stuck in Griffith Park like P-22,” Riley said.

The rolling hills of Griffith Park under cloudy skies, with the downtown Los Angeles skyline in the distance.

Is the new mountain lion in Griffith Park? And for how long?

(Brian van der Brug / Los Angeles Times )

Read the full story here.
Photos courtesy of

Colorado has wolves again for the first time in 80 years. Why are they dying?

On a sunny morning two years ago, a group of state officials stood in the mountains of northwestern Colorado in front of a handful of large metal crates. With a small crowd watching them, the officials began to unlatch the crate doors one by one. Out of each came a gray wolf — arguably the […]

Wildlife officials release five gray wolves on public land in northwestern Colorado on December 18, 2023. | Jerry Neal/Colorado Parks and Wildlife On a sunny morning two years ago, a group of state officials stood in the mountains of northwestern Colorado in front of a handful of large metal crates. With a small crowd watching them, the officials began to unlatch the crate doors one by one. Out of each came a gray wolf — arguably the nation’s most controversial endangered species.  This was a massive moment for conservation.  While gray wolves once ranged throughout much of the Lower 48, a government-backed extermination campaign wiped most of them out in the 19th and 20th centuries. By the 1940s, Colorado had lost all of its resident wolves.  But, in the fall of 2020, Colorado voters did something unprecedented: They passed a ballot measure to reintroduce gray wolves to the state. This wasn’t just about having wolves on the landscape to admire, but about restoring the ecosystems that we’ve broken and the biodiversity we’ve lost. As apex predators, wolves help keep an entire ecosystem in balance, in part by limiting populations of deer and elk that can damage vegetation, spread disease, and cause car accidents.  In the winter of 2023, state officials released 10 gray wolves flown in from Oregon onto public land in northwestern Colorado. And in January of this year, they introduced another 15 that were brought in from Canada. Colorado Parks and Wildlife (CPW) — the state wildlife agency leading the reintroduction program — plans to release 30 to 50 wolves over three to five years to establish a permanent breeding population that can eventually survive without intervention.  “Today, history was made in Colorado,” Colorado Governor Jared Polis said following the release. “For the first time since the 1940s, the howl of wolves will officially return to western Colorado.” Fast forward to today, and that program seems, at least on the surface, like a mess. Ten of the transplanted wolves are already dead, as is one of their offspring. And now, the state is struggling to find new wolves to ship to Colorado for the next phase of reintroduction. Meanwhile, the program has cost millions of dollars more than expected.  The takeaway is not that releasing wolves in Colorado was, or is now, a bad idea. Rather, the challenges facing this first-of-its-kind reintroduction just reveal how extraordinarily difficult it is to restore top predators to a landscape dominated by humans. That’s true in the Western US and everywhere — especially when the animal in question has been vilified for generations.  Why 10 of the reintroduced wolves are already dead One harsh reality is that a lot of wolves die naturally, such as from disease, killing each other over territory, and other predators, said Joanna Lambert, a wildlife ecologist at the University of Colorado Boulder. Of Colorado’s new population, one of the released wolves was killed by another wolf, whereas two were likely killed by mountain lions, according to Colorado Parks and Wildlife.  The changes that humans have made to the landscape only make it harder for these animals to survive. One of the animals, a male found dead in May, was likely killed by a car, state officials said. Another died after stepping into a coyote foothold trap. Two other wolves, meanwhile, were killed, ironically, by officials. Officials from CPW shot and killed one wolf — the offspring of a released individual — in Colorado, and the US Department of Agriculture killed another that traveled into Wyoming, after linking the wolves to livestock attacks. (An obscure USDA division called Wildlife Services kills hundreds of thousands, and sometimes millions, of wild animals a year that it deems dangerous to humans or industry, as my colleague Kenny Torella has reported.)  Yet, another wolf was killed after trekking into Wyoming, a state where it’s largely legal to kill them. Colorado Parks and Wildlife has, to its credit, tried hard to stop wolves from harming farm animals. The agency has hired livestock patrols called “range riders,” for example, to protect herds. But these solutions are imperfect, especially when the landscape is blanketed in ranchland. Wolves still kill sheep and cattle.  This same conflict — or the perception of it — is what has complicated other attempts to bring back predators, such as jaguars in Arizona and grizzly bears in Washington. And wolves are arguably even more contentious. “This was not ever going to be easy,” Lambert said of the reintroduction program.  Colorado is struggling to find more wolves to ship in  There’s another problem: Colorado doesn’t have access to more wolves.  The state is planning to release another 10 to 15 animals early next year. And initially, those wolves were going to come from Canada. But in October, the Trump administration told CPW that it can only import wolves from certain regions of the US. Brian Nesvik, director of the US Fish and Wildlife Service, a federal agency that oversees endangered species, said that a federal regulation governing Colorado’s gray wolf population doesn’t explicitly allow CPW to source wolves from Canada. (Environmental legal groups disagree with his claim). So Colorado turned to Washington state for wolves instead.  But that didn’t work either. Earlier this month, Washington state wildlife officials voted against exporting some of their wolves to Colorado. Washington has more than 200 gray wolves, but the most recent count showed a population decline. That’s one reason why officials were hesitant to support a plan that would further shrink the state’s wolf numbers, especially because there’s a chance they may die in Colorado.  Some other states home to gray wolves, such as Montana and Wyoming, have previously said they won’t give Colorado any of their animals for reasons that are not entirely clear. Nonetheless, Colorado is still preparing to release wolves this winter as it looks for alternative sources, according to CPW spokesperson Luke Perkins.  Ultimately, Lambert said, it’s going to take years to be able to say with any kind of certainty whether or not the reintroduction program was successful.  “This is a long game,” she said.  And despite the program’s challenges, there’s at least one reason to suspect it’s working: puppies. Over the summer, CPW shared footage from a trail camera of three wolf puppies stumbling over their giant paws, itching, and play-biting each other. CPW says there are now four litters in Colorado, a sign that the predators are settling in and making a home for themselves. View this post on Instagram “This reproduction is really key,” Eric Odell, wolf conservation program manager for Colorado Parks and Wildlife, said in a public meeting in July. “Despite some things that you may hear, not all aspects of wolf management have been a failure. We’re working towards success.”

Selfies as William begins Brazil visit for environment prize

The prince has key environmental work planned with the Earthshot Prize and a speech at the COP30 summit - but started with a cable car trip up Sugarloaf Mountain.

Sugarloaf selfies as William begins Brazil visitDaniela Relph,Senior royal correspondent, Rio de Janeiro and John HandPA MediaPrince William found time to pose with members of the public who gathered at Sugarloaf MountainThe Prince of Wales was presented with the keys to Rio de Janeiro as he began a five-day visit to Brazil.Prince William was on the city's Sugarloaf Mountain, with a bird's eye view of the iconic Christ the Redeemer statue, as he received the honour from the city's mayor, Eduardo Paes.The prince had travelled to the top of the mountain by cable car, to the surprise of several groups of tourists queuing to travel up the mountain. As he came down again, he posed for selfies with several of the people who had waited to catch a glimpse of him.He is visiting Brazil for the first time with two key environmental missions. On Wednesday he is presenting the Earthshot Prize, the annual award from the charity he set up himself.The following day he will travel to Belem, in the Amazon rainforest, where he is scheduled to deliver a speech as part of COP30, the annual UN climate meeting where governments discuss how to limit and prepare for further climate change.PA MediaThe prince received the award of the keys to Rio from Mayor Eduardo Paes at a helipad platform on Sugarloaf Mountain...PA Media...but it is only a wider shot of the same moment that shows the majestic background of the city those symbolic keys represent.It is the first time that Prince William has travelled internationally for a COP summit, as his father, King Charles, has previously led the way for the royals, making several keynote speeches to world leaders over the years.Prince William did attend, along with his father, when it was held in Glasgow 2021, two weeks after the first Earthshot Prize.The prize annually awards a £1m grant in five different categories for projects that aim to repair the world's climate - and Prince William has committed himself to it for10 years, with Rio marking a halfway point for the venture.This year's shortlist includes an upcycled skyscraper in Sydney, the entire island of Barbados and a Bristol based company that filters microplastics from washing machines.When he announced the nominees, the prince spoke of the optimism and courage he was looking for."The people behind these projects are heroes of our time, so let us back them. Because, if we do, we can make the world cleaner, safer and full of opportunity - not only for future generations, but for the lives we want to lead now."PA MediaPrince William's first visit to Brazil was scheduled for five days to give him the chance to carry out other engagements before his more formal duties later in the weekAfter the ceremony, Mayor Paes said Prince William has been "amazed with the beauty of the city" and he joked: "So he's got the keys, he can do whatever he wants in the next 72 hours. The city belongs to Prince William. I'm still the king, but it will belong to him!"Prince William's visit to Rio de Janeiro is the most significant royal engagement he will make this year and also mark the first time he will be seen representing the Royal Family since the crisis surrounding his uncle Andrew.There has been speculation that Prince William was heavily involved in the King's announcement last week to sanction Andrew by removing his remaining titles and asking him to leave his home in Windsor - but those close to the situation say that was not the case. Although William would have had a powerful, influential voice as the future monarch, the decision was ultimately the King's working with his private team of advisers and in conjunction with the government.PA MediaCafu lined up 142 times for his national team and moved to Italy to play for Roma and AC Milan in the second half of his illustrious careerThe visit to Brazil will include the two key environment-based events but will also allow him to take in some of Rio's other famous sights.As an avid football fan and chairman of the English Football Association, it was no surprise that a pilgrimage was arranged on his first day to the Maracana Stadium, the stage of some of the football-mad nation's most famous moments.Once there, he was greeted by the player who wore the yellow and green kit more than any other, Brazil's most capped-star Cafu, who presented him with a signed number 2 Brazil shirt.The legendary right back, who is the only player in history to appear in three World Cup finals, was scheduled to join the prince leading training drills involving local children. Cafu has also agreed to be one of the star presenters of the Earthshot Prize, alongside former F1 driver Sebastian Vettel, Olympic gymnast Rebeca Andrade and Brazilian environmental activist Txai Suruí.

How El Jefe, the Lone Arizona Jaguar Who Captivated a Nation in 2016, Became a 'Rock Star'

Once called “America’s last jaguar,” the solitary male wandered across the southern border in 2011 and became the centerpiece of a campaign to protect habitat in the Santa Rita Mountains

How El Jefe, the Lone Arizona Jaguar Who Captivated a Nation in 2016, Became a ‘Rock Star’ Once called “America’s last jaguar,” the solitary male wandered across the southern border in 2011 and became the centerpiece of a campaign to protect habitat in the Santa Rita Mountains James Campbell - Author, Heart of the Jaguar November 4, 2025 8:00 a.m. A camera trap image of El Jefe, a male jaguar who made international news as the only known jaguar in the United States. USFWS When the jaguar who came to be known as El Jefe crossed the United States-Mexico border in 2011 and entered Arizona, he had no idea he was walking onto a stage where he would be the star performer.  He had been on the move for days, or possibly weeks, having left his home 125 miles south of the border, in the 90-square-mile Northern Jaguar Reserve in the Sierra Madres of northwestern Mexico, where teams of American and Mexican conservationists were struggling to protect a waning population of the world’s northernmost jaguars. El Jefe had likely fled to save his life. At 2 years of age, and weighing just 120 pounds, staying put had become dangerous. Larger, more territorial males, unwilling to tolerate an adolescent intruder, prowled the countryside. But unlike the others, who escaped with their lives by traveling south, El Jefe responded to the magnetic pull of his internal compass by fleeing north, becoming just the fourth documented male jaguar in two decades to make the border crossing into Arizona and what was once jaguar country. There, he was utterly alone—perhaps the loneliest jaguar in the history of the species—but content for a time.  In 1963, the last known female jaguar in the U.S. was killed by a hunter at 9,000 feet in the Apache-Sitgreaves National Forests of eastern Arizona. The hunter, who thought he was zeroing in on a big bobcat, shot her at 80 yards in the evening’s dwindling light. Two years later, the last legally killed jaguar, a male, was shot by a hunter in the Patagonia Mountains of southern Arizona. In 1969, Arizona finally outlawed most jaguar hunting, but with no known females roaming the state, the prospects for a rebounding population of indigenous big cats were exceedingly dim.  No one knows exactly when El Jefe entered the U.S., but it’s possible that a Border Patrol helicopter pilot who had reported seeing a jaguar in the Santa Rita Mountains in June 2011 was the first one to spot him. The first clearly documented sighting of El Jefe was in November 2011, east of the Santa Ritas in the Whetstone Mountains, 25 miles north of the Mexican border, by an Arizona man named Donnie Fenn. Fenn ran a part-time business, Chasin’ Tail Guide Service, that specialized in mountain lion hunts. He and his 10-year-old daughter, Alyson, already an accomplished horsewoman, left their home on a Saturday morning bound for the Whetstones.  Once they saddled their mules, they rode with a pack of eight dogs up ahead singing. They were about to call it a day when the strike hound cut a trail. The Fenns followed the dogs as they ran through the canyon in full cry. After a short chase, Fenn saw his hounds 200 yards ahead, bellowing frantically. Calming his mule, he approached slowly. Assuming his dogs had treed a mountain lion, he used his telephoto lens to zoom in on the tree. As he got closer, he saw it. He was astounded by its size. He guessed that it was twice as big as a mountain lion. Then he dismounted. His heart was pounding, but he was mesmerized. He could sense the jaguar’s power. He watched as the big cat slowly climbed down the tree. When its feet hit the ground, he thought for a moment it might turn to pounce on him. Instead, it took off at a high speed in the opposite direction, and his dogs gave chase.  About two miles down the trail, the hounds brought the jaguar to bay. It was growling in a raw and aggressive way, making sounds Fenn had never heard from an animal. His hounds, excited to the point of frenzy, had encircled the jaguar, and it was swiping at them. He worried that the big cat would tear his dogs apart. But the jaguar made its final escape, and Fenn shouted to his crazed hounds, commanding them to hold hard. “It’s the most amazing thing that’s ever happened to me,” Fenn later told the Arizona Daily Star. “I got to see it in real life, my daughter got to see it, but I hope never to encounter it again.”  James Campbell tells the story of the extraordinary undertaking to save the jaguar, as well as the impassioned conservationist Alan Rabinowitz, who dedicated his life to the species. Fenn alerted Arizona Game and Fish Department officials, who found hair samples left behind by the animal and obligingly told his tale to the media.  What El Jefe did after encountering Fenn and his hounds, no one really knows. Having learned from his experience in the Whetstones, he likely grew even more stealthy, moving largely at night. He wasn’t seen again until late 2012, when some of the hundreds of remote wireless infrared cameras operated by the University of Arizona’s Jaguar Survey and Monitoring Project captured photos of a male jaguar lurking in the Santa Rita Mountains—the perfect hiding place for a lone jaguar. A wildlife camera automatically snapped this photo of El Jefe on October 25, 2012. USFWS / UA / DHS The wild Santa Ritas, just 28 miles southeast of Tucson, had everything El Jefe needed: high country, with its narrow ridges and steep slopes, swathed in pine forests, where he could move unseen; mid-elevations scattered with live oaks, Gambel oaks and junipers; and fecund washes thick with walnuts, hackberry, willows and cottonwoods. And an impressive array of wild game was there for the taking—deer, javelinas, coatis, skunks, turkeys, jackrabbits and raccoons. He was able to find water in streams, ephemeral ponds and springs. Mountain lions inhabited the area, but they seemed to know, instinctively, who the boss was.  The primary danger for El Jefe was that he was fond of space and was partial to wandering. In his next encounter with people—or perhaps a busy highway—he might not be so lucky.  Among the handful who knew of El Jefe’s presence, no one was better acquainted with the jaguar than wildlife biologist Chris Bugbee. Along with his 65-pound Belgian Malinois Mayke—who had failed as a Border Patrol drugs and explosives dog and whom he had carefully trained to be a jaguar scent detection dog—the burly and rugged Bugbee had been steadily tracking El Jefe’s movements across the Santa Ritas for the University of Arizona.  It took a long time for Bugbee to turn the skittish canine into a dependable jaguar scat detection dog. But at some point, Mayke blossomed. She’d scent over puma scat and would drive off impudent black bears, but when she found jaguar scat, she would stand over it and bark repeatedly. The longer Bugbee and Mayke tracked El Jefe, the more curious the big cat became. Often, when they would return to a camera that they had checked days before, the time code would show that El Jefe had visited that same camera just minutes after they had. In other words, the big cat was tracking them. At first, it made Bugbee break out in an anxious sweat, but he told me that as they became more familiar with each other, it turned into a “special relationship,” one that Bugbee came to “cherish”—just him, his faithful dog and the United States’ only wild jaguar. Fun fact: A jaguar’s spots A jaguar’s tan-and-black spots are called “rosettes,” and each animal has its own unique pattern of these markings. That’s how scientists can recognize an individual jaguar in camera trap images, even years later. By 2015, El Jefe—though not yet enmeshed in a thicket of complicated and conflicting human ambitions—was becoming a local legend and something of a household name as media attention to the “Santa Rita jaguar” or “America’s last jaguar” intensified. But the charismatic big cat was still an anonymous jaguar who had taken up residence some 200 miles north of where he was born. For some biologists, his presence was a thrilling development, signifying the auspicious return of jaguars to an area where for millennia big cats had thrived. However, Alan Rabinowitz, an American zoologist and big cat expert, was not especially impressed and went on record saying that a lone big cat, especially a male, wandering the mountains of southern Arizona, was nothing more than a fortuitous exception and had little or no ecological significance. If anything, he argued, jaguars dispersing from a fragile population in Sonora, Mexico, were acting as desperate organisms might, searching for a way to survive.  The Center for Biological Diversity wasn’t buying Rabinowitz’s indifference. The gutsy and contentious Tucson-based nonprofit environmental organization, with a reputation for filing lawsuits based on the Endangered Species Act since its founding in 1989, began a campaign in May 2015, focusing on the big cat and on Arizona jaguars in general. Not long afterward, Mike Stark and Russ McSpadden, from the center’s communication department, and Randy Serraglio, a magnetic and outspoken conservation advocate for the center, began laying plans for a considerably more aggressive publicity campaign with the ambitious goal of branding jaguars as icons of wildness in southern Arizona. But perhaps their greatest dream, one they were reluctant even to whisper about outside the confines of the conference room, was to turn the Santa Ritas jaguar into a national cynosure and, dare they hope, even a rock star.  While brainstorming, Serraglio, McFadden and Stark hit on the notion of holding a naming contest for the big cat. An anonymous apex predator on the loose in Tucson’s remote outskirts was exciting, but a jaguar with a resonant moniker could be a powerful symbol. Further refining the idea, they decided to enlist the help of local schoolkids. They settled on Valencia Middle School in Tucson, composed largely of Indigenous and Mexican American students, which had a jaguar as its mascot. Serraglio took the lead, contacting Valencia’s principal, who embraced the idea. Together she and Serraglio established a jaguar curriculum. Following the study unit, their plan was to hold a schoolwide vote to determine the jaguar’s name. Simultaneously, the center ran an online vote for their members and supporters across the country, using the teaser: “Cast your vote: ProtectOurJaguars.org.”  The program was even more successful than Serraglio imagined. On the final day of the study unit, the school staged a huge pep rally, replete with a large, 12-by-14-­foot Chinese-dragon-style jaguar puppet, operated by five people; music and singing; and a relay race where kids, emulating jaguars, had to secure “resources” around the school grounds while avoiding “threats” (a mine, roads and the border wall). Serraglio described the celebration as a “jaguar frenzy.” McFadden filmed and did interviews with the students about what name they chose and why. Later he spliced together the video clips, which the center used on its website.  In early October 2015, Serraglio tallied all the votes from the school and the online campaign. The top five names were: O’oshad (the Tohono O’odham word for jaguar); Rito, in honor of the Santa Ritas; Scout; Spirit; and El Jefe. The winner was El Jefe, Spanish for “the Boss,” by a whisker. One month later, on November 2, Serraglio and the center staged a live press event at the school to announce El Jefe as the winner of the jaguar naming contest. Meanwhile, in the months leading up to November 2, Chris Bugbee had grown frustrated with the University of Arizona’s resistance to making public his stirring and unprecedented footage of El Jefe. From his perspective, the footage was “gold” for jaguar conservation in the U.S. that the directors of the project refused to use. He’d also become deeply upset with the Forest Service, which had issued a preliminary permit for a copper mine in the Santa Rita Mountains that would challenge the inviolability of the Endangered Species Act, which protected jaguars like El Jefe and their habitat. One of Bugbee’s videos showed El Jefe just a half-mile from the proposed mine site. “We wanted to show the world that we still have jaguars in Arizona,” Bugbee told the Arizona Daily Star. “We wanted to get the American public involved in this question: Do we want to recover jaguars, or do we want them to just become a piece of local history?” Bugbee later spoke of his frustration: “Nobody wanted to do any advocacy for jaguars or say a word against this mine … not the university, not the wildlife agencies. El Jefe was like a dirty little secret they wanted to keep quiet. It didn’t sit right with me. It kept me up at night.” El Jefe, caught on camera in 2013 United States Fish and Wildlife Service via Wikimedia Commons So Bugbee and his wife, Aletris Neils, a fellow biologist who had studied black bears in Florida, contemplated going public with the photos and the video footage of El Jefe that Bugbee had collected under the aegis of the University of Arizona’s Jaguar Survey and Monitoring Project. Though Bugbee hadn’t intended to mix science with advocacy, both he and Neils sensed that the big cat could be a galvanizing publicity tool in the fight against the copper mine. They also feared for him. Rural Arizona could be hostile territory for a jaguar. Someone filled with hate might try to track down El Jefe and shoot him.  Bugbee and Neils agonized over the decision, knowing, too, the kind of discord it could create in the academic and conservation community. Some would applaud it, but most would regard the move as roguish, and it would alienate colleagues who believed that the university had proprietary rights to the footage or that under no circumstances should a vulnerable jaguar’s movements ever be made public. The University of Arizona and the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service (FWS) would eventually employ a federal agent and a prosecutor to investigate Bugbee’s and Neils’ conduct for allegedly stealing intellectual property and cameras; five years later, it ended with no convictions.  At the same time, the University of Arizona’s money for Bugbee’s camera program ran out. Bugbee tried to convince the FWS, the Arizona Game and Fish Department and even the Forest Service to pick up the funding, but when they balked, he approached the Center for Biological Diversity. The center ponied up the money to keep Bugbee’s research going, but it negotiated a promise from him that he would provide footage it could use in its ongoing PR campaign for jaguars.  Bugbee and Mayke then resumed tracking El Jefe, using an expired university research permit. By the fall of 2015, Bugbee realized that after appearing regularly and reliably on cameras for several years, El Jefe was nowhere to be found. Mayke hadn’t barked in months.  In late January 2016, Serraglio alerted Bugbee that McSpadden had cut a 41-second video clip, which the center was planning to release on the Conservation CATalyst website, an organization Bugbee and Neils had established hoping to educate the public about big cats and promote their protection. The center had picked a day that would precede the local Barrio Brewing Company’s much-anticipated rollout of its El Jefe Hefeweizen, infused with catnip. Bugbee and Neils held their breath. On February 3, according to plan, the center released the video—actually a compilation of three separate videos—showing El Jefe, now a robust 150-pound male in his prime, moving like a ghost through the forest and up a creek bed. Midway through, El Jefe walks, broad-shouldered and muscular, right into the camera. El Jefe: Americas Only Known Wild Jaguar According to Bugbee, once the video hit and legend merged with reality, “all hell broke loose.” The following weeks were nothing but a “blur.” The press coverage was preponderantly positive, but the FWS field supervisor for the Southwest, unaware that El Jefe had likely decamped for new territory, accused Bugbee of blatantly violating the terms of the research permit and endangering the big cat’s life.  The video went viral. Twenty-one million television viewers in the U.S. saw it, and El Jefe, the incarnation of beauty and wildness, became an object of adoration and admiration, a national—and international—sensation. He was Arizona’s version of the iconic Yellowstone wolf, O-Six, or Los Angeles’ beloved puma, P-22, and as close to a natural cause célèbre as the state had ever seen. Within just 48 hours, the video had reportedly appeared on ABC’s “Good Morning America,” NBC’s “Today Show,” CBS “This Morning” and nearly 830 other TV segments in the U.S. Millions more saw the video on national newspaper websites. The center’s rough estimate was that 100 million people globally viewed the video. El Jefe was indeed a rock star. But by the time El Jefe became famous, he was already gone. He likely did what jaguars sometimes do—disappear. Some claimed he went east into the Patagonia Mountains. Others said he followed his sun compass hundreds of miles back into the foothills of the Sierra Madres. Bugbee, who in almost four years of tracking El Jefe never had the good fortune of laying his eyes on the big cat, recalls some of the last photos of El Jefe, in the fall of 2015, his testicles bulging. He thinks the big lusty cat, obeying a biological imperative, went south in search of a mate, knowing that his sojourn in Arizona was reproductively doomed. What exactly happened to El Jefe, no one knows. But for a few years he graced Arizona with his presence, and for a brief time, he captivated a nation. Excerpted from Heart of the Jaguar: The Extraordinary Conservation Effort to Save the Americas’ Legendary Cat. Copyright ©2025 by James Campbell. Used with permission of the publisher, W. W. Norton & Company, Inc. All rights reserved. Get the latest Science stories in your inbox.

Man, machine and mutton: Inside the plan to prevent the next SoCal fire disaster

Local fire crews are launching a sweeping effort to prevent future wildfires in the Santa Monica Mountains. It entails using both animals and machines to create fire breaks — a controversial solution in Southern California.

Nine months after one of the worst fires the region has seen in recorded history, a helicopter carrying two of the most consequential politicians in the fight against Southern California’s wildfires soared over the Santa Monica Mountains. Rows of jagged peaks slowly revealed steep canyons. The land was blotchy: some parts were covered in thick, green and shrubby native chaparral plants; others were blackened, comprised mostly by fire-stricken earth where chaparral used to thrive; and still others were blanketed by bone-dry golden grasses where the land had years ago been choked out by fire.Amid this tapestry was a scattering of homes and businesses with only a handful of roads snaking out: Topanga. The dangers, should a fire roar down the canyon, were painfully clear at a thousand feet.“If there are any issues on the Boulevard…” County Supervisor Lindsey Horvath said into her headset, trailing off.“The community is trapped,” said Wade Crowfoot, California Secretary for Natural Resources, finishing the thought.Over the same mountains where the Palisades fire roared, the supervisor and secretary were observing the state’s nearly 675-acre flagship project to stop the Santa Monica Mountains’ next firestorm from devouring homes and killing residents. Crews from the Los Angeles County Fire Department and the Mountains Recreation and Conservation Authority, a local land management agency, were cutting a miles-long web of fuel breaks in the Northern Santa Monicas between Topanga and Calabasas. In the spring, they hope to perform a prescribed burn along the break. Just northwest, on the other side of Calabasas, Ventura County Fire Department deployed 500 goats and 100 sheep to eat acres of invasive grasses that are prone to conflagration. A fire crew walks in the Santa Monica Mountains during a wildfire risk reduction project on Oct. 8. (Myung J. Chun / Los Angeles Times) It’s just a fraction of the work state leaders and local fire crews hope to someday accomplish, yet the scale and speed of the effort has already made some ecology and fire experts uneasy. (The goats, however, have enjoyed virtually universal praise.) While many firefighters and fire officials support the creation of fuel breaks, which offer better access to remote areas during a fire fight, fire ecologists warn that if not done carefully, fuel breaks can make the landscape even more fire-prone by inadvertently replacing chaparral with flammable invasive grasses.Yet, after the Palisades fire last January, many state leaders and residents in the Santa Monicas feel it’s better to act now — even if the plan is a bit experimental — given the mountains will almost certainly burn again, and likely soon. Goats help clear vegetation in the Upper Las Virgenes Canyon Open Space Preserve as part of a wildfire risk reduction project. (Myung J. Chun / Los Angeles Times) In March, Gov. Gavin Newsom signed an executive order streamlining the approval process for these projects. Instead of seeking multiple permits through separate lengthy processes — via the California Environmental Quality Act, Coastal Act, Endangered Species Act, and Native Plant Protection Act (among others) — applicants can now submit projects directly to the California Natural Resources Agency and California Environmental Protection Agency, which ensures compliance with all of the relevant laws.Consequently, the state has approved well over 100 projects in mere months. Before, it was not uncommon for projects to sit in limbo for years awaiting various approvals.In April, the state legislature and Newsom approved the early release of funds from a $10 billion climate bond that California voters approved last November for these types of projects. The Santa Monica Mountains Conservancy, which received over $31 million of that funding, awarded just over $3 million to L.A. County and Ventura County fire departments and the MRCA to complete the project.On Oct. 8, Horvath and Crowfoot watched from a ridgeline northwest of Topanga as crews below maneuvered a remote-controlled machine — named the Green Climber after its color and ability to navigate steep slopes — to chew up shrubs on the hillsides. Others used a claw affixed to the arm of a bright-red excavator to rip out plants. Los Angeles County Supervisor Lindsey Horvath flies over the Malibu coastline during a tour of a wildfire risk reduction project in the Santa Monica Mountains. (Myung J. Chun/Los Angeles Times) The goal was to create a new fuel break on a plot of land that is one of the few areas in the Santa Monicas that hasn’t burned in the last seven years, said Drew Smith, assistant fire chief with the L.A. County Fire Department. “Going into the fall, our biggest vulnerabilities are all this right here.”Left alone, chaparral typically burns every 30 to 130 years, historically due to lightning strikes. But as Westerners began to settle the region, fires became more frequent. For example, Malibu Canyon — which last burned in the Franklin fire, just a month before the Palisades fire — now experiences fire roughly every eight years.As the fire frequency chokes out the native chaparral ecosystem, fast growing, extremely flammable invasive grasses take over, making it even more likely that a loose cigarette or downed power line will ignite a devastating blaze. Scientists call this death spiral the human-grass-fire cycle. Stopping it is no simple task. And reversing it, some experts fear, may be borderline impossible.The state’s current approach, laid out by a panel of independent scientists working with California’s wildfire task force, is three-pronged.First: home hardening, defensible space and evacuation planning to ensure that if a monster fire starts, it causes the smallest amount of death and destruction. Second: Techniques to prevent fire ignitions in the first place, such as deploying arson watch teams on high-wind days.Third: Creating a network of fuel breaks. Fuel breaks are the most hotly debated, in part because fuel breaks alone do little to stop a wind-driven fire throwing embers miles away.But fire officials who have relied on fuel breaks during disasters argue that such fuel breaks can still play “a significant tactical role,” said Smith, allowing crews to reach the fire — or a new spot fire ignited by an ember — before it blows through a community. A Los Angeles County Fire Department excavator with a claw grapple clears vegetation in the Santa Monica Mountains. (Myung J. Chun/Los Angeles Times) But Dan Cooper, principal conservation biologist with the Resource Conservation District of the Santa Monica Mountains, said there’s little scientific evidence yet that indicates fuel breaks are effective.And because creating fuel breaks harms ecosystems and, at worst, can make them even more fire prone, fire ecologists warn they need to be deployed strategically. As such, the speed at which the state is approving projects, they say, is concerning.Alexandra Syphard, senior research scientist at the Conservation Biology Institute and a leading Southern California fire ecologist, noted that the fuel break the Santa Monica Mountains team is creating near Topanga seems to cut right through healthy chaparral. If the fire crews do not routinely maintain the fuel break, it will be flammable golden grasses that grow back, not more ignition-resistant chaparral. A remote controlled masticator — called the “Green Climber” — mulches flammable vegetation in Topanga to keep flames at a low height. (Myung J. Chun / Los Angeles Times) And the choices land managers make today can have significant consequences down the line: While fire crews and local conservationists are experimenting with how to restore chaparral to grass-filled areas, in the studies Syphard has looked at, once chaparral is gone, it seldom comes back.For Cooper, the trade-offs of wildfire risk reduction get at a fundamental tension of living in the Santa Monicas. People move to places like Topanga, in part, because they love the chaparral-dotted vistas, the backyard oak woodlands and the privacy of life in the canyon. Yet, it’s that same environment that imperils them. “What are you going to do about it? Pave the Santa Monicas? A lot of the old fire guys want to make everything grass in the Santa Monicas because grass fires are just easier to put out,” he said. “We need to learn how to live with fire — in a lot more sober way.”

Merrily we bring microplastics into the wilderness with our hiking shoes, study shows

Research comparing Adirondack mountain lakes in New York suggests foot traffic is significant source of pollutionHiking shoes and outdoor gear are likely a significant source of microplastic pollution in the wilderness, new research that checked for the pernicious material in several Adirondack mountain lakes in upstate New York suggests.Researchers measured microplastic levels in two lakes that are the among highest sources of water for the Hudson River – one that sees heavy foot traffic from hikers, and another lake that is far away from a path and rarely touched by human activity. Continue reading...

Hiking shoes and outdoor gear are likely a significant source of microplastic pollution in the wilderness, new research that checked for the pernicious material in several Adirondack mountain lakes in upstate New York suggests.Researchers measured microplastic levels in two lakes that are the among highest sources of water for the Hudson River – one that sees heavy foot traffic from hikers, and another lake that is far away from a path and rarely touched by human activity.The samples from the lake that sees heavier foot traffic showed levels that were about 23 times higher.Soft-soled trail shoes and synthetic clothing “appear to be significant contributors to microplastics finding their way into these remote, otherwise pristine waters”, said Tim Keyes, a Sacred Heart University data scientist, who independently worked on the project with his company, Evergreen Business Analytics, and the Adirondack Hamlet to Huts non-profit.Microplastics are tiny bits of plastic either intentionally added to consumer goods, or which are products of larger plastics breaking down. The particles may contain any number of 16,000 plastic chemicals, of which many, such as BPA, phthalates and Pfas, present serious health risks.The substance has been found throughout the human body, and can cross the placental and brain barriers. Among other issues, microplastics are linked to chronic pulmonary inflammation, which can lead to lung cancer.Previous research found that as much as 70% of microplastics in ocean samples were from apparel. Meanwhile, the substance has been found in clouds and in precipitation samples.Keyes in 2023 sampled for microplastics in Lake Tear of the Clouds, which sits at about 4,300ft (1,300 meters). It sees heavy hiker traffic because it is adjacent to a trail segment that is part of several larger trails.Keyes sent the sample to an independent lab that found 9.45 particles per milliliter (mL). Because the area only had hiker traffic, “it was surmised that microplastic pollution was being brought to the area largely by airborne deposition”, the authors wrote, meaning primarily via precipitation.Now they suspect they were wrong. The authors returned two years later in early 2025 to sample Lake Tear, as well as Moss Pond, which the paper describes as “a remote, trailless body of water” at a similar elevation.The independent lab detected about 0.73 particles per mL in Moss Pond, and about 16.54 particles per mL in Lake Tear – a roughly 23-fold difference that suggests the hiker traffic is playing a major role. Lightweight trail shoes can shed microplastics similar to tires, which are another source of pollution, Keyes said.“It’s a pretty clear indication given the stark difference in microplastic levels between the sister body of water that’s a bushwack away compared to Lake Tear, which is on this thoroughfare for hikers that sees tens of thousands of people annually,” Keyes said.Sami Romanick, a microplastics researcher with the Environmental Working Group non-profit who was not involved with the study, said the research’s methodology and design were sound. She agreed with the conclusion that the contamination was likely caused by hiking gear.“It’s a reasonable explanation that’s supported by the data,” Romanick said.The authors say the findings are meant to generate awareness and underscore why industry should produce clothing and shoes that will shed fewer microplastics. Hikers should consider wearing hard-rubber-sole shoes that release less plastic compared with soft soles, and wear synthetic fiber clothing underneath those made with natural fibers.

Suggested Viewing

Join us to forge
a sustainable future

Our team is always growing.
Become a partner, volunteer, sponsor, or intern today.
Let us know how you would like to get involved!

CONTACT US

sign up for our mailing list to stay informed on the latest films and environmental headlines.

Subscribers receive a free day pass for streaming Cinema Verde.
Thank you! Your submission has been received!
Oops! Something went wrong while submitting the form.