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What Happens When Animals Cross the Road

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Thursday, April 18, 2024

As highways encroach ever further into animal habitats, drivers and wildlife are in greater danger than ever. And off the beaten path, decaying old forest roads are inflicting damage as well. “Roads are this incredibly disruptive force all over the planet that are truly changing wild animals’ lives and our own lives in almost unfathomable, unaccountable ways,” says science journalist Ben Goldfarb, author of the 2023 book Crossings: How Road Ecology Is Shaping the Future of Our Planet. Goldfarb wrote about this problem for the March 2024 issue of Smithsonian. For Earth Day, we’ll talk to him about what’s being done to make the relationship between roads and lands more harmonious, and we’ll meet Fraser Shilling—a scientist at the University of California, Davis, who’ll tell us what he’s learned from his rigorous scholarly examination of … roadkill. A transcript is below. To subscribe to “There’s More to That,” and to listen to past episodes on the devastating effects of wildfires, a NASA mission to capture asteroid dust and the 2024 North American total solar eclipse, find us on Apple Podcasts, Spotify or wherever you get your podcasts. Chris Klimek: Fraser Shilling was out driving in California one day when he saw something unusual in the road. Fraser Shilling: There was this brown, fluffy thing, and I thought, “What is that? It’s such a strange-looking animal.” Klimek: Most people don’t have a habit of stopping to check out roadkill when they see it on the highway, but this is Fraser’s job. He actually studies roadkill. More specifically, he’s the director of the Road Ecology Center at the University of California, Davis. Shilling: I’ve done some sketchy pullovers on interstates, because if it’s a porcupine, if it’s a bear, I really want to make sure that’s what it is. Klimek: Road ecology is the study of how roads and highways impact local ecosystems. So, to Fraser, a dead animal in the road is important scientific evidence. Shilling: I think it’s a really important activity, obviously, and I have to do my part. I can’t just expect other people to collect the data. Klimek: But on this day in particular, it was a false alarm. Shilling: And I pulled over, and it was a teddy bear. Klimek: From Smithsonian magazine and PRX Productions, this is “There’s More to That,” the show that may definitively solve, right here in this episode, why a chicken would want to cross a road. This week, just in time for Earth Day and spring migration season, we’ll learn all about road ecology, what our roads are doing to our ecosystems and how we can fix it. I’m Chris Klimek.Klimek: One dead squirrel or dead deer in a road might not be that much cause for concern, but if you keep finding dead deer in the same stretch of road, then there’s obviously a problem, both for the deer and for the people that use that road. Shilling: This has happened to me. I’ve driven around a curve, you don’t have time to stop if you see something around that curve, and I had, in one stretch of Highway 12 in California, three male deer within a mile of each other. They’re just standing in or about to enter the road. Very alarming. I don’t think I would’ve died. I was probably only going 50, but it definitely would’ve been a noticeable impact on my life. But most of the animals are not a safety concern. Most of the animals that are being hit are smaller, like newts. There are places where newts are migrating across roads between where they spend their adult phase and where they’re going to reproduce. They’re just annihilated by traffic. And some areas, you think, “Well, they’ve always been doing that, so what’s the big deal?” But where it becomes a big deal is that you get fewer and fewer and fewer newts over time. Part of that is just loss from the regular traffic that’s occurring, but also, as you increase traffic, you’re increasing the number of newts that are getting killed, and, eventually, you’re going to wipe out the population. These are real-time ecological disasters, some of them. Klimek: Do people generally get it, or does it take a bit of explaining for you to say like, “No, this is actually valuable data that we can collect and learn from?” Shilling: Well, at the beginning, as you might imagine, there were people trying to be funny, ways of asking questions. I had a SiriusXM station interview, probably the weirdest media discussion about roadkill that I’ve had. But it was interesting. You’ve got these shock jocks, initially they were making fun of it, but then they started to get into it.Ben Goldfarb: There are just so many different ways in which our transportation infrastructure disrupts animal lives. Klimek: Ben Goldfarb is the author of an acclaimed book called Crossings: How Road Ecology Is Shaping the Future of Our Planet. Goldfarb: The dead deer or raccoon or squirrel we’ve all seen by the side of the road, that’s just the tip of the iceberg. Roads are this incredibly disruptive force all over the planet that are truly changing wild animals’ lives and our own lives in almost unfathomable, unaccountable ways. Generally, roads are enormous sources of pollution, right? Our cars are constantly bleeding cadmium and copper and zinc and microplastics. One of the big issues that scientists have only recently discovered is that tire particles are a huge problem. I think there’s something like 6 million tons of tire particles that enter the environment every year, and they contain this chemical called 6PPD, which kills salmon in huge numbers. Another big issue is invasive species. In Oregon, there’s a fungus that actually rides in truck tire treads and gets dispersed up the road network that way and kills trees. There’s all kinds of novel agents, both chemical and biological, that are using these roads to spread through our forests. Klimek: These particularly toxic roads, are they concentrated in a few geographic areas, or are they dispersed all over? Goldfarb: I think it’s a pretty widespread problem, but road salt, which is in some ways probably the most transformative, consequential pollutant along our road networks, and obviously that’s something that we use as a de-icing chemical. So that’s really a Northern issue. I think Minnesota is the most profligate user of de-icing salt, and that’s turning all of these freshwater rivers and lakes and streams into functionally brackish estuaries. There are some cases where ocean crabs have entered these freshwater ecosystems, because that’s just how salty they’ve gotten. And then, another big issue, too, is that: Look, animals like salt. If you’ve got these salty roadsides and you’re luring all of these deer and moose and other critters to the roadside, well that’s also a huge roadkill issue. Klimek: Are there other de-icing agents available that don’t have such severe consequences for the environment? Goldfarb: Beet juice has been used in some places. It doesn’t smell great, so it hasn’t really caught on, and it’s also a little bit eerie to see bright red bloody-looking roads that are covered in beet juice. So the quest for a universally beloved, non-salt de-icer continues. Klimek: Yeah. On the beet juice note, I do use a citrus-based chain degreaser on my bicycle. It’s ground up orange peels or something that they claim is eco-friendly and as effective as any artificial chemical. So I hope that’s right. Goldfarb: Well, the fact that you’re getting around via bicycle, that’s a big win right there. So, Chris, you’re doing pretty good, man. Klimek: Is there any way in which our roads are a good thing for animals? Goldfarb: It depends who you are, right? The scavengers, for example, the turkey vultures or the coyotes that use roadkill as this resource, essentially. Or think about the Midwest, we’ve turned all of the landscape into corn and soy monoculture, and some of the only strips of native prairie vegetation remaining are those roadsides and road medians that end up being pretty good habitat for animals like monarch butterflies. Roads are ultimately ecosystems in their own right, and every ecosystem has winners and losers. Klimek: Yeah. You opened the door to this a little bit when you mentioned de-icing salt, but how do roads alter biodiversity more broadly than just animals being struck by cars? Goldfarb: I think a lot about that barrier effect. These walls of traffic that animals don’t even attempt to cross in many places. Lots of big interstate highways actually have very little roadkill, because animals never even try to cross the highway. And yet, they’re having enormous impacts on wildlife distribution. You end up, in some cases, with very inbred populations. Famously, in Southern California, there’s this cluster of mountain lions living near Los Angeles surrounded by freeways. And those animals have ended up having to mate with their own daughters and granddaughters and even great-granddaughters because they just can’t cross the highway to escape this little island of habitat, and no new animals can cross to enter the population. So even without killing animals directly, these roads are dramatically changing their lives and influencing where they can live and who they can mate with. Klimek: So, conversely, how are humans impacted by animals in the roadway? Goldfarb: Roadkill is a really dangerous event for drivers as well as for animals. There are up to 2 million large animal crashes in this country every year, most of them with white-tailed deer, and several hundred drivers die in those incidents. And road collisions with animals are costing society more than $8 billion every year, in vehicle repairs and hospital bills and tow trucks and so on. This epidemic of wildlife-vehicle collisions is a human public health and safety crisis, in a lot of ways. Klimek: Are there other ways in which animals have adapted to this influx of road construction? Goldfarb: Certainly animals have ingenious strategies for living alongside all of this infrastructure. In Chicago, there’s this very famous population of urban coyotes that looks both ways and crosses at the crosswalks. They’re very intelligent animals. There are even cases of evolution that have occurred due to road construction. There’s a very famous example in Nebraska where cliff swallows, which are those birds who build their little mud nests on highway overpasses and bridges, they’ve actually evolved over time to have shorter wings. Because if you have a long wing as a bird, that’s good for flying long, straight directions, whereas having a short wing is good for maneuverability and making lots of tight rolls and turns to avoid an 18-wheeler. The long-wing swallows have gotten weeded from the population by roadkill, and the shorter-wing swallows remain, and now the whole population is becoming less susceptible to roadkill. That’s just incredible to think about, right? That evolution is usually this process that unfolds over the course of thousands or millions of years, but roads and cars are such a powerful selective pressure that they’re literally driving evolution in a matter of decades. Klimek: Have road construction techniques evolved over the decades? Are we building them in a more eco-conscious way now or not so much? Goldfarb: It is true that roads are one of the technologies that are least amenable to disruption. One thing we’ve become much more cognizant of, and better about, is the need to build wildlife crossings: overpasses and underpasses and tunnels that allow animals to safely cross highways. And, typically, whenever there’s a big highway modification or expansion, they’ll include some wildlife crossings. We’ve got the equipment out there already—let’s just put it in a tunnel or something like that to facilitate animal movements. Klimek: And from what we’ve seen, do animals use these crossings when we build them? Do they figure out that’s a safer way to get across the eight lanes or however many there are? Goldfarb: Absolutely. Yeah, crossings are extremely effective. Typically, they reduce vehicle collisions by 90 percent or so, in part because, typically, you’ve got a crossing and then you’ve got roadside fences that funnel the animals to the crossings and allow them to safely cross the highway. So there’s lots of research showing that animals definitely use these things. And in many cases, they actually pay for themselves. Sometimes the transportation department will propose a new $5 million wildlife overpass, and everybody shakes their head about the idea of spending $5 million on helping elk cross a highway. But actually, by preventing all of these really dangerous, expensive crashes with animals and vehicles, these crossings are actually recouping their own construction costs. And that’s a big part of the reason that so many transportation departments around the country are really embracing them. Klimek: What do these crossings look like? Are they similar to what a pedestrian bridge or tunnel would be? Goldfarb: In some ways, yeah. The basic technology isn’t all that different, but you want to make them look like habitat. You want an animal to feel comfortable crossing this novel, weird structure. So typically, the overpasses especially will have shrubs and even whole trees and dirt. And one of the cool things that’s happening now in road ecology is that we’re thinking about different species. It used to be that engineers and biologists were very focused on the big animals, the deer and the elk. And now we’re also thinking, “Well, wait a second, what does a meadow vole or a snake or a lizard need to feel comfortable on these crossings?” You tend to see lots of rock piles and log jams and other little micro-habitat features that might induce an animal to run across. Klimek: Yeah. I know you mentioned deer specifically as one of the major sources of roadkill and accidents. Are there other significant categories of animals that changed their patterns as a result of these crossings being made available? Goldfarb: There are incredibly successful crossings for grizzly bears and pronghorn antelope and salamanders. There have been crossings built for this incredible diversity of species, and they’re really effective. But it’s important to really think about what different species need. For example, the difference between black bears and grizzly bears. Grizzly bears were plains animals who lived out into the prairies. That was where Lewis and Clark saw them in eastern Montana. So they like to be out in the open. They like having a big, open bridge to walk across so they can confront their enemies with their power and speed. Whereas black bears are more forest dwellers and more comfortable in tighter spaces, potentially, and they’re typically happier using smaller underpasses that a grizzly bear would probably avoid. So different species just have different requirements for these crossing structures, and that’s one of the things that road ecologists do, is to think, “OK, in this given place where we want to build one of these crossings, what are the species we have to account for, and how do we account for them in the design of this structure?” Klimek: Salamanders is not one of the species I was picturing as I was reading the excerpt from your book Crossings. So tell us more about that. How do you get a salamander to cross where you want it to cross? Goldfarb: Amphibians, even though they’re small, they’re also migratory. They travel proportionately very large distances, and they’re typically moving between their upland forest habitat, going down to their breeding ponds, and they’re often moving in large numbers on these warm, wet spring nights. The problem is that we tend to build our roads in the same low-lying areas where water collects and amphibians breed. So in many cases, you get these big squishing events of salamanders and frogs and toads and other amphibians. Again, those warm, wet spring nights in the Northeast are just the most dangerous times. Yeah, the phrase “massive squishing event” is actually in a road ecology textbook. Klimek: Oh, wow. Goldfarb: There are a number of great salamander and frog tunnels, these little narrow passages that go under roadways. You could drive over them a thousand times and never know they were there, but they do tend to work really well. Klimek: The roads we drive on every day are only one of Ben’s concerns. Ben recently wrote an article for Smithsonian magazine about roads that have fallen out of use. He says that you can’t just leave an old, decaying road to sit and expect nature to reclaim it. Goldfarb: There’s just this huge road density out there. In some places, there are more roads per square mile in national forests than there are in New York City, which is pretty hard to fathom. And those roads, even though they’re out in the middle of nowhere, they still have a big environmental impact. What my story’s about, in a lot of ways is, OK, what do we do about those impacts? If roads cause problems in these otherwise wild areas, can we eliminate those roads? And that’s what the Forest Service and its many partner organizations are doing in many cases, is getting in there with the same heavy machinery that built the roads—in some cases, the big, yellow Tonka toys—and just tearing that roadbed up and allowing nature to reclaim it. Which is really exciting. Klimek: So generally, if one wants to decommission a road safely with minimal environmental impact, how could that be done? Goldfarb: One of the challenges is that often the soil is really compacted. You’ve got 30 years of big, heavy logging trucks rolling down these dirt roads, and so all of that pressure and weight over time has really compacted the soil. So it’s super-hard for any vegetation to really effectively take root there. What firms that do road decommissioning and the Forest Service does is rip up that roadbed to loosen up the soil, and then you can replant it, and that vegetation will have a much greater chance of success. It’s funny, I visited a lot of these sites where road decommissioning was in progress, and it looks like a war zone. The earth is just ripped up everywhere, and there are saplings lying over the road that they tear up and use to cover the roads so that seedlings and wildflowers and stuff can shelter in the vegetative cover. So the whole thing looks like a tornado went through or something like that. But you come back in 20 years, and it truly looks like a forest. I visited a bunch of sites in Idaho and Montana where roads were decommissioned 20 or 30 years ago, and you truly would have no idea that a road had ever been there, if there wasn’t a scientist telling you so. So it can be pretty inspiring. Klimek: What are the barriers to this always being done in the most conscientious way? Expense? Politics? A combination of factors? Why doesn’t this always happen the way we might wish? Goldfarb: You put your finger on the two big ones. Expense and politics. The expense, the U.S. Forest Service, this giant federal agency that manages something like 190 million acres of American public land, is also the largest road manager in the world, I think. Unbeknownst to most people, the Forest Service has something like 370,000 miles of road. You get to the moon and most of the way back on Forest Service roads. In general, you’re looking at $5,000 to $15,000 per mile of decommissioned road—that tends to add up quickly. The Forest Service is also chronically a funding-challenged agency. So much of its budget goes toward fighting wildfires, and there’s often very little left over for anything else, including road decommissioning. So expense is definitely a big one. And then there’s also, oftentimes the Forest Service proposes closing some roads, and there’s a lot of uproar from locals who don’t want to see those roads taken out of commission. So it can definitely be politically contentious at times. Klimek: To back up a few decades, how did the Forest Service become the keeper of these tens of thousands of miles of road? Goldfarb: Initially, a lot of those roads were built with really good intentions. The Forest Service was created in the early 1900s, and its first generation of rangers basically said, “We have been tasked with stewarding these forests, and we need roads to do that. We need to be able to fight fires and to remove trees that have been killed by beetles and keep an eye on the elk population. We need these roads to manage this land.” That was where a lot of those early roads came from, I would say. And then in the 1950s, after World War II, there was this huge economic boom, a lot of home construction going on. And a lot of the private timber lands in America had been clear-cut already, and those national forests were the site of all of this industrial logging. And suddenly those early roads, those Forest Service roads, became the basis for this vast new network of logging roads. And in many cases, it was these private timber companies that the Forest Service was effectively paying to build logging roads on public land. And so that’s where, when we talk about forests that have higher road densities than New York City, what we’re talking about are these incredibly dense networks of logging roads. One biologist told me that you go to some forests and it looks like the loggers must have driven to every single tree, because the roads are just so thick. And it’s actually very poignant to read the journals and memoirs of some of these early Forest Service rangers, as I did, because they talk about the pain of seeing these forests that they love just totally overrun with roads that they helped facilitate. Klimek: Here’s the good news: Ben says there’s a lot of cause for optimism right now. Goldfarb: Earlier we were talking about funding being one of the primary limitations for road decommissioning. And now, there’s just a lot more funding available, really thanks to these two giant pieces of legislation passed under the Biden administration, the Bipartisan Infrastructure Act and the Inflation Reduction Act. And both of those giant laws have different pots of money embedded within them that can be used for road decommissioning. In the Infrastructure Act, there’s this thing called the Legacy Roads and Trails Program, which is, basically, $250 million for road restoration and rehabilitation. And then, in the IRA, the Inflation Reduction Act, there’s also all of this money that can be used by the Bureau of Land Management, which is the Forest Service’s sister agency, for road restoration. So there are just these big new pots of money coming online now and being distributed. And everybody I talked to for this story was just really excited about the prospects for road removal in the years ahead. Klimek: That Smithsonian story you wrote was really focused on the removal of forest roads, rural roads, but what about the freeways and roads we were discussing earlier that remain heavily used? Are there ways of reducing the environmental harm that they cause? Goldfarb: Yeah, it’s a great question. I think that one of the exciting things in that bipartisan Infrastructure Act that also has money for road removal, is that it also has $350 million for those new wildlife crossings that we were talking about. Which is easily the largest pot of money for animal passages ever put together. Historically, it’s been the Western states that have built a lot of these animal passages, but now states like Pennsylvania and South Dakota and Nebraska are getting interested. I think that in the next five to ten years, thanks to this big federal grant program, we’re going to have lots more wildlife crossings popping up all over the country. And granted, that’s not going to solve the problem of roads in nature, obviously, but hopefully it’ll at least help to alleviate some of the really negative impacts. Klimek: Smithsonian magazine contributor Ben Goldfarb is the author of Crossings: How Road Ecology Is Shaping the Future of Our Planet. This has been a really illuminating conversation, Ben. Thank you. Goldfarb: Thank you so much, Chris. Yeah, I appreciate your time and interest. Klimek: To read Goldfarb’s latest article in Smithsonian about safely decommissioning roads, and to learn more about how to report roadkill sightings to Shilling’s database at UC Davis, check out the links in our show notes.Klimek: And speaking of Shilling, we couldn’t leave you without sharing one more story from him. We like to end all of our episodes with a “dinner party fact.” This is an anecdote or piece of information to stoke the conversation at your next social gathering. And for me, well, I can’t stop thinking about what Fraser told me about the culinary aspect of his roadkill research. Hold onto your dinners, folks. Shilling: It falls a little bit into that shock jock kind of category of, “Oh, roadkill is so weird. What is that? What are you talking about?” But there’s a huge population of people that do collect and eat animals fresh off the road. I’ve done that. I’ve stopped on the side of I-5, 101, 395, and I have sliced out parts of deer from a fresh carcass and taken them home. Klimek: Don’t knock it until you’ve tried it, I guess. Shilling: Steak in a grocery store or chicken, how many days ago was that thing alive? But I would bet anything that the meat I’m cutting out from inside a deer that was killed a day ago has way less bacteria on it than that steak in a supermarket. Klimek: After the New York Times published an article about his research in 2010, Fraser got an unexpected call. Shilling: A chef in San Francisco called me up and said, “Hey, I do these unique meals for wealthy people, and we want to do a really just incredible dinner made from roadkill. Can I use your system to find out where to get something?” And I thought about it and I said, “Yeah, actually,” because our reporting’s real-time. So I said, “Well, how about this?” I knew he was in San Francisco, “I’m going to look at our system, as soon as something comes in that looks like it was probably fresh, especially if there’s a photograph, I’m going to forward the location to you, and you can just zip out there and go get it.” And he did. He did exactly that, and did a meal of raccoon, which I was kind of surprised about. And rabbit, which makes more sense, based on that data collection. It was not at all legal, but definitely interesting. Klimek: “There’s More to That” is not legal advice, but it is a production of Smithsonian magazine and PRX Productions. From the magazine, our team is me, Debra Rosenberg and Brian Wolly. From PRX, our team is Jessica Miller, Genevieve Sponsler, Adriana Rozas Rivera, Ry Dorsey and Edwin Ochoa. The executive producer of PRX Productions is Jocelyn Gonzales. Our episode artwork is by Emily Lankiewicz. Fact-checking by Stephanie Abramson. Our music is from APM Music. I’m Chris Klimek. Thanks for listening. Get the latest Science stories in your inbox.

Our byways are an unnatural incursion into the natural world, especially when they’re allowed to fall into disuse. Meet a roadkill scientist and a journalist tracking how roads mess with nature—and what we can do about it

Smithmag-Podcast-S02-Ep05-Roads-article.jpg

As highways encroach ever further into animal habitats, drivers and wildlife are in greater danger than ever. And off the beaten path, decaying old forest roads are inflicting damage as well. “Roads are this incredibly disruptive force all over the planet that are truly changing wild animals’ lives and our own lives in almost unfathomable, unaccountable ways,” says science journalist Ben Goldfarb, author of the 2023 book Crossings: How Road Ecology Is Shaping the Future of Our Planet.

Goldfarb wrote about this problem for the March 2024 issue of Smithsonian. For Earth Day, we’ll talk to him about what’s being done to make the relationship between roads and lands more harmonious, and we’ll meet Fraser Shilling—a scientist at the University of California, Davis, who’ll tell us what he’s learned from his rigorous scholarly examination of … roadkill.

A transcript is below. To subscribe to “There’s More to That,” and to listen to past episodes on the devastating effects of wildfires, a NASA mission to capture asteroid dust and the 2024 North American total solar eclipse, find us on Apple Podcasts, Spotify or wherever you get your podcasts.


Chris Klimek: Fraser Shilling was out driving in California one day when he saw something unusual in the road.

Fraser Shilling: There was this brown, fluffy thing, and I thought, “What is that? It’s such a strange-looking animal.”

Klimek: Most people don’t have a habit of stopping to check out roadkill when they see it on the highway, but this is Fraser’s job. He actually studies roadkill. More specifically, he’s the director of the Road Ecology Center at the University of California, Davis.

Shilling: I’ve done some sketchy pullovers on interstates, because if it’s a porcupine, if it’s a bear, I really want to make sure that’s what it is.

Klimek: Road ecology is the study of how roads and highways impact local ecosystems. So, to Fraser, a dead animal in the road is important scientific evidence.

Shilling: I think it’s a really important activity, obviously, and I have to do my part. I can’t just expect other people to collect the data.

Klimek: But on this day in particular, it was a false alarm.

Shilling: And I pulled over, and it was a teddy bear.

Klimek: From Smithsonian magazine and PRX Productions, this is “There’s More to That,” the show that may definitively solve, right here in this episode, why a chicken would want to cross a road. This week, just in time for Earth Day and spring migration season, we’ll learn all about road ecology, what our roads are doing to our ecosystems and how we can fix it. I’m Chris Klimek.


Klimek: One dead squirrel or dead deer in a road might not be that much cause for concern, but if you keep finding dead deer in the same stretch of road, then there’s obviously a problem, both for the deer and for the people that use that road.

Shilling: This has happened to me. I’ve driven around a curve, you don’t have time to stop if you see something around that curve, and I had, in one stretch of Highway 12 in California, three male deer within a mile of each other. They’re just standing in or about to enter the road. Very alarming. I don’t think I would’ve died. I was probably only going 50, but it definitely would’ve been a noticeable impact on my life. But most of the animals are not a safety concern. Most of the animals that are being hit are smaller, like newts. There are places where newts are migrating across roads between where they spend their adult phase and where they’re going to reproduce. They’re just annihilated by traffic.

And some areas, you think, “Well, they’ve always been doing that, so what’s the big deal?” But where it becomes a big deal is that you get fewer and fewer and fewer newts over time. Part of that is just loss from the regular traffic that’s occurring, but also, as you increase traffic, you’re increasing the number of newts that are getting killed, and, eventually, you’re going to wipe out the population. These are real-time ecological disasters, some of them.

Klimek: Do people generally get it, or does it take a bit of explaining for you to say like, “No, this is actually valuable data that we can collect and learn from?”

Shilling: Well, at the beginning, as you might imagine, there were people trying to be funny, ways of asking questions. I had a SiriusXM station interview, probably the weirdest media discussion about roadkill that I’ve had. But it was interesting. You’ve got these shock jocks, initially they were making fun of it, but then they started to get into it.


Ben Goldfarb: There are just so many different ways in which our transportation infrastructure disrupts animal lives.

Klimek: Ben Goldfarb is the author of an acclaimed book called Crossings: How Road Ecology Is Shaping the Future of Our Planet.

Goldfarb: The dead deer or raccoon or squirrel we’ve all seen by the side of the road, that’s just the tip of the iceberg. Roads are this incredibly disruptive force all over the planet that are truly changing wild animals’ lives and our own lives in almost unfathomable, unaccountable ways.

Generally, roads are enormous sources of pollution, right? Our cars are constantly bleeding cadmium and copper and zinc and microplastics. One of the big issues that scientists have only recently discovered is that tire particles are a huge problem. I think there’s something like 6 million tons of tire particles that enter the environment every year, and they contain this chemical called 6PPD, which kills salmon in huge numbers.

Another big issue is invasive species. In Oregon, there’s a fungus that actually rides in truck tire treads and gets dispersed up the road network that way and kills trees. There’s all kinds of novel agents, both chemical and biological, that are using these roads to spread through our forests.

Klimek: These particularly toxic roads, are they concentrated in a few geographic areas, or are they dispersed all over?

Goldfarb: I think it’s a pretty widespread problem, but road salt, which is in some ways probably the most transformative, consequential pollutant along our road networks, and obviously that’s something that we use as a de-icing chemical. So that’s really a Northern issue. I think Minnesota is the most profligate user of de-icing salt, and that’s turning all of these freshwater rivers and lakes and streams into functionally brackish estuaries. There are some cases where ocean crabs have entered these freshwater ecosystems, because that’s just how salty they’ve gotten.

And then, another big issue, too, is that: Look, animals like salt. If you’ve got these salty roadsides and you’re luring all of these deer and moose and other critters to the roadside, well that’s also a huge roadkill issue.

Klimek: Are there other de-icing agents available that don’t have such severe consequences for the environment?

Goldfarb: Beet juice has been used in some places. It doesn’t smell great, so it hasn’t really caught on, and it’s also a little bit eerie to see bright red bloody-looking roads that are covered in beet juice. So the quest for a universally beloved, non-salt de-icer continues.

Klimek: Yeah. On the beet juice note, I do use a citrus-based chain degreaser on my bicycle. It’s ground up orange peels or something that they claim is eco-friendly and as effective as any artificial chemical. So I hope that’s right.

Goldfarb: Well, the fact that you’re getting around via bicycle, that’s a big win right there. So, Chris, you’re doing pretty good, man.

Klimek: Is there any way in which our roads are a good thing for animals?

Goldfarb: It depends who you are, right? The scavengers, for example, the turkey vultures or the coyotes that use roadkill as this resource, essentially. Or think about the Midwest, we’ve turned all of the landscape into corn and soy monoculture, and some of the only strips of native prairie vegetation remaining are those roadsides and road medians that end up being pretty good habitat for animals like monarch butterflies. Roads are ultimately ecosystems in their own right, and every ecosystem has winners and losers.

Klimek: Yeah. You opened the door to this a little bit when you mentioned de-icing salt, but how do roads alter biodiversity more broadly than just animals being struck by cars?

Goldfarb: I think a lot about that barrier effect. These walls of traffic that animals don’t even attempt to cross in many places. Lots of big interstate highways actually have very little roadkill, because animals never even try to cross the highway. And yet, they’re having enormous impacts on wildlife distribution. You end up, in some cases, with very inbred populations. Famously, in Southern California, there’s this cluster of mountain lions living near Los Angeles surrounded by freeways. And those animals have ended up having to mate with their own daughters and granddaughters and even great-granddaughters because they just can’t cross the highway to escape this little island of habitat, and no new animals can cross to enter the population.

So even without killing animals directly, these roads are dramatically changing their lives and influencing where they can live and who they can mate with.

Klimek: So, conversely, how are humans impacted by animals in the roadway?

Goldfarb: Roadkill is a really dangerous event for drivers as well as for animals. There are up to 2 million large animal crashes in this country every year, most of them with white-tailed deer, and several hundred drivers die in those incidents. And road collisions with animals are costing society more than $8 billion every year, in vehicle repairs and hospital bills and tow trucks and so on. This epidemic of wildlife-vehicle collisions is a human public health and safety crisis, in a lot of ways.

Klimek: Are there other ways in which animals have adapted to this influx of road construction?

Goldfarb: Certainly animals have ingenious strategies for living alongside all of this infrastructure. In Chicago, there’s this very famous population of urban coyotes that looks both ways and crosses at the crosswalks. They’re very intelligent animals.

There are even cases of evolution that have occurred due to road construction. There’s a very famous example in Nebraska where cliff swallows, which are those birds who build their little mud nests on highway overpasses and bridges, they’ve actually evolved over time to have shorter wings. Because if you have a long wing as a bird, that’s good for flying long, straight directions, whereas having a short wing is good for maneuverability and making lots of tight rolls and turns to avoid an 18-wheeler. The long-wing swallows have gotten weeded from the population by roadkill, and the shorter-wing swallows remain, and now the whole population is becoming less susceptible to roadkill.

That’s just incredible to think about, right? That evolution is usually this process that unfolds over the course of thousands or millions of years, but roads and cars are such a powerful selective pressure that they’re literally driving evolution in a matter of decades.

Klimek: Have road construction techniques evolved over the decades? Are we building them in a more eco-conscious way now or not so much?

Goldfarb: It is true that roads are one of the technologies that are least amenable to disruption. One thing we’ve become much more cognizant of, and better about, is the need to build wildlife crossings: overpasses and underpasses and tunnels that allow animals to safely cross highways. And, typically, whenever there’s a big highway modification or expansion, they’ll include some wildlife crossings. We’ve got the equipment out there already—let’s just put it in a tunnel or something like that to facilitate animal movements.

Klimek: And from what we’ve seen, do animals use these crossings when we build them? Do they figure out that’s a safer way to get across the eight lanes or however many there are?

Goldfarb: Absolutely. Yeah, crossings are extremely effective. Typically, they reduce vehicle collisions by 90 percent or so, in part because, typically, you’ve got a crossing and then you’ve got roadside fences that funnel the animals to the crossings and allow them to safely cross the highway. So there’s lots of research showing that animals definitely use these things.

And in many cases, they actually pay for themselves. Sometimes the transportation department will propose a new $5 million wildlife overpass, and everybody shakes their head about the idea of spending $5 million on helping elk cross a highway. But actually, by preventing all of these really dangerous, expensive crashes with animals and vehicles, these crossings are actually recouping their own construction costs. And that’s a big part of the reason that so many transportation departments around the country are really embracing them.

Klimek: What do these crossings look like? Are they similar to what a pedestrian bridge or tunnel would be?

Goldfarb: In some ways, yeah. The basic technology isn’t all that different, but you want to make them look like habitat. You want an animal to feel comfortable crossing this novel, weird structure. So typically, the overpasses especially will have shrubs and even whole trees and dirt.

And one of the cool things that’s happening now in road ecology is that we’re thinking about different species. It used to be that engineers and biologists were very focused on the big animals, the deer and the elk. And now we’re also thinking, “Well, wait a second, what does a meadow vole or a snake or a lizard need to feel comfortable on these crossings?” You tend to see lots of rock piles and log jams and other little micro-habitat features that might induce an animal to run across.

Klimek: Yeah. I know you mentioned deer specifically as one of the major sources of roadkill and accidents. Are there other significant categories of animals that changed their patterns as a result of these crossings being made available?

Goldfarb: There are incredibly successful crossings for grizzly bears and pronghorn antelope and salamanders. There have been crossings built for this incredible diversity of species, and they’re really effective. But it’s important to really think about what different species need.

For example, the difference between black bears and grizzly bears. Grizzly bears were plains animals who lived out into the prairies. That was where Lewis and Clark saw them in eastern Montana. So they like to be out in the open. They like having a big, open bridge to walk across so they can confront their enemies with their power and speed. Whereas black bears are more forest dwellers and more comfortable in tighter spaces, potentially, and they’re typically happier using smaller underpasses that a grizzly bear would probably avoid.

So different species just have different requirements for these crossing structures, and that’s one of the things that road ecologists do, is to think, “OK, in this given place where we want to build one of these crossings, what are the species we have to account for, and how do we account for them in the design of this structure?”

Klimek: Salamanders is not one of the species I was picturing as I was reading the excerpt from your book Crossings. So tell us more about that. How do you get a salamander to cross where you want it to cross?

Goldfarb: Amphibians, even though they’re small, they’re also migratory. They travel proportionately very large distances, and they’re typically moving between their upland forest habitat, going down to their breeding ponds, and they’re often moving in large numbers on these warm, wet spring nights. The problem is that we tend to build our roads in the same low-lying areas where water collects and amphibians breed. So in many cases, you get these big squishing events of salamanders and frogs and toads and other amphibians. Again, those warm, wet spring nights in the Northeast are just the most dangerous times. Yeah, the phrase “massive squishing event” is actually in a road ecology textbook.

Klimek: Oh, wow.

Goldfarb: There are a number of great salamander and frog tunnels, these little narrow passages that go under roadways. You could drive over them a thousand times and never know they were there, but they do tend to work really well.

Klimek: The roads we drive on every day are only one of Ben’s concerns. Ben recently wrote an article for Smithsonian magazine about roads that have fallen out of use. He says that you can’t just leave an old, decaying road to sit and expect nature to reclaim it.

Goldfarb: There’s just this huge road density out there. In some places, there are more roads per square mile in national forests than there are in New York City, which is pretty hard to fathom. And those roads, even though they’re out in the middle of nowhere, they still have a big environmental impact.

What my story’s about, in a lot of ways is, OK, what do we do about those impacts? If roads cause problems in these otherwise wild areas, can we eliminate those roads? And that’s what the Forest Service and its many partner organizations are doing in many cases, is getting in there with the same heavy machinery that built the roads—in some cases, the big, yellow Tonka toys—and just tearing that roadbed up and allowing nature to reclaim it. Which is really exciting.

Klimek: So generally, if one wants to decommission a road safely with minimal environmental impact, how could that be done?

Goldfarb: One of the challenges is that often the soil is really compacted. You’ve got 30 years of big, heavy logging trucks rolling down these dirt roads, and so all of that pressure and weight over time has really compacted the soil. So it’s super-hard for any vegetation to really effectively take root there. What firms that do road decommissioning and the Forest Service does is rip up that roadbed to loosen up the soil, and then you can replant it, and that vegetation will have a much greater chance of success.

It’s funny, I visited a lot of these sites where road decommissioning was in progress, and it looks like a war zone. The earth is just ripped up everywhere, and there are saplings lying over the road that they tear up and use to cover the roads so that seedlings and wildflowers and stuff can shelter in the vegetative cover. So the whole thing looks like a tornado went through or something like that.

But you come back in 20 years, and it truly looks like a forest. I visited a bunch of sites in Idaho and Montana where roads were decommissioned 20 or 30 years ago, and you truly would have no idea that a road had ever been there, if there wasn’t a scientist telling you so. So it can be pretty inspiring.

Klimek: What are the barriers to this always being done in the most conscientious way? Expense? Politics? A combination of factors? Why doesn’t this always happen the way we might wish?

Goldfarb: You put your finger on the two big ones. Expense and politics. The expense, the U.S. Forest Service, this giant federal agency that manages something like 190 million acres of American public land, is also the largest road manager in the world, I think. Unbeknownst to most people, the Forest Service has something like 370,000 miles of road. You get to the moon and most of the way back on Forest Service roads.

In general, you’re looking at $5,000 to $15,000 per mile of decommissioned road—that tends to add up quickly. The Forest Service is also chronically a funding-challenged agency. So much of its budget goes toward fighting wildfires, and there’s often very little left over for anything else, including road decommissioning. So expense is definitely a big one.

And then there’s also, oftentimes the Forest Service proposes closing some roads, and there’s a lot of uproar from locals who don’t want to see those roads taken out of commission. So it can definitely be politically contentious at times.

Klimek: To back up a few decades, how did the Forest Service become the keeper of these tens of thousands of miles of road?

Goldfarb: Initially, a lot of those roads were built with really good intentions. The Forest Service was created in the early 1900s, and its first generation of rangers basically said, “We have been tasked with stewarding these forests, and we need roads to do that. We need to be able to fight fires and to remove trees that have been killed by beetles and keep an eye on the elk population. We need these roads to manage this land.” That was where a lot of those early roads came from, I would say.

And then in the 1950s, after World War II, there was this huge economic boom, a lot of home construction going on. And a lot of the private timber lands in America had been clear-cut already, and those national forests were the site of all of this industrial logging. And suddenly those early roads, those Forest Service roads, became the basis for this vast new network of logging roads. And in many cases, it was these private timber companies that the Forest Service was effectively paying to build logging roads on public land.

And so that’s where, when we talk about forests that have higher road densities than New York City, what we’re talking about are these incredibly dense networks of logging roads. One biologist told me that you go to some forests and it looks like the loggers must have driven to every single tree, because the roads are just so thick. And it’s actually very poignant to read the journals and memoirs of some of these early Forest Service rangers, as I did, because they talk about the pain of seeing these forests that they love just totally overrun with roads that they helped facilitate.

Klimek: Here’s the good news: Ben says there’s a lot of cause for optimism right now.

Goldfarb: Earlier we were talking about funding being one of the primary limitations for road decommissioning. And now, there’s just a lot more funding available, really thanks to these two giant pieces of legislation passed under the Biden administration, the Bipartisan Infrastructure Act and the Inflation Reduction Act. And both of those giant laws have different pots of money embedded within them that can be used for road decommissioning.

In the Infrastructure Act, there’s this thing called the Legacy Roads and Trails Program, which is, basically, $250 million for road restoration and rehabilitation. And then, in the IRA, the Inflation Reduction Act, there’s also all of this money that can be used by the Bureau of Land Management, which is the Forest Service’s sister agency, for road restoration. So there are just these big new pots of money coming online now and being distributed. And everybody I talked to for this story was just really excited about the prospects for road removal in the years ahead.

Klimek: That Smithsonian story you wrote was really focused on the removal of forest roads, rural roads, but what about the freeways and roads we were discussing earlier that remain heavily used? Are there ways of reducing the environmental harm that they cause?

Goldfarb: Yeah, it’s a great question. I think that one of the exciting things in that bipartisan Infrastructure Act that also has money for road removal, is that it also has $350 million for those new wildlife crossings that we were talking about. Which is easily the largest pot of money for animal passages ever put together. Historically, it’s been the Western states that have built a lot of these animal passages, but now states like Pennsylvania and South Dakota and Nebraska are getting interested.

I think that in the next five to ten years, thanks to this big federal grant program, we’re going to have lots more wildlife crossings popping up all over the country. And granted, that’s not going to solve the problem of roads in nature, obviously, but hopefully it’ll at least help to alleviate some of the really negative impacts.

Klimek: Smithsonian magazine contributor Ben Goldfarb is the author of Crossings: How Road Ecology Is Shaping the Future of Our Planet. This has been a really illuminating conversation, Ben. Thank you.

Goldfarb: Thank you so much, Chris. Yeah, I appreciate your time and interest.

Klimek: To read Goldfarb’s latest article in Smithsonian about safely decommissioning roads, and to learn more about how to report roadkill sightings to Shilling’s database at UC Davis, check out the links in our show notes.


Klimek: And speaking of Shilling, we couldn’t leave you without sharing one more story from him. We like to end all of our episodes with a “dinner party fact.” This is an anecdote or piece of information to stoke the conversation at your next social gathering. And for me, well, I can’t stop thinking about what Fraser told me about the culinary aspect of his roadkill research. Hold onto your dinners, folks.

Shilling: It falls a little bit into that shock jock kind of category of, “Oh, roadkill is so weird. What is that? What are you talking about?” But there’s a huge population of people that do collect and eat animals fresh off the road. I’ve done that. I’ve stopped on the side of I-5, 101, 395, and I have sliced out parts of deer from a fresh carcass and taken them home.

Klimek: Don’t knock it until you’ve tried it, I guess.

Shilling: Steak in a grocery store or chicken, how many days ago was that thing alive? But I would bet anything that the meat I’m cutting out from inside a deer that was killed a day ago has way less bacteria on it than that steak in a supermarket.

Klimek: After the New York Times published an article about his research in 2010, Fraser got an unexpected call.

Shilling: A chef in San Francisco called me up and said, “Hey, I do these unique meals for wealthy people, and we want to do a really just incredible dinner made from roadkill. Can I use your system to find out where to get something?” And I thought about it and I said, “Yeah, actually,” because our reporting’s real-time. So I said, “Well, how about this?” I knew he was in San Francisco, “I’m going to look at our system, as soon as something comes in that looks like it was probably fresh, especially if there’s a photograph, I’m going to forward the location to you, and you can just zip out there and go get it.”

And he did. He did exactly that, and did a meal of raccoon, which I was kind of surprised about. And rabbit, which makes more sense, based on that data collection. It was not at all legal, but definitely interesting.

Klimek: “There’s More to That” is not legal advice, but it is a production of Smithsonian magazine and PRX Productions. From the magazine, our team is me, Debra Rosenberg and Brian Wolly. From PRX, our team is Jessica Miller, Genevieve Sponsler, Adriana Rozas Rivera, Ry Dorsey and Edwin Ochoa. The executive producer of PRX Productions is Jocelyn Gonzales. Our episode artwork is by Emily Lankiewicz. Fact-checking by Stephanie Abramson. Our music is from APM Music.

I’m Chris Klimek. Thanks for listening.

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‘Forever chemicals’ contaminate more dolphins and whales than we thought – new research

The sex and age of an animal turn out to be stronger predictors than habitat for higher PFAS levels, suggesting they accumulate over a lifetime.

Getty ImagesNowhere in the ocean is now left untouched by a type of “forever chemicals” called “per- and polyfluoroalkyl substances”, known simply as PFAS. Our new research shows PFAS contaminate a far wider range of whales and dolphins than previously thought, including deep-diving species that live well beyond areas of human activity. But most surprising of all, where an animal lives does not predict its exposure. Instead, sex and age are stronger predictors of how much of these pollutants a whale or dolphin accumulates in its body. This means chemical pollution is more persistent and entrenched in ocean food webs than we realised, affecting everything from endangered coastal Māui dolphins to deep-diving beaked and sperm whales. This graphic shows that PFAS contamination affects a range of marine mammals, from nearshore dolphins to deep-diving predators. Science of the Total Environment, CC BY-ND PFAS were originally designed to make everyday products more convenient, but they have ultimately become a widespread environmental and public health concern. Our work provides stark evidence that no part of the ocean is now beyond the reach of human pollution. What are PFAS, and why are they a problem? PFAS are a group of more than 14,000 synthetic chemicals that have been used since the 1950s in a wide range of everyday products. This includes non-stick cookware, food packaging, cleaning products, waterproof clothing, firefighting foams and even cosmetics. Many everyday products contain PFAS. Author provided, CC BY-SA They’re known as forever chemicals because they don’t break down naturally. Instead, they travel through air and water, eventually reaching their final destination: the ocean. There, PFAS percolate through seawater and sediments and enter the food web, taken up by animals through their diet. Once inside an animal, PFAS can attach to proteins and accumulate in the blood and organs such as the liver, where they can disrupt hormones, immune function and reproduction. Like humans, whales and dolphins sit high in the food web, which makes them especially vulnerable to building up these pollutants over their lifetime. Whales and dolphins are the ocean’s canaries Marine mammals are an early warning system of the ocean. Because they are large predators with long lifespans, their health reflects what’s happening in the wider ecosystem, including risks that can affect people, too. This idea is at the heart of the OneHealth concept, which links environmental, animal and human health. New Zealand is one of the best places in the world to study human impacts in a OneHealth framework. More than half of the world’s toothed whales and dolphins (odontocetes) occur here, making Aotearoa a rare hotspot for marine mammals and an ideal place to assess how deeply PFAS have entered ocean food webs. We analysed liver samples from 127 stranded whales and dolphins, covering 16 species across four families, from coastal bottlenose dolphins to deep-diving beaked whales. For eight of these species, including Hector’s dolphins and three beaked whale species, this was the first time PFAS had ever been measured globally. PFAS contamination is an additional stress factor for Hector’s dolphins, which are endemic to New Zealand and already threatened. Getty Images We expected coastal species living closer to pollution sources to show the highest contamination, with deep-ocean species being much less exposed. However, our results told a different story. Habitat played only a minor role in predicting PFAS levels. Some deep-diving species had PFAS concentrations comparable to (or even higher than) coastal animals. It turns out biology matters more than habitat. Older, larger animals had higher PFAS levels, indicating they accumulate these chemicals over time. Males also tended to have higher burdens than females, consistent with mothers transferring PFAS to their calves during pregnancy and lactation. These patterns were consistent across all major types of PFAS chemicals. Why this matters Our findings show PFAS contamination has now entered every layer of the marine food web, affecting everything from nearshore dolphins to deep-diving predators. While diet is a major exposure pathway, animals could also be absorbing PFAS through other mechanisms, including potentially their skin. PFAS may further interact with other stressors, including climate change, shifting prey availability and disease, adding further pressure to species already under threat. Knowing that PFAS are present across different habitats and species raises urgent questions about their health impacts. Are these chemicals already affecting populations? Could PFAS contamination weaken immunity and increase disease risk in vulnerable species, such as Māui dolphins? Understanding how PFAS exposure affects reproduction, immunity and resilience to environmental pressures is now central to predicting whether species already under threat can withstand accelerating environmental change. Even the most remote whales carry high PFAS loads and we know humans are not isolated from these contaminations either. Answering these questions is not optional but essential if we want to protect both marine wildlife and the oceans we all depend on. The research was a trans-Tasman collaboration which also included Gabriel Machovsky at Massey University, Louis Tremblay at the Bioeconomy Science Institute and Shan Yi at the University of Auckland. Frédérik Saltré receives funding from the Australian Research Council.Emma Betty, Karen A Stockin, and Katharina J. Peters do not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organisation that would benefit from this article, and have disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.

Watch a Wolf Cleverly Raid a Crab Trap for a Snack. It Might Be the First Evidence of a Wild Canid Using a Tool

Footage from British Columbia shows just how intelligent wild wolves can be, but scientists are divided as to whether the behavior constitutes tool use

Watch a Wolf Cleverly Raid a Crab Trap for a Snack. It Might Be the First Evidence of a Wild Canid Using a Tool Footage from British Columbia shows just how intelligent wild wolves can be, but scientists are divided as to whether the behavior constitutes tool use Sarah Kuta - Daily Correspondent November 19, 2025 11:53 a.m. Members of the Haíɫzaqv (Heiltsuk) Nation caught the crafty female wolf on camera. Artelle et al. / Ecology and Evolution, 2025 Key takeaways: A dispute over tool use A female wolf figured out how to pull a crab trap from the ocean onto shore to fetch a tasty treat. Scientists debate whether the behavior represents tool use, or if the animal needed to have modified the object for it to count. Something strange began happening on the coast of British Columbia, Canada, in 2023. Traps set by members of the Haíɫzaqv (Heiltsuk) Nation to control invasive European green crabs kept getting damaged. Some had mangled bait cups or torn netting, but others were totally destroyed. But who—or what—was the culprit? Initially, the Indigenous community’s environmental wardens, called Guardians, suspected sea lions, seals or otters were to blame. But only after setting up several remote cameras in the area did they catch a glimpse of the true perpetrators: gray wolves. On May 29, 2024, one of the cameras recorded a female wolf emerging from the water with a buoy attached to a crab trap line in her mouth. Slowly but confidently, she tugged the line onto the beach until she’d managed to haul in the trap. Then, she tore open the bottom netting, removed the bait cup, had a snack and trotted off. Now, scientists say the incident—and another involving a different wolf in 2025—could represent the first evidence of tool use by wild wolves. They describe the behavior and lay out their conclusions in a new paper published November 17 in the journal Ecology and Evolution. This wolf has a unique way of finding food | Science News “You normally picture a human being with two hands pulling a crab trap,” says William Housty, a Haíɫzaqv hereditary chief and the director of the Heiltsuk Integrated Resource Management Department, to Global News’ Amy Judd and Aaron McArthur. “But we couldn’t figure out exactly what had the ability to be able to do that until we put a camera up and saw, well, there’s other intelligent beings out there that are able to do this, which is very remarkable.” Members of the Haíɫzaqv Nation weren’t surprised by the wolves’ cleverness, as they have long considered the animals to be smart. That view has largely been shaped by the community’s oral history, which tells of a woman named C̓úṃqḷaqs who birthed four individuals who could shape-shift between humans and wolves, reports Science News’ Elie Dolgin. Scientists weren’t shocked, either, as they have long understood that wolves are intelligent, social creatures that often cooperate to take down their prey. People aren’t sure how the wolves figured out the crafty crab trap trick. The animals may have learned by watching Haíɫzaqv Guardians pull up the traps, or their keen sense of smell may have helped them sniff out the herring and sea lion bait inside. Or perhaps they started with traps that were more easily accessible, before moving on to more challenging targets submerged in deep water. Wolves are also largely protected in Haíɫzaqv territory, which may have given them the time and energy they needed to learn a new, complex behavior, reports the Washington Post’s Dino Grandoni. Whatever the explanation, experts are divided as to whether the behavior technically constitutes nonhuman tool use, which has been previously documented in crows, elephants, dolphins and several other species. The debate stems mostly from varying definitions of tool use. Under one definition, animals can’t simply use an external object to achieve a specific goal—the creature must also manipulate the object in some way, like a crow transforming a tree branch into a hooked tool for grabbing hidden insects. Against this backdrop, some researchers say the wolves’ behavior represents object use, not tool use. However, some of the disagreement may also be rooted in bias. “For better or for worse, as humans, we tend to afford more care and compassion to other people or other species that we see most like us,” says study co-author Kyle Artelle, an ecologist with the State University of New York College of Environmental Science and Forestry, to the Washington Post. Marc Bekoff, a biologist at the University of Colorado Boulder who was not involved with the research, echoes that sentiment, telling Science’s Phie Jacobs that “if this had been a chimpanzee or other nonhuman primate, I’m sure no one would have blinked about whether this was tool use.” Regardless, scientists say the footage suggests wild wolves are even smarter than initially thought. In less than three minutes, the female efficiently and purposefully executed a complicated sequence of events to achieve a specific goal. She appeared to know that the trap contained food, even though it was hidden underwater, and she seemed to understand exactly which steps she needed to take to access that food. Tool use or not, the findings point to “another species with complex sociality [that] is capable of innovation and problem solving,” says Susana Carvalho, a primatologist and paleoanthropologist at Gorongosa National Park in Mozambique who was not involved with the research, to the New York Times’ Lesley Evans Ogden. Get the latest stories in your inbox every weekday.

What Catastrophes Get Our Attention, and Why It Matters

When catastrophe becomes celebrity, we stop witnessing and start scrolling, turning suffering into spectacle. But we can break that cycle. The post What Catastrophes Get Our Attention, and Why It Matters appeared first on The Revelator.

Another environmental catastrophe season brought destruction and death to North America this summer. Amid extreme heatwaves and weather, fires raged in northern and western Canada. In Manitoba alone more than 28,000 people, largely rural or Indigenous, were evacuated from their homes. At the same time, floods washed out Hill Country in Texas when the Guadalupe River rapidly overflowed its banks, killing at least 135 people. Similar events could go on indefinitely. Chances are you’ve seen news reports about these disasters, or others like them, but this isn’t just the stuff of headlines. Fires and floods make news because they grab attention, unlike the daily realities of the economically depressed rural and Indigenous communities they often hit so hard. This is the strange logic of catastrophe in the digital age: Some crises become “celebrity” catastrophes while others remain “commonplace,” meaning they’re normalized and invisible on an ongoing basis. Who gets our attention — and who doesn’t — isn’t random. It reveals the value systems we’ve internalized and the limits of the stories we tell ourselves about suffering and survival, and in turn those that invite responsibility. The real currency of the 21st century is attention. And most people, if they’re going to pay attention, want something spectacular: an event worth watching. When Tragedy Turns to Spectacle Our engagement with this reality came from a course we taught at the University of British Columbia on the role of language in shaping environmental behaviors. What started as classroom conversations over a few years eventually evolved into our forthcoming book, Becoming Ecological: Navigating Language and Meaning for Our Planet’s Future, as a way to continue this conversation in public. In characterizing different discourses we’ve been exposed to (and been a part of), we noticed trends in global reporting of catastrophic events. That reporting tends to emphasize spectacular events over those that are just as detrimental, if not more, but occur over longer periods of time without affecting highly visible populations — particularly visible in terms of people who attract mainstream media notice. Our aim is not so much to critique the ways certain types of media function, from traditional broadcasters to social news like TikTok, but to look at how meaning is made and conveyed as catastrophe stories. The ways in which meanings are socially constructed shape what people believe, how they act and interact, and create possibilities to nurture more broadly relational understandings of our roles and responsibilities on and for Earth. They can also hinder or inhibit other possibilities. The systems of language and environment are intricately interconnected. We find it useful to speak of catastrophe by using the term polycrisis — the overlaying of multiple crises where a breakdown in one system leads to cascading effects, causing reverberations through climatic, biological, social, economic, political, scientific, temporal (and so on) systems. The problem with catastrophe in contemporary environmental discourse is that the original meaning, the gravity of this word in ancient Greek — katastrophē, or sudden end — is completely lost. Catastrophe now is characterized as being visually spectacular, rooted in the notion of spectacle, making it newsworthy. To put it crudely, tragedy comes with a photo op or not at all. Yet catastrophe originally implied the point at which fate and destiny are sealed. All hope is lost. No Hollywood ending. Greek tragic theatre made the pain of such a loss accessible safely; it had the effect of making audiences appreciate their existence and work to prevent such events from happening. Today we’re saturated with an unending stream of high-profile catastrophes. They’ve gone from occasional newsworthy stories to a regular feature. But the truth is environmental catastrophe discourse at present has very little in common with ancient Greek theatre. Catastrophe isn’t witnessed as a universal condition. It’s more like getting voted out of a reality TV competition, with winners and losers. It signifies a form of virtual entertainment. It’s a money genre in the economy of attention. What Makes a Catastrophe ‘Go Viral’? Celebrity catastrophes, as we’ve come to call them, are disasters that strike at the right time, in the right place, and often to the “right” people — like the Los Angeles wildfires, which literally affected celebrities, among others, or the floods in Spain. They tend to be sudden and extreme, making them photogenic and emotionally gripping. There’s often an implicit narrative arc involving villains, victims, and often a final resolution or judgment; celebrity catastrophes provide an overabundance of social platforms to spread the story. But what about commonplace catastrophes? These are the slow, grinding emergencies — some might even say boring, meaning people won’t pay attention. In other words, they won’t pay for the attention. Such emergencies might include boil water advisories for rural communities off the grid that stretch into decades, the rising tide of the urban unhoused, lack of accessible healthcare for generations, or the multigenerational trauma of environmental injustice in poorer communities. These quotidian catastrophes don’t trend on social media. They rarely get press briefings in broadcast media. They certainly don’t receive attention from political figures. And yet they shape the lives of millions every day. Beyond being a digital communication problem, it’s also a societal pattern. As environmental educators, we see it in our classrooms often, where students feel despair over ecological collapse but struggle to connect that grief to local issues like energy poverty, food shortages, or environmental racism. It’s as though they understand tragedy, but catastrophe means its hopeless. But if they give up hope, then there’s no motivation other than individualistic ones, a competitive endgame everyone winds up losing. Without hope for the next generation, another turn of civilization’s wheel. There’s nothing they can do but watch catastrophes happen, transfixed by impending fate. That’s what’s selling. The problem isn’t apathy or lack of education. It’s attention. There’s simply too much on the celebrity catastrophes and not enough on the commonplace world they inhabit every day. The Ecology of Attention We often talk about ecosystems in scientific terms of carbon, water, species, and so forth. But attention is an ecosystem too. And like all ecosystems, it can be thrown out of balance. In a healthy attention economy, we would recognize and respond to both sudden shocks and slow harms. We could hold space for grief, not just in the wake of a celebrity wildfire in Maui but in response to ongoing loss — such as land, language, or life — in communities displaced by extractive industries. But right now our attention is hyper-curated. We’re all being filtered by algorithms in our social media feeds, Spotify playlists, or Google searches, among many other aspects of our daily lives, and this influences our political and societal conversations. That warped attention is like water on drought-stricken ground, particularly in how it rushes off quickly, collects in rivers, and overflows. This means that some people must fight for a cup of visibility, while others are flooded with it. It also creates dissonance. Why do we cry over burning vineyards in California but ignore scorched farmlands in Sudan? Why are floodwaters in Germany more moving than footage from Pakistan’s devastating 2022 monsoon season? Our attention has been hyper-curated to look for the extremes and pay (for) attention to the sensationalized events. Disaster as Event There’s a reason why celebrity catastrophes dominate headlines and grab our attention, whether we want it or not. They fit within a monetized logic that values spectacle and saviorism. Disasters become “events” with start and end dates, with heroes and villains, victims and saviors. They can be marked in time, which makes them easier to be marketed. More specifically, they can be monetized, as author Naomi Klein and others have shown. They can sell headlines, influence policy agendas, or affect branded charity campaigns. But commonplace catastrophes resist this framing. There’s no clear starting point to systemic racism or global warming and the cascading effect of “events” reverberates throughout the world. These slow emergencies demand long-term commitment, not quick PR campaigns. They’re part of larger complex of socioecological systems that are often uncontainable, like weather patterns or world hunger. In contrast, becoming more ecologically focused requires that we understand crises as entangled and complex. The flood is not separate from the housing crisis. The wildfire is not separate from extractive economies. Witnessing through this lens challenges us to see the whole picture and act from that place. We’re not suggesting we turn away from the immediate or the dramatic. But keeping up with the latest catastrophic event, and being affected by it, is not enough. It catches us in a loop of mental doomism or constant anxiety, especially when it becomes expected, like a performance — amplified one moment and forgotten the next. The truth is that our attention reveals what we value and what we make time for. And right now, too many people live and die in the fallout of commonplace catastrophes. But there are ways to make the commonplace more important. Witnessing as a Radical Act So how do we begin to rebalance our attention? Something that affects our responses to climate breakdown? One way is through the practice of witnessing. Not just seeing, but being present with, and responding to, what we encounter. Witnessing insists that we don’t turn away from the slow, uncomfortable, or inconvenient. Witnessing brings with it an ongoing responsibility. To bear witness means a duty to speak to what one has witnessed, requiring a different kind of attention. Calls for critical digital literacy are the typical way of addressing this social need to nurture a healthy information intake. But another way is to consider the language we use and how it gets used when we talk about the environment. What stories are being prioritized? Not every catastrophe fits neatly into a sound-bite narrative or a one-liner headline enticing people to click. There’s no easy resolution to poisoned water in Grassy Narrows, how much roadkill happened last night, or positive spins on colonial displacement. But those stories matter, and they need our attention. Language, the fuel of attention, is a powerful site of witnessing. It’s not just a medium of communication. Language is an adaptive, living system. Communication and dialogue are catalysts for ecological transformation. Words evolve, meanings shift, and sometimes, even a single word can carry the weight of an entire worldview. Consider words like “nature” or “climate.” The latter has become a euphemism for a justice movement as much as a science, on the one hand, and a political weapon of division on the other. When we witness deeply, we begin to understand that these so-called “commonplace” events aren’t background noise. And that insight can spark empathy, as well as awareness and action in more profound ways. A Call to Witness The choice isn’t simply between caring about celebrity catastrophes and caring about commonplace ones. It’s about learning to see how they’re connected and how the imbalance of attention itself causes harm. This is a polycrisis in which all the social, linguistic, and ecological systems we rely on are interconnected. Stories must be told even when they’re revealing what Al Gore famously termed an “inconvenient truth” — through them, we begin to see how all facets of our daily lives are interconnected with the sustainability of the planet. And this gives ground to hopefulness, to the sense that what you do and say does matter in the bigger picture. It is the bigger picture, even if there are no film crews and helicopters there to broadcast it, no smart phones to capture and post it within seconds. These actions and the language that promotes them form a periphery around the visible mainstream news. If we look at what’s just outside the camera frame or press release or keynote speech, we see a surrounding discourse, a complex ecosystem of discussion across languages and initiatives that are hidden from regular sight, the actual “movements” of environmentalism. Let’s take an example not from a celebrity catastrophe but from a celebrity event: the COP30 climate summit. Such events, where people tell stories from all over and come together to mobilize global effort toward planetary care, are invaluable for our hope for the future of the species. And yet, some profound ironies exist: To make this happen, we need to facilitate more harmful disruption of natural systems. We also need such events to have celebrity status in order to compete with attention. Ideally, they are exotic and photogenic. COP30 took place this year in Belém, a history-laden freeport town tucked away in the heart of the Brazilian rainforest. To make it easy for attention-grabbing, celebrity global leaders and digital communication to reach the city, government contractors plowed a 13-kilometer road called Avenida Liberdade through protected rainforest. This is land where people and plants and animals coexist and co-depend. The devastation was all in aid of an environmental event that lasted for 11 days (Nov. 10-21). But those jungle-dwelling lives will be affected forever — a prime example of where celebrity meets commonplace. When we’re called to witness the impact on local environments of the attention economy, we start to become aware of how the celebrity and the commonplace are interwoven. We are no longer just spectators of hopeless collapse. As educators we’ve seen what happens when students begin to witness. Not just from a distance, but with proximity and purpose. They stop asking, “Why don’t people care?” and start asking, “What stories do we need to tell?” They begin to name the socioecological systems that make some lives visible and others disposable. In a time of overlapping catastrophes, witnessing isn’t passive. It’s an act of awareness and engagement. And perhaps more importantly, it’s an act of hope, one that integrates the celebrity and commonplace catastrophe in an increasingly unstable world. And sustained witnessing might just be the most radical act we have left. Republish this article for free! Read our reprint policy. Previously in The Revelator The Last Breath of the Himalayas: Can We Stop the Collapse? The post What Catastrophes Get Our Attention, and Why It Matters appeared first on The Revelator.

How little plastic does it take to kill marine animals? Scientists have answers

Ocean plastic kills sea creatures. For the first time, researchers set out to find out how much it takes. The answer: Surprisingly little.

Ocean plastic kills sea creatures. It can obstruct, perforate or twist their airways and gastrointestinal tracts.Now new research shows it takes just 6 pieces of ingested rubber the size of a pencil eraser to kill most sea birds. For marine mammals, 29 pieces of any kind of plastic — hard, soft, rubber or fishing equipment — is often lethal.It’s the first time researchers have quantified how much and what kind of plastic — soft, hard, rubber or fishing debris — is needed to kill a bird, marine mammal or a turtle. “I think the lethal doses that we saw were smaller than I expected,” said Erin Murphy, a researcher with the Ocean Conservancy and the department of ecology and evolution at the University of Toronto.“Seeing the particularly small thresholds for rubber and seabirds, for example, that just six pieces of rubber, each smaller on average than the size of a pea was enough to kill 90% of sea birds that ingested it ... That was particularly surprising to me,” she said.The sea birds were less sensitive to hard plastic: It’d take 25 pieces of the pea-sized hard plastic pieces to ensure a 90% chance of dying. Murphy and her colleagues from the University of Tasmania, in Australia, the Commonwealth Scientific and Industrial Research Organisation, also from Australia, and the Universidade Federal de Alagoas, in Brazil, published their study Monday in the journal Proceedings of the National Academies of Science.For decades, researchers have been documenting death by plastic in marine animals. They have reported it in the gastrointestinal tracts of nearly 1,300 marine species — including every species of sea turtle, and in every family of seabird and marine mammal family.The team analyzed data from 10,412 published necropsies, or animal autopsy reports. Of the animals studied, 1,306 were sea turtles representing all seven species of sea turtles; 1,537 were seabirds representing 57 species; and 7,569 were marine mammals across 31 species. They found that 35% of the dead seabirds, 12% of marine mammals and 47% of sea turtles examined had ingested plastic. Seabirds seemed to be particularly sensitive to rubber. For marine mammals, soft plastics — such as plastic bags — and fishing debris was most harmful. For sea turtles, their kryptonite was hard and soft plastics.“This was severe trauma or damage to the GI tract, or blockage of the stomach or intestines from plastic... and so these were physical harms that you could see, that you could see in the gut of these animals, and that were reported by scientists,” said Murphy describing the reports. The paper did not look at other ways plastic can kill marine animals — strangulation, entanglement and drowning. Nor did it look at malnutrition or toxicity caused by eating plastic.“So, this is likely an underestimate of the impacts of ingestion, and it’s definitely an underestimate of the lethality of plastics more broadly,” said Murphy.Nearly half the animals in their analysis were threatened or endangered species. More than 11 million metric tonnes — or more than 24 billion pounds — of plastic enters the world’s oceans every year, according to several environmental and industry reports. That’s a garbage truck’s worth dumped every minute.According to the United Nations, that number is expected to triple in the next twenty years. “I find this piece a brilliant contribution to the field,” said Greg Merrill, a researcher with the Duke University Marine Lab, who did not participate in the study.“We have thousands of examples of marine animals ingesting plastic debris. But for a number of reasons, eg. lack of data, difficulty of conducting laboratory-based experiments, and ethical considerations, risk assessments are really challenging to conduct,” he said in an email. Such assessments are crucial for actually linking plastic ingestion to mortality, because “once we know some of those thresholds, they can help policy makers make informed decisions,” said Merrill.And that’s what Murphy said she and her co-authors are hoping for: That lawmakers and others can use this information to reduce plastic, by crafting regulations to ban or reduce plastics, such as plastic bag or balloon bans, and encouraging small, local events such as beach clean ups.“The science is clear: We need to reduce the amount of plastic that we’re producing and we need to improve collection and recycling to clean up what’s already out there,” said Murphy. Earlier this year, in internationals talks on limiting plastic pollution, oil and gas producing countries succeeded in preventing language that would reduce the amount of plastics produced.

See how this wolf steals fish, a new discovery of animals using tools

Video from the coast of British Columbia may be the first documented instance of a wild wolf using a tool, according to the researchers who published it on Monday.

The wolf seemed to know exactly what she was doing.She dove into the water, fetched a fishing float and brought it to shore. She then waded back in and tugged on a rope connected to the float. She pulled and backed up, pulled and backed up, until a crab trap emerged. When it was within easy reach, she tore it open and consumed the bait inside.Subscribe for unlimited access to The PostYou can cancel anytime.SubscribeThe scene, caught on camera on the coast of British Columbia in May 2024, may be the first documented instance of a wild wolf using a tool, according to the scientists who published the footage in the journal Ecology and Evolution on Monday.Although the intelligence of wolves is well known, the discovery adds to an expanding list of animals capable of manipulating tools to forage for food, a trait once thought to be unique to humans.“It’s not a surprise they have the capacity to do this,” said Kyle Artelle, an ecologist with the State University of New York College of Environmental Science and Forestry who published the footage. “Yet our jaw dropped when we saw the video.”The discovery also solved a mystery.People of the Heiltsuk Nation in central British Columbia had been puzzled about what was foiling their efforts to capture invasive green crabs along their shores.The crabs are a real problem — they eat through eelgrass that harbors marine life and they devastate the native clam, herring and salmon populations the tribe relies on for food. But the traps people were setting with herring and other bait kept getting damaged. Sometimes, there were just minor tears in the nets. Other times, the entire trap was torn to shreds.Some of the traps were set so deep that, at first, researchers thought the thief must be an otter, seal or other marine mammal. William Housty, director of the Heiltsuk Integrated Resource Management Department, wondered whether tourists were tampering with them. The Heiltsuk Nation worked with Artelle to set up a trail camera to record the perpetrator.A day after the camera was installed, it recorded the female wolf in action.The efficiency with which she snagged the bait — in just three minutes — suggested to Artelle that the animal had done this before.“She’s staring exactly at the trap. Every motion she does is perfectly tailored to getting that trap out as quickly as possible,” said Artelle.In February, the team recorded a second video of a different wolf pulling a line attached to a partially submerged trap. The camera shut off before it could show whether the animal had learned to finish the job and eat the bait. But afterward, two traps were seen on the shore with their bait cups removed.The “weight of evidence,” Artelle said, suggests the female wolf or her full pack are responsible for the pilfering.The tribal territory in British Columbia is a rare place where wolves remain unharassed by hunters, potentially giving them time to learn.“We’ve always maintained a very respectful relationship with the wolves up here in the territory,” Housty said. The oral history of his people, he added, talks of a time when humans and wolves could shape-shift between one another.Researchers have seen tool use in captive canines before. Dingoes, for instance, have been observed opening latches and moving small tables to reach food at a sanctuary in Australia. And pets owners are familiar with the inventiveness of dogs, which can carry hockey pucks in plastic flying discs and move chairs to reach food.Biologists are witnessing more and more animals brandishing tools. Crows maneuver sticks in their beaks to collect grub from crevices. Pandas grab bamboo to scratch their bodies. Octopuses wield the severed tentacles of other animals as makeshift weapons to ward off predators.The wolf video raises a philosophical question: What does it mean to use a tool? Does the animal have to make the tool, as crows do when shortening sticks and peeling off their bark so they fit into crannies? Or can we call an animal a “tool user” if it uses an existing tool, as the wolf did with the rope?“I’m speaking to you on Zoom right now. I did not design this computer. I don’t know how it works, but I’m ‘using’ it, right?” Artelle asked.He said he hopes adding wolves to the list of tool-using animals will prompt some people to see them in a different light — the way public appreciation of chimpanzees grew after Jane Goodall discovered the primates dipping blades of grass into termite mounds to eat the insects.It is “an intelligence that is so familiar to us,” Artelle said. “For better or for worse, as humans, we tend to afford more care and compassion to other people or other species that we see most like us.”

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