Paulo Corti spent two years leaving carcasses out on the landscape of southern Chile to determine the difference between a killer and an opportunist.
The difference is important when tracking the eating habits of pumas, especially when it comes to determining whether they are really killing a given rancher’s livestock or just swooping in to scoop up the remains of sheep that died from some other cause and caching it.
“They can be prosecuted and considered guilty for this mortality,” said Corti, a professor of wildlife management and conservation at the Universidad Austral de Chile.
While people typically don’t consider pumas (Puma concolor) scavengers, these large cats are opportunists as much as they are predators—a chunk of dead meat is a chunk of dead meat. When ranchers blame pumas for killing an animal that they really only scavenged, it can lead to deadly consequences for the predators—in Chile, ranchers will kill pumas in retaliation if they think their livestock is in danger. Scavenging could also lead to misattribution in cases where ranchers are compensated by government programs for livestock depredation.
Corti and his colleagues had been studying scavenger ecology in Torres del Paine National Park, Pali-Aike National Park and sheep ranches nearby the parks in southern Chile as a way of tracking disease in the landscape. In 2023 and 2024, in the southern hemisphere’s late spring, the team placed dozens of sheep carcasses they got from a local slaughterhouse on four ranches. Some of these ranches are massive—one is more than 40,000 hectares. They monitored these carcasses using trail cameras, visiting the sites every day in person as well to monitor what had happened. “It was a lot of work, a lot of walking,” Corti said.
Andean condors often quickly worked on carcasses that research placed. Credit: Project FONDECYT 1230422
The original intention was to monitor how quickly scavengers cleaned up the carcasses. Species like the Patagonian fox (Lycalopex griseus), the Andean fox (Lycalopex culpaeus), the Andean condor (Vultur gryphus) and various raptors routinely stopped by for meals. When condors arrived, it was more like fast food. “When they discover a carcass, it’s gone in half an hour,” Corti said.
But pumas also joined in the buffets—they visited carcasses in 138 separate events.
Hidden evidence
Except for a couple of times, pumas usually weren’t the first to show up—it took them an average of 13 days to first visit a carcass. When the big cats did arrive, other scavengers quickly cut their escape. While the sheep remains were tied down to keep them in front of the trail cameras, the researchers found that in some cases, the carcasses had been wrenched free and moved, often at night or early in the morning. In other cases, they were partially buried in grass and other vegetation.
As mentioned in research published recently in Animal Conservation, a review of the trail cameras revealed that pumas were the culprits in these cases. Three times during the research, pumas cached the carcasses, either in front of the camera or elsewhere. Thirteen times, they moved the carcasses but didn’t cache them.
Pumas in this area are among the largest in the world. “They can reach 90 kilos,” Corti said. Typically, they prey on native guanacos (Lama guanicoe), but on ranches neighboring the national park, ranching often displaces guanacos. “The guanaco is also considered a competitor of the sheep,” Corti said. As a result, if pumas wander too far from the wilder areas, they have been known to prey on livestock—partly because there are not usually many native guanacos around.
But sheep—the main livestock ranchers keep in this area—can die from other causes like disease. Feral or free-ranging dogs are also sometimes at fault. Ranchers keep them to protect the sheep from other predators, but sometimes dogs themselves attack the sheep. In fact, the trail cameras revealed domestic dogs at some of the sheep carcasses.
“People tend to accuse the large predators, but when you check the real data, domestic dogs are responsible for a huge amount of the livestock predation,” Corti said.
If pumas come across these carcasses killed by other creatures, they are likely to take advantage of a free meal.
Ranchers in this part of Chile persecute pumas when they lose animals, but Corti said this research shows that a meal doesn’t always equate to a kill. “If ranchers misinterpret scavenging as depredation, it could inflate perceptions of livestock loss to pumas, exacerbating the perceived conflict and therefore the pressure for implementation of management actions such as lethal control efforts,” Corti and his colleagues said in the paper.
Since pumas occur widely across continental America, Corti said there are implications for the way that puma predation is modeled as well. “[Caching scavenged remains] can happen everywhere in the cougar distribution range,” he said.
As a result, he said that the protocols for determining whether a puma killed a colt, sheep or other livestock should be adjusted, with a better focus on forensics.
Ranchers and wildlife managers also might want to take measures to reduce the likelihood of the big cats scavenging in some cases, thereby lowering the risk of attacks on their livestock. Injecting carcasses with chemicals that induce nausea could be one strategy, he said.
Educating ranchers about puma behavior might also help reduce conflict. And reducing unnecessary persecution of pumas can help these areas maintain a healthier, working ecosystem, Corti said. In southern Chile, for example, they prey on nonnative species like the European hare (Lepus europeus), which eats native plants and has other negative effects on the ecosystem.
“Ranching is important for the economy and for food security,” Corti said. But having a healthy ecosystem is important for livestock as well. “The health of the ecosystem is essential to keep them producing food.”
Three members of The Wildlife Society have been recognized for their dedication to advancing fish and wildlife conservation by the Association of Fish and Wildlife Agencies. Gordon Batcheller received the association’s Lifetime Achievement Award; Tony Wasley received the Stephen Kellert Award; and Collin Gillin received the Special Recognition Award.
Batcheller, the executive secretary of the Northeast Association of Fish and Wildlife Agencies, received the Lifetime Achievement Award for his superb leadership skills that have brought together organizations across the northeast to work for wildlife conservation. Wasley, the president of the Wildlife Management Institute, won the Stephen Kellert Award, which recognizes outstanding service in advancing connections between humans and the natural world. Gillin, state wildlife veterinarian for Oregon, won the Special Recognition Award for his leadership in wildlife health efforts across the state as well as his contributions to growing wildlife health initiatives at association. The award recognizes individuals who have a record of accomplishment within the conservation community and in the advancement of the Association’s work. “The work, dedication and incredible achievements of these long-time TWS members epitomize the mission of TWS,” said TWS CEO Ed Arnett. “Each of these men are paragons in our community.”
The recipients were honored at the association’s annual awards ceremony in Tuscon, Arizona.
Growing up in Edmonton, I’d fall asleep to the sound of coyotes howling just outside my suburb. My dad would sometimes wake my sister and me up in the middle of the night to watch fluttering ribbons of green light cross the sky, interrupted occasionally by swirling purple vortexes. It all seemed, well, pretty average.
But looking back, the vast sky and the nature that surrounded the northern city provided a sense of natural grandeur I wouldn’t have experienced growing up in other areas. The frontier-like quality is one of the things that makes Edmonton unique from many of the cities I’ve been to around the world.
This fall, wildlifers will also get to experience my hometown. The 32nd annual conference of The Wildlife Society will bring wildlife professionals from around the world to meet, network and learn.
A frontier history
Credit: Dusty LeGrande
Before European settlers arrived, Indigenous groups, including the Cree, Nakota Sioux, Ojibwe, Blackfoot, Tsuut’ina, Denesuline, and later, the Métis, used the area.
In 1795, the Hudson’s Bay Company—the oldest corporation in North America, which began primarily as a colonial fur-trading operation—established Fort Edmonton as one of various trading posts on the North Saskatchewan River. It was the westernmost point of the Carlton Trail, a trade route that stretched into central Saskatchewan.
Over the next century, Edmonton could never quite make up its mind. What was called Fort Edmonton was moved five times in the area the metropolitan city now encompasses. Some trade posts were abandoned due to lack of trading success, and flooding destroyed one. One version was eventually reconstructed at Fort Edmonton Park—a “living museum” that sits in an area along the North Saskatchewan where none of the original five forts were likely located.
Today, Edmonton is the northernmost city in the Americas with a metropolitan area of more than 1 million people—in practical terms, this means 1 million hockey fans. The “City of Champions” got that now often-mocked moniker in part from a storied series of Stanley Cup runs in the ’80s led by none other than the Great One—Wayne Gretzky—and Mark Messier.
The Columbia Icefield sits partly in Jasper National Park. Credit: Credit: x70tjw
A hub for travel
As its other—perhaps more recently accurate—moniker suggests, the “Gateway to the North” is still a hub for travel into the northern territories and to the Athabasca oil sands centered around Fort McMurray in northeastern Alberta. However, getting to your destination may mean taking a bush plane, an epic road trip or even a snowmobile jaunt out on the range roads surrounding the suburbs. Edmonton is a jump-off point for the Rocky Mountains, whether that means mountain towns like Banff and Jasper or the massive Columbia Icefield that links them. It’s also the route to see the dark sky preserve and the kind of expansive nature that only Canada can provide in Wood Buffalo National Park, the country’s largest national park.
Jasper National Park is about a four-hour drive from Edmonton. Credit: Andrew Kearns
Banff and Jasper are both about a four-hour drive from Edmonton. In western Canadian terms, that’s close enough that my family would occasionally wake up at 4 a.m. to make it to Lake Louise or Sunshine Village in time for the first chairlift in the winter. Dinosaur National Park and the craggy badland landscapes around Drumheller are a little closer, and camping, hunting and fishing opportunities are everywhere in Alberta.
Elk Island National Park shows its fall colors. Credit: Credit: wapiti8
Closer afield, Elk Island National Park is home to both wood bison and plains bison, as well as moose and its namesake ungulate. The plains bison herd is a textbook example of reintroduction and translocation going back more than a century, when the Canadian government bought hundreds of bison from one of the largest remnant populations in the U.S.—the Pablo-Allard herd in Montana—and shipped them up to Elk Island by train. Elk Island has since returned the favor, shipping hundreds of bison back to Montana care of the Blackfeet Indian Nation and American Prairie Reservation, as well as reintroducing bison a little closer by to Banff National Park. In 1965, Elk Island also introduced a small wood bison population taken from animals in Wood Buffalo National Park, which has also grown to number in the hundreds. The park has shipped wood bison from this herd to Alaska and even Russia. TWS has a field trip planned for Elk Island on Sunday, Oct. 5, at the conference.
The city itself offers attractions like what was once North America’s biggest shopping center, complete with an indoor theme park and waterpark at West Edmonton Mall; a tropical biome housed in glass pyramids at the Muttart Conservatory; and the Royal Alberta Museum, which has exhibits on the province’s ornithology, arthropods and other wildlife present and past, including the Albertosaurus, a large tyrannosaurid dinosaur. Both are within walking distance from the convention center. Parks also dot the city, including much of the North Saskatchewan River Valley, Mill Creek Ravine and William Hawrelak Park. In addition, the Edmonton Valley Zoo has recently opened an Arctic wolf exhibit.
Back to my roots
Wildlife was always a big part of my childhood. I’d spend the long summer days with my friends biking to frog ponds with a bucket and net. Sometimes, I’d wake up from camping with my family in Elk Island National Park with a western tiger salamander in my boot. In fact, my eventual career as a writer was almost cut short when, as a baby, I ignored my parents desperately trying to silence me and began to wail as a black bear tore through the food they hadn’t properly locked up for the night in the Rocky Mountains. In more recent trips, I’ve gone ice fishing in Lac la Biche to the north of Edmonton and experienced hidden gems like Johnston Canyon or the Banff Hoodoos—a series of mushroom-like rock formations steeped in Indigenous spiritual significance that overlook parts of the Bow Valley.
Looking back at my home city and the different ways it’s shaped me, it’s hard to stay neutral. Edmonton is a study of contrasts. The flat prairies around Edmonton are suddenly shattered by the angular upthrust of the Rockies. The meager daily ration of sunlight in the winter is balanced by a patio season that doesn’t give way to darkness until most restaurants are well closed. And it’s easy to complain about the long, brutal winters while waiting for a bus in -40-degree weather. But I’ve never experienced a similar springtime joy, when the sound of melting snow and a bit of sunshine spawn a race among the hardiest to be the first to sport shorts in still sub-freezing weather.
But perhaps the most lucid memory I have of Edmonton’s study in contrasts was one year in the 1990s, when we had heavy snowfall late in May. During my walk to school, I was surrounded by a foot of bleached white champagne powder that lay in mounds amongst the neon-green buds of new spring.
I hope to see you in Edmonton this fall and that you enjoy everything Alberta has to offer.
Join us Oct. 5 to 8, 2025, in Edmonton, Alberta. Keep an eye on twsconference.org for event schedule details and the opening of registration. A version of this article was originally published in the July/August issue of The Wildlife Professional.
Sponsors play a vital role in making The Wildlife Society’s annual conference a vibrant and inclusive gathering for the wildlife conservation community. Their support helps keep the conference affordable, funds scholarships and student mentorship programs, and enables us to offer high-quality programming and events. Sponsorship provides unparalleled visibility and engagement opportunities with current and aspiring wildlife professionals. The Wildlife Society thanks its 2025 sponsors, including:
On Oct. 1, the U.S. federal government largely ceased operations when Congress was unable to reach agreement on the federal budget for the coming fiscal year. This means that critical conservation operations of our federal partners will halt, and many federal employees will be furloughed.
Our sympathies are with the thousands of furloughed wildlife professionals who will now face greater uncertainty and financial strain because of this shutdown and with the conservation partners, states, Tribes, private landowners and others who rely on cooperation and support from the federal government.
Any lapse in funding has the potential to degrade science-based wildlife conservation and management efforts, with the potential for long-lasting, detrimental effects. This includes efforts to recover threatened and endangered species, detect and control emerging wildlife diseases, conserve and restore habitats across our nation’s public lands, and steward America’s public trust resources for the benefit of current and future generations. In some cases, the timing of the shutdown will disrupt the collection of important seasonal wildlife data or result in incomplete data sets, which could delay or alter management decisions. It may also hinder education and training opportunities for new wildlife professionals that are dependent on valuable partnerships with federal agencies.
This shutdown continues a concerning and ongoing trend of the loss of scientific and technical expertise from the federal workforce and the devaluing and defunding of federal conservation programs. Across the nation, thousands of dedicated civil servants have already departed from federal natural resources agencies since the start of this administration. These losses, combined with years of programmatic budget cuts, have left remaining personnel stretched beyond capacity and unable to fulfill their legal mandates.
We will continue to monitor developments in the U.S. government shutdown and advocate for the critically important work of our members and wildlife professionals. We encourage the U.S. Congress and Administration to work towards a swift resolution to the shutdown, to restore the operations of federal natural resource agencies, and to reaffirm their support for the conservation of our nation’s natural resources.
I grew up in Laredo, Texas, surrounded by the richness of Hispanic culture, whose habits and lessons still echo in everything I do. One of my favorite sayings I learned growing up is “Al mal tiempo, buena cara,” which translates to “In bad times, put on a good face.” It was more than just advice; it was a lesson in resilience, optimism and determination. I’ve carried that phrase through my undergraduate years at Texas A&M University, especially when I decided to study wildlife science, a major I hadn’t heard of growing up, since careers like medicine, law or engineering were often seen as the secure, respectable paths in my community. Choosing a career in wildlife sciences came with fear and uncertainty, but with the unwavering support of my parents and loved ones, I leaped. That same saying, “Al mal tiempo, buena cara,” reminded me to face challenges with courage and to take pride in doing my best, no matter the obstacles.
Credit: Andrea Miranda Paez
That mindset has shaped my approach to research and fieldwork. In my doctoral research at Auburn University, I study the population genetics of Alaska’s Mulchatna caribou (Rangifer tarandus) herd to understand how genetic diversity and metapopulation structure shape their management. I analyze raccoon (Procyon lotor) genetic data in Alabama and use that as a proxy for how rabies may spread across the state. I also survey wildlife professionals to better understand how genetic tools are being perceived and applied in conservation decision-making. Graduate school has given me opportunities I never imagined, from conducting genetic analyses that can help inform conservation to collaborating with state and federal agencies. But the most memorable field experience was in the summer of 2022, when I worked as a fish and wildlife technician for the Alaska Department of Fish and Game in Palmer, Alaska.
That season tested me physically, mentally and emotionally. I experienced my first small airplane flights and helicopter rides, radio-tracking caribou from the air. I learned how to jump out into deep snow to search for calf collars, sometimes climbing steep mountains with a shovel in hand while making sure not to slip. I saw grizzly bears (Ursus arctos horribilis) from the helicopter as we flew between Dillingham and Bethel, and below us stretched a breathtaking mosaic of snow-capped mountains, winding rivers, wide valleys and glacial expanses. In those moments, I felt both awe and respect for the wildness of Alaska. The work was exhausting, and I discovered that spending hours in small planes and helicopters often left me motion sick. Dramamine, the medication I used to ease the motion sickness, made me so drowsy that I had to find other ways to push through, turning each flight into both a physical and mental test. Still, I held tightly to my Latin roots and made sure not to take a single moment for granted. Every challenge became a chance to learn and grow.
Miranda Paez pours scented bait on a pile of conifer branches. Barbwire next to the pile catches the hair that provides genetic samples from bears that come to visit. Credit: Jeff Stetz
That summer also opened my eyes to the people who live in Alaska’s remote communities. Many rely on snowmobiles, ATVs and small aircraft to move between places, and their knowledge of the land is invaluable for conserving species like caribou. I realized conservation isn’t only about data or biology but also about listening to and working alongside the people whose lives are most connected to these ecosystems we study. Later that season, I also had the opportunity to help out in a bear genetics study. I hiked rugged trails in Denali State Park carrying a gallon of pig blood to set barbed-wire DNA traps, nervous about being in bear country for the first time and battling the mosquitoes. But once again, I leaned on resilience and optimism. By the end of the project, I had gained confidence, respect for the fieldwork side of wildlife biology, and a new appreciation for how it complements the computer-based analyses I conduct in my PhD.
Beyond the science, I was also struck by how culture travels and adapts in new landscapes. One of my most unexpected joys in Alaska was sitting down to a delicious halibut taco at a small Mexican restaurant, a similar taste of home, but thousands of miles away. It reminded me that just as people from our communities have built lives in distant places, so too has our culture taken root, blending with local traditions in unique ways. In many ways, it mirrored what I was witnessing all around me. Just as culture finds new roots far from home, wildlife is woven into every aspect of life in Alaska, from the caribou herds to the grizzlies that roam southwest Alaska and the salmon that sustains communities. Both culture and wildlife, I realized, carry stories of resilience, movement and connection across landscapes.
Miranda Paez conducts DNA extractions for her raccoon dissertation chapter at Auburn Alabama. Credit: Andrea Miranda Paez
Over time, I’ve come to realize that visibility matters as much as the science itself. That is why I am passionate about science communication and why I serve in roles that create inclusive spaces, from managing my lab’s social media to contributing to the Alabama Chapter of The Wildlife Society’s outreach. Now I serve as social media chair for the Latin American and Caribbean Working Group of The Wildlife Society.
I want to help create the kind of space I wasn’t aware of when I first started college—one that reflects the richness, resilience and brilliance of our Latin communities. Today, I balance research, outreach and leadership with the belief that conservation is not just about protecting wildlife but also about honoring culture, heritage and community. My journey through wildlife science has been one of risk, growth and discovery. But through it all, I’ve carried the wisdom of my background and the strength of my Mexican culture.
Wildlife Vocalizations is a collection of short personal perspectives from people in the field of wildlife sciences. Learn more aboutWildlife Vocalizations, and read other contributions.
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When lifelong lobsterman Dustin Delano arranges to take his team lobstering in Maine, he’s faced with some tough decisions. Is his team safe? Are they making fair wages? And are they complying with right whale regulations?
The latter is something that’s been coming up in conversation recently as Congress and the Trump administration propose revisions to the Marine Mammal Protection Act (MMPA), legislation enacted in 1972 to prevent the decline of marine mammals like right whales.
Only 370 North Atlantic right whales (Eubalaena glacialis) remain in the western North Atlantic Ocean. But MMPA protections can cause devastating closures and restrictions that limit Maine lobstermen from entering certain areas. “The existing regulatory framework is becoming increasingly unworkable,” said Delano, Chief Operating Officer of the New England Fishermen’s Stewardship Association (NEFSA), a nonprofit organization that focuses on issues facing the New England commercial fishing community.
Delano and others see the new proposed MMPA changes—part of an ongoing push from both Congress and the Trump administration to streamline environmental permitting—as a step in the right direction, as they would soften some of these regulations. But conservation groups have expressed strong opposition, noting negative effects on species like sea otters (Enhydra lutris) or humpback whales (Megaptera novaeangliae).
“From my perspective, it’s hard to think that there is another side that can justify the devastation of these changes,” said Regina Asmutis-Silvia, executive director of Whale and Dolphin Conservation, a charity for marine mammal conservation. “It eviscerates the Marine Mammal Protection Act and its function.”
The proposed legislation represents the latest test of how the current administration approaches environmental regulation, with stakeholders offering sharply different assessments of its potential impacts. “If this bill were to become law, it would significantly hinder the ability to take any conservation actions for marine mammals,” wildlife biologist Jeff Corwin testified at a recent congressional hearing. Industry groups, however, view the changes as necessary clarifications that could increase regulatory certainty.
A look at the changes
The U.S. House Subcommittee on Water, Wildlife and Fisheries held a legislative hearing in July to review suggested amendments to the MMPA through a proposed discussion draft, a nonfinal version of a bill used to start conversations and gather feedback before formal introduction.
“My goal is simple,” said Rep. Nick Begich (R-AK), who had proposed the changes, during the hearing. “I want a bill that protects marine mammals and also works for the people who live and work alongside them, especially in Alaska.” Begich aims to streamline federal permitting processes, reduce regulatory burden and address what sponsors describe as regulatory overlaps in his discussion draft.
A lobstering boat sets sail in Maine. Credit: Joe Dello-Russo
The MMPA was enacted in 1972, when marine mammals across the U.S. were in dire condition, facing widespread hunting, habitat loss and population declines. At the time, it was legal for fishermen like Frank Mundus, the inspiration for the movie Jaws, to use a method he and other fishermen called “monster mash,” chumming pilot whale carcasses to attract sharks. From the 1890s to the 1960s, hunters in Massachusetts and Maine killed an estimated 135,000 gray seals (Halichoerus grypus) and harbor seals (Phoca vitulina) for bounties, causing their disappearance from Cape Cod.
Enforced by the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration National Marine Fisheries Service (NMFS), the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service and the Marine Mammal Commission, the MMPA established a policy to prevent marine mammal species from declining beyond the point where they ceased to be functioning parts of the ecosystems.
Under the MMPA as it currently reads, the U.S. must protect marine mammals from “take” and allows for incidental take only if it will have a “negligible impact” on the population. However, the statute doesn’t clearly define “negligible.” In practice, the NMFS has interpreted the law through the lens of the precautionary principle, applying conservative assumptions to increase protection when scientific data is incomplete. This method is highly contested by those that feel regulations are too restrictive.
For the first time, the discussion draft introduces a formal definition of “negligible impact,” a key term for authorizing the “take,” to harass, hunt, capture, kill or attempt to harass, hunt, capture or kill, marine mammals. It also revises the definition of “harassment” by removing references to the “potential” to harm, narrowing the scope to actions that cause actual injury or disturbance. For example, the draft replaces the phrase “has the potential to injure/disturb” with “injures or disturbs.” It also updates the wording “which will result in the maximum productivity” with “necessary to support the continued survival.”
In addition, the draft includes procedural changes that would mark a substantial shift in regulatory approach. The draft explicitly bars agencies from using precautionary assumptions, requiring them to base decisions “solely upon the objective application of the best scientific and commercial data available.” This would be a departure from the precautionary approach that has guided the implementation of many environmental regulations in the U.S., where agencies act proactively when scientific data is incomplete or ambiguous.
These edits could significantly raise the burden of proof needed to trigger regulatory protections and may make it more difficult to safeguard vulnerable or data-deficient species. A proposed timeline change would delay implementation of certain North Atlantic right whale regulations until 2035, giving industry more time to adapt to new requirements.
While industry stakeholders support these changes for increasing regulatory certainty and efficiency, environmental and scientific groups have raised concerns that the modifications could weaken longstanding protections and reduce the government’s ability to defend marine mammal populations.
“During COVID, people were desperate to reconnect with nature,” said Asmutis-Silvia. There was a renewed appreciation for wildlife and open spaces. And now, just a few years later, we’re acting like these animals no longer matter?”
Who’s affected?
The proposed MMPA changes would create different winners and losers across ocean-dependent industries, highlighting complex trade-offs.
Federal regulations aimed at preventing whale entanglements have drawn strong pushback from Maine lobstermen, who argue the rules threaten their livelihoods—Maine’s lobster fishery contributed over $1 billion annually to the state’s economy.
Industry groups say the timelines set for operational changes by the Atlantic Large Whale Take Reduction Team conflict with the Maine Department of Marine Resources’ efforts to gather better data to track whale movements, develop movement models, improve gear marking and gather localized data. A proposed legislative change within the draft bill would delay implementation of those regulations until 2035, giving supporters of the change more time, something that they emphasize is needed to reconcile the science. Maine lobstermen argue that right whales don’t inhabit the inshore waters where most lobstering occurs, making local regulations seem misplaced, especially as other studies show the whales’ migration is shifting toward Canadian waters like the Gulf of St. Lawrence.
The Maine Lobstermen’s Association and the New England Fishermen’s Stewardship Association are among 10 organizations supporting the proposed changes. They signed onto a letter to Rep. Harriet Hageman [R-WY], stating that using the precautionary principle has led to excessive regulations based on speculative models rather than the best available data, placing unreasonable burdens on U.S. fisheries without meaningful benefits to marine mammals. At the heart of the conflict is ropeless gear. A recent study concluded that even minor entanglements, once thought harmless, can severely reduce female North Atlantic right whales’ likelihood of breeding. The study perpetuates debates over lobster gear regulations. Some conservationists point to the growing body of work as support for significant changes in gear. Fishermen argue that the models rely on uncertain data, overlook their ongoing compliance efforts, and propose gear modifications that are logistically unfeasible and expensive. The letter from the Maine Lobstermen’s Association and the New England Fishermen’s Stewardship Association claims that NMFS practices undermine congressional intent and are unsustainable for domestic fleets already competing with loosely regulated foreign operations.
Every northern right whale mother and calf is monitored and recorded due to the endangered status of the species. Credit: Cape Hatteras National Seashore
“Not a single lobsterman wants to harm a whale,” said Patrice McCarron, executive director of the Maine Lobstermen’s Association, who emphasized that her organization wants “sound science.” “Our industry is committed to being part of the solution, but we cannot afford to implement policies that threaten the livelihoods of thousands of Maine families without clear proof they will protect the whales without decimating this critical industry.”
Delano emphasizes that regulators must weigh the human cost of policies, something he has experienced personally through his lobstering experience. He sees the bill as “giving our fishing fleet a little bit of hope.” Delano believes that if passed, the draft bill “could serve as a lightning rod for the future, helping the fishery find a more peaceful way to coexist with species protections while continuing to operate and provide for our communities.”
Not all industry supports a loosening of regulations. Cape Cod is also a gateway to Stellwagen Bank National Marine Sanctuary, one of the world’s top whale-watching destinations that could be impacted by the proposed changes to the MMPA. Many coastal communities depend heavily on wildlife tourism, a sector that contributes to the local economies of places like Cape Cod, Massachusetts; Boothbay, Maine; or La Jolla, California. Whale watching generates jobs and tourism dollars and supports small businesses such as restaurants, shops and tour operators. Researchers concluded that nearly 1,500 jobs are supported annually by whale watching operations that frequently visit Stellwagen Bank National Marine Sanctuary, translating to $76 million in labor income and $182 million in sales annually.
Beyond the headlines
While most media chatter focuses on the visible tension between fishermen and coastal communities, a much larger force looms in the background: the growing pressure to industrialize the ocean, removing what some would argue is the last wild frontier on earth. From offshore wind development to deep-sea mining and expanded shipping lanes, powerful industries are interested in offshore development.
NEFSA, which supports the MMPA changes, is a vocal opponent of industrialization of the ocean, speaking out against the development of offshore wind farms. “Ocean industrialization is incompatible with robust, sustainable fisheries,” NEFSA said in a press release.
But the global trade association for the energy geoscience industry, the EnerGeo Alliance, also supports the proposed changes to the MMPA. “At some point, these two industries [fishing and offshore energy development] are actually at odds,” Asmutis-Silvia, whose organization is against the changes, said, adding that the proposal could lead to conflicts over how the space is used.
The alliance wants the MMPA “modernized” by clarifying language, reducing redundancies, holding agencies accountable to deadlines, and updating it to reflect current science and technology.
The EnerGeo Alliance asserts that the MMPA has been misapplied to seismic surveys for energy resources, with anti-energy groups leveraging the act to block offshore surveying. “To date, there has been no documented scientific evidence of noise from acoustic sources used in seismic activities adversely affecting marine animal populations or coastal communities,” its website states, quoting the Bureau of Ocean Energy Management. However, this claim is debatable. Research published in Functional Ecology found that seismic noise can alter the behavior of narwhals, raising concerns that some marine species may be more vulnerable to acoustic disturbances than previously assumed.
Despite their fundamentally divergent visions for the ocean—one seeking to preserve traditional use and the other pushing for expanded modern industrial development—both advocates find common ground in their desires to reform the Marine Mammal Protection Act. Their unlikely alliance underscores how powerful the MMPA remains as a regulatory force, uniting opposing interests when it stands in the way of their vision for the ocean.
The future battle
The debate over MMPA revisions reflects broader questions about environmental policy implementation in an era where multiple industries compete for ocean access.
“You can’t just keep removing bolts from a plane wing and expect it to stay in place,” Asmutis-Silvia said of softening marine mammal protections. “When we treat marine animals as if they don’t matter, we risk crashing an already fragile ocean ecosystem—one that we all depend on.”
Asmutis-Silvia points to the MMPA’s track record of enabling both environmental and economic interests to coexist as support for the current framework. “For 50 years, [the MMPA] has existed, and for 50 years oil and gas still has happened in the Gulf of Mexico. For 50 years, fishing has happened along all of our coasts. And populations have largely started to recover, with some exceptions,” she said. “So the idea that you can’t have these things coexist, I think we have 50 years of evidence that you can.”
However, this narrative of coexistence doesn’t ring true for people like Delano, whose income depended heavily on a 1,000-square-mile area closure and who found that restrictions during the peak lobster season made fishing operations increasingly unproductive and hazardous because it forced him to fish in the winter under rough seas.
Historical precedent exists for MMPA amendments, with previous changes achieving bipartisan support by addressing specific implementation challenges while maintaining core protective functions. Whether current discussions can achieve similar compromises remains uncertain.
“Ideally, you get both sides of the issue together so you don’t have this polarization,” said Mark Palmer, associate director of the International Marine Mammal Project. “That’s the whole art of legislation—to find these compromises.”
The Wildlife Society will publish more than two dozen papers from the now-defunct Journal of Fish and Wildlife Management.
In May 2025, the Journal of Fish and Wildlife Management (JFWM)—a no-fee open-access journal published by the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service (USFWS)—ceased production due to Department of Interior budget cuts and restructuring, leaving 31 pending manuscripts “orphaned.” These papers, which had already been accepted for publication or were in later stages of revision but not yet published, will now be published in The Wildlife Society’s The Journal of Wildlife Management (JWM) as a special section in the November 2025 issue.
“Peer-reviewed journals are an essential part of scientific communication and crucial to informing policy and management decisions,” said Cameron Kovach, the chief program officer at TWS. “Losing a publication like JFWM is regrettable, as it erodes the foundation our profession has for publishing research through a rigorous process supported by expert scrutiny. I’m grateful that TWS is in a position to step up and support the professionals affected by the sudden loss of JFWM and to provide a platform for their work to contribute to our field’s overall body of knowledge.”
For Allison Cox, the content editor at JWM, this has been an opportunity to support wildlifers affected by this federal funding decision while gaining a deeper knowledge of a diversity of fish and wildlife research. While much of the content is similar to what is normally published in JWM, Cox said that around 40% of the papers focus on fish species, which are not normally covered by TWS journals.
TWS’ publisher, Wiley, agreed to forego its production fees for some of the manuscripts. TWS will cover any additional costs associated with publishing the remaining manuscripts.
John Wenburg, the editor-in-chief and founding editor of JFWM, first reached out to Wildlife Society Bulletin editor-in-chief Bret Collier, who helped find the manuscripts a home at JWM. “There was no deliberation on the idea to step up and give those orphaned articles a home, and we owe Wiley our gratitude in their waiving page charges due to the extenuating circumstances,” said Jacqueline Frair, editor-in-chief of JWM.
Although Frair is grateful JWM can be a home for these more than two dozen papers, she is worried by the loss of the journal. “Going forward, the loss of JFWM leaves an important hole for members of the wildlife community, who now have fewer options for publishing applied wildlife work fully open access at no cost,” Frair said. Another concern is the archive of 15 years of publication in JFWM and more than 130 years of monographs published in North American Fauna, another journal formerly published by the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service and other governmental organizations during its long lifespan. The archives of both journals will remain on the USFWS’s current website through the end of 2025, although the future of those resources is uncertain.
Wenburg, who is still the director of the Conservation Genetics Laboratory for the Alaska Region at the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service, wrote an editorial in JWM on the last two decades of working to create and maintain JFWM. “We cannot thank [TWS] enough for finding a way to publish these 31 papers,” Wenburg wrote.
Though he noted a feeling of melancholy to see the end of JFWM, he is proud of what the journal was able to accomplish for the field. “The process mattered, the effort mattered and the products mattered,” he wrote. “There will be other peaks to climb; we will strive on.”
All manuscripts in the special section will be included in a virtual issue, which will be open to the public for three months after publication, titled “Journal of Fish and Wildlife Management Legacy Collection.”
As many federal employees are unable to travel to this year’s annual conference due to new budget and travel restrictions, TWS is extending free access to its 2025 conference mobile app for federal employees. App users can track emerging research topics, view prerecorded content from educational sessions uploaded within the app, message presenters, express support for colleagues, participate in forum discussions and receive real-time updates through the conference social feed.
One morning, TWS member Mike McEnroe got an email that someone was looking for him. It was Lou Baslaw—a friend Mike hadn’t heard from in over 50 years.
The email came from Kristi Confortin, TWS’ outreach manager. Confortin received a message from Baslaw asking if she could help connect him with a TWS member named Michael McEnroe. “I was surprised to get such a request but happy to be able to put them in touch,” Confortin said. “It feels special and shows how The Wildlife Society is more than just a membership—it’s a community that allows our members to build lifelong friendships.”
The two met in the summer of 1970 in Ghana during training for the Peace Corps and immediately hit it off. But McEnroe decided not to stay for his appointment. “I was a kid from Sioux Falls—that was a big change,” he said. After three months of training, he headed back home and enrolled at South Dakota State University in Brookings, where he joined TWS and studied wildlife biology.
Mike McEnroe at the University of Cape Coast in Ghana, for Peace Corps training in July of 1970. Courtesy of Mike McEnroe
Throughout his career—the majority of which was spent in North Dakota—McEnroe worked as a refuge manager and project leader for Devil’s Lake Wetland Management District, Audubon National Wildlife Refuge and Long Lake National Wildlife Refuge. He also served at the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service’s North Dakota Ecological Services Field Office in Bismarck.
But Baslaw stayed in Ghana for the next two years to complete his term in the Peace Corps. In the summer of 1973, when his service ended, he returned home to New York to be with his ailing mother. Coming back to the U.S. was a difficult decision, Baslaw said. “By the beginning of September, I was climbing up a wall,” he said, so he decided to leave home in New York and take a road trip out west.
Peace Corps trainees at the University of Cape Coast in Ghana, with Lou Baslaw standing on the far right and Mike McEnroe behind the camera. Credit: Mike McEnroe
Remembering his good times with McEnroe, Baslaw decided to look him up and learned he was studying wildlife at South Dakota State University. He joined McEnroe and his roommate in their small trailer home in Brookings. “We took him ice fishing and fed him wild game,” McEnroe said. It was nearing Christmas, so they drove back to McEnroe’s parents’ house in Fond du Lac, Wisconsin. “We just clicked, and I’ve never forgotten that friendship.”
Baslaw hadn’t forgotten their friendship, either. As a self-described “Brooklyn boy,” Baslaw had never tasted so much wild game before. “Nothing was store-bought—it was all shot,” he recalled.
Mike McEnroe and his dog Ozzy pheasant hunting in North Dakota. Courtesy of Mike McEnroe
When Christmas came, and presents were passed around, Baslaw was shocked to find a present had been passed to him. “It brought a tear to my eye,” he said. “I will always hold Mike and his family very, very dear because they took me in and made me a part of the family that year.”
After New Year’s, he brought McEnroe back to South Dakota, where they visited his then-girlfriend, now-wife, Eileen. McEnroe and Baslaw then parted ways—Baslaw made it out west and saw the Pacific Ocean for the first time. “And then I went on with my life,” Baslaw said. He returned to New York and went to nursing school before moving to Portland, Oregon, with his wife, Anne.
Baslaw tried to find McEnroe’s parents again in Wisconsin when driving through five or 10 years later, but they had moved, and the pair never reconnected—until a few months ago.
“Lo and behold, I got the bug to say, ‘Where is Mike now?’” Baslaw said. He knew he was a wildlife biologist and that he was with Eileen and in North Dakota. So he and his wife, Anne—who he admitted was the better sleuth—found a technical review on the public trust doctrine that McEnroe co-authored. Baslaw then reached out to the email listed on the report, asking if his contact information could be shared with McEnroe, along with the message that he was looking for him.
Lou Baslaw, the “Brooklyn boy” finally getting to ride a horse. Courtesy of Lou Baslaw
“It wasn’t until I got the email from Kristi that I knew Lou was trying to get in touch with me,” McEnroe said, “and I was just amazed at how that had worked.”
McEnroe was grateful that TWS was able to help connect him and Lou after so many years. “I thought it was so neat that the Society was a way for two guys who knew each other 50 years ago to get back in touch—I thought that was really wonderful,” he said. “We had to catch up on 50 years, but it was just like our friendship hadn’t skipped a beat.”
Baslaw is in touch with other friends from Peace Corps and his college days. He’s glad to be able to share memories again with McEnroe and hear about his life every once and a while. His philosophy on friendship is simple: “If you become my friend, you’re my friend for my life.”
Thought to be tropical, Chagas disease is quietly spreading in the southern U.S. thanks to kissing bugs and local wildlife. A new study reviews strong evidence showing that the parasite behind Chagas disease is already in the U.S.—and it’s not just in bugs, wildlife and pets. Chagas has infected people who’ve never left the country. As a result, scientists have concluded it’s time to stop calling Chagas a foreign disease and recognize it as a domestic threat. The parasite Trypanosoma cruzi is transmitted by at least four species of kissing bugs, more formally known as triatomine bugs, commonly found in the southern United States. These blood-sucking invaders feed on both people and animals, including pets and wildlife such as raccoons (Procyon lotor), opossums (Didelphis virginiana), striped skunks (Mephitis mephitis), nine-banded armadillos (Dasypus novemcinctus), and coyotes (Canis latrans). Despite being widespread, testing remains limited, and there is no federal requirement to report Chagas cases, contributing to its lack of recognition. Human cases remain relatively rare, only reported in eight states and most frequently in Texas. But the disease can lead to death. Symptoms of Chagas disease include fever, body aches, fatigue, headache, rash and can lead to severe heart or digestive problems. However, the authors emphasize that improving awareness and systematically monitoring wildlife, domestic animals and kissing bugs are critical steps for early detection and disease control.
