Deforestation in the Brazilian Amazon has fallen to its lowest level in 13 years, according to new satellite data from Brazil’s National Institute for Space Research (INPE), continuing a decline that began after President Luiz Inácio Lula da Silva returned to office in 2023. INPE’s DETER alert system detected 2,874 square kilometers (1,110 square miles) of deforestation in the Amazon between August 1, 2025, and July 31, 2026. That was 36% below the previous 12-month period and 55.6% below the average of the preceding decade. The total is the lowest since INPE introduced the current DETER system in 2015. Including data from its predecessor system, the last time alerts were lower was the 2012/13 deforestation year, when 2,766 sq km were recorded. Accumulated deforestation for Aug 1-Jul 31 in recent years according to INPE’s DETER alert system. Image by Mongabay DETER is designed as a rapid-response system for enforcement agencies. It uses satellite imagery to identify new forest clearing quickly enough for authorities to investigate and intervene. It differs from PRODES, INPE’s higher-resolution annual monitoring system, which provides Brazil’s official deforestation rate. Preliminary PRODES figures for the year ending July 31 are expected in October or November. PRODES data for the year ending July 2025 had already put Amazon forest loss at its lowest level in 11 years. The latest DETER figures indicate that clearing fell further during the following year. If PRODES shows a decline similar to that recorded by DETER, Brazil could register its lowest official Amazon deforestation…This article was originally published on Mongabay

Founder’s Briefs: An occasional series where Mongabay founder Rhett Ayers Butler shares analysis, perspectives and story summaries. A harpy eagle needs large trees for nesting and enough surrounding forest for its young to learn to fly. The Amazon also depends on the eagle. By controlling populations of monkeys, sloths, and other animals, the predator helps limit damage to the forest canopy. Its decline can therefore indicate broader changes in the ecosystem. Governments often assess biodiversity by counting species. These figures are useful, although they don’t show whether an ecosystem is still functioning. A recent paper in Frontiers in Science argues that conservation policy should also track ecological processes, including predation, migration, pollination, and the movement of water and nutrients, reports Mongabay’s John Cannon. The authors propose using the Three Global Conditions Framework, developed in 2019, to decide what different landscapes require. It divides the planet according to the degree of human influence. Large, relatively intact areas need protection from new development. Landscapes where farming and settlements coexist with nature require management that maintains ecological functions. Heavily altered areas need restoration. The approach could help countries meet the Kunming-Montreal Global Biodiversity Framework, which calls for the loss of nature to be halted and reversed by 2030. Progress varies widely among countries. The agreement is not legally binding, and national governments determine how its targets are applied. The paper uses the term “nature positive” to describe an outcome in which ecosystems are healthier at the end of the decade than they were…This article was originally published on Mongabay

A tiger once put its head beside a passenger in Vinod Rishi’s jeep. Its face, he wrote years later, wore a “quizzical expression.” Then it moved away, leaving the men unharmed. Rishi called it “a King with a big heart.” Decades after the encounter, he could still recall the position of the tiger’s head and the look on its face. Rishi, who died in Dehradun on July 29, held some of the highest positions in Indian wildlife administration. He was the first director of Project Elephant, additional director general of forests for wildlife, and director of the Indira Gandhi National Forest Academy. During 38 years in the Indian Forest Service, he worked in the Sundarbans and Buxa tiger reserves, Jaldapara Wildlife Sanctuary, and the national parks of Singalila and Neora Valley. Born in Jalandhar, Punjab, he trained as an engineer at the Indian Institute of Technology Delhi and graduated in 1968. He joined the forest service the following year. His engineering background clearly influenced the way he approached conservation. He paid close attention to methods, evidence, and whether a plan would work in the field.  His early career in West Bengal brought him into contact with tigers, rhinos, elephants, and the administrative problems surrounding each of them. At Darjeeling Zoo, he studied animal biology at close range. The experience later contributed to work on captive breeding for snow leopards and the conservation of red pandas in Singalila. In the Sundarbans, he worked on conflict between people and tigers. When newspapers…This article was originally published on Mongabay

Founder’s Briefs: An occasional series where Mongabay founder Rhett Ayers Butler shares analysis, perspectives and story summaries. Roads through Brazil’s forests divide primate habitat and sometimes force animals that normally remain in the canopy onto the ground. Researchers in the Amazon are testing rope bridges that allow them to cross above traffic. Eight bridges were installed in 2024 in Alta Floresta, in northern Mato Grosso state, reports contributor Suzana Camargo for Mongabay. Camera traps recorded 15,000 crossings by arboreal animals over the next 15 months. No roadkill was reported at the monitored sites. Six primate species used the structures, among them black-faced black spider monkeys (Ateles chamek), Schneider’s marmosets (Mico schneideri), and the critically endangered Alta Floresta titi monkey (Plecturocebus grovesi). The bridges contain several layers of rope for species with different forms of movement. Some walk across them, while others swing by their arms or use their prehensile tails. Cameras record successful crossings as well as animals that approach and retreat. The footage suggests that some species need time to become accustomed to the structures. Tufted capuchins took seven months to use one of the bridges. The work follows a project started in 2021 along the BR-174 highway, which passes through the Waimiri-Atroari Indigenous Territory. Members of the Waimiri-Atroari community helped select sites for 32 bridges. Cameras have recorded about 1,250 primate crossings there over the past five years, giving researchers information on which designs work best. Roads can also separate wildlife populations and reduce gene flow. This is…This article was originally published on Mongabay

A backcountry ski run can depend on decisions made years before the snow falls. Forest plans determine where motorized vehicles may travel. Congressional appropriations affect whether trails are maintained and land-management agencies can enforce their rules. Public meetings give skiers, snowmobilers, conservationists, and local residents a chance to argue over how mountains should be used. David Page knew this work in detail. He also knew how to describe what it felt like to move through those mountains. Page, the executive director of Winter Wildlands Alliance, died on July 7th in a multi-vehicle crash on Teton Pass in Wyoming. He was 57. Rio, the family dog who often accompanied him outdoors, died in the accident as well. He had come to conservation advocacy through writing. Raised in Denver, he studied history and Spanish literature at Dartmouth, comparative literature at Berkeley, and creative writing at the University of California, Irvine. He wrote for the New York Times, Men’s Journal, Skiing, and other publications, and became a senior correspondent for POWDER. His guide to Yosemite and the southern Sierra Nevada went through three editions. His articles were closely reported and attentive to the people in them. “The Human Factor,” an examination of the decisions that lead experienced skiers into avalanche danger, was a finalist for a National Magazine Award in 2015. It was later used in avalanche courses. Another article described the immigrant workers whose labor sustains many ski towns. He also wrote about major descents, disappearing whitebark pines, solitary skiers, remote slopes,…This article was originally published on Mongabay

Founder’s Briefs: An occasional series where Mongabay founder Rhett Ayers Butler shares analysis, perspectives and story summaries. In the Central African Republic, a country often seen mainly through the lens of instability, a different story is unfolding in its southwest. In March, Mongabay Africa program director David Akana and I spent time in and around Dzanga-Sangha National Park, speaking with researchers, conservationists, community members, and park officials. What we heard was not quite reflected in the usual narrative. Bayanga, the town at the park’s edge, has seen a modest rise in visitors. Dzanga Bai, where forest elephants gather in high densities within the park, and a population of habituated lowland gorillas, remain the main draws. According to local officials, around 800 tourists visited in 2025, a small figure by global standards, but meaningful locally. “There is growth,” said Gervais Pamongui, a deputy director of the Dzanga-Sangha Protected Areas. He attributed this to both the site itself and a degree of stability that has held in the region. Others made similar points, though often with caveats. A tour guide, Léonce Madomi, described the country’s reputation for insecurity as “both true and false,” noting that Bayanga has largely avoided the disruptions seen elsewhere. Lodges report steadier business. Guides and trackers have more consistent work. Some residents point to income that supports school fees or medical care. Yet the gains are uneven and limited in scale. Tourism employs a narrow slice of the population, and basic constraints remain, from poor roads to food…This article was originally published on Mongabay

At the former Umatilla Chemical Depot in eastern Oregon, the weapons were gone, though their presence had shaped the land. Concrete bunkers stood among sagebrush and dry grass. Pronghorn moved through the open country. Badgers, once common there, had largely disappeared. Their absence mattered to the small owls that lived close to the ground. Burrowing owls do not usually dig their own homes. They occupy tunnels made by mammals, especially badgers and prairie dogs. At Umatilla, the decline of those animals had removed much of the owls’ shelter. By the late 2000s, only a few breeding pairs remained. David H. Johnson, who died on June 15th, aged 69, decided that the shortage of burrows could be addressed. He and his collaborators buried plastic barrels and connected them to the surface with lengths of pipe. The structures were crude substitutes for badger burrows, intended to keep the population breeding while the recovery of its habitat remained a longer-term task. The owls accepted them. Within a year, the number of breeding pairs had risen. Over the following decade, the depot became home to one of the region’s most closely studied burrowing-owl populations. Researchers banded chicks, recorded calls, tested nest designs, and tracked the birds’ movements. By 2024, they were monitoring more than 100 nesting attempts and had banded nearly 500 chicks that season. Johnson had been interested in owls since childhood. At 11, while camping alone, he heard an eastern screech owl calling outside his tent. The bird landed close enough for…This article was originally published on Mongabay

The plane sprayed the soy fields beside the forest. Residents of Khikatxi said the single-engine aircraft appeared several times during each harvest and passed over Wawi Indigenous Territory. They worried about pesticides reaching their water, gardens, animals, and homes. People reported itching and diarrhea. Crops weakened, streams grew cloudy, and some game animals seemed to smell of agricultural chemicals. For years, Khuiusi Khisêtjê watched the farms advance around his people’s land. In 2018 he made a decision. The community would rebuild its village ten kilometers deeper in the forest. Leaving a village is difficult. Houses must be rebuilt, paths cleared, gardens planted, and daily routines restored. The old place contained years of work and memory. Khuiusi Khisêtjê had already lived through several such upheavals. He knew what was lost when people were forced from their land. He also knew when it had become unsafe to remain. The move took the Khisêtjê farther from the expanding agricultural frontier. It was one more decision in a life devoted to the survival of his people. Khuiusi, who died in Goiânia on July 3rd, at about 80, belonged to a generation that saw the Khisêtjê come close to extinction. He was born when his people still lived beyond the settled frontiers of central Brazil. Their villages lay among rivers, forest, and savanna in a region that would later form part of the Xingu Indigenous Territory and the adjoining Wawi Indigenous Territory in Mato Grosso. Contact with outsiders brought disease, violence, and displacement. Epidemics killed…This article was originally published on Mongabay

  When Mongabay Latam began publishing in 2016, the decision felt like a logical next step. Mongabay Indonesia, launched four years earlier, had shown that a locally led, local-language newsroom could build an audience for sustained environmental reporting. Spanish offered the chance to apply that approach across a region extending from Mexico through Central America and the Andes to Chile and Argentina. The political and ecological conditions varied widely, but the need was similar: important environmental stories were going unreported, or receiving attention only after a crisis became difficult to ignore. Latin America and the Caribbean are the most biologically diverse region on Earth, holding nearly half of the world’s tropical forests and unusually large shares of its mammals, birds, fish, insects, reptiles, amphibians, and plants. The Spanish-speaking countries in Mongabay Latam’s coverage area include some of the richest parts of the Amazon rainforest, the tropical Andes, Mesoamerica, the Chocó, and the eastern Pacific. These landscapes face growing pressure from mining, agriculture, infrastructure, organized crime, and climate change. Macaws in Peru. Image by Rhett Butler for Mongabay. I was also drawn to the region’s cultural and intellectual range. Latin America has produced many responses to these pressures, including Indigenous territorial governance, community forestry, new legal approaches to nature, and locally designed conservation programs. A regional news service could document environmental damage while also examining how people were responding to it. Mongabay Latam’s staff and contributors built the newsroom that followed. Editors developed the judgment, relationships, and institutional memory needed to…This article was originally published on Mongabay

For much of the year, migratory songbirds were treated as temporary visitors to the tropics. They arrived from the north, spent the winter, and departed again. Ornithologists paid more attention to their journeys and breeding grounds than to the months they passed farther south. The birds were often described as transients, moving through tropical forests without becoming part of them. What they did there, and how firmly they occupied those places, remained poorly understood. Years of catching, banding, and watching them suggested a different account. In the forests of southern Mexico, individual birds returned to familiar patches and defended feeding territories. They were regular members of tropical bird communities for months at a time. A bird that appeared to be a passing visitor might return to the same small area year after year. Its life in the tropics was structured, local, and essential to its survival. Migration could not be explained only as an escape from northern winters. Its origins might instead lie in dispersal from warmer regions, as birds gradually extended their ranges toward seasonal food and breeding opportunities. John Hilton Rappole, who died on June 30th, aged 79, pursued this argument for much of his career. It became known as the dispersal theory of bird migration. The theory challenged a long-standing explanation for why birds crossed continents. His commitment to it reflected his approach to science. He relied on sustained field observation, questioned established assumptions, and was prepared to defend an idea over many years. He was less…This article was originally published on Mongabay

The bear came out of the forest with enough force to kill him. It mauled the hunter badly and cost him an eye. He spent three months in a hospital recovering. There, he began asking himself questions that had not troubled him much before. Why was he hunting? Why was he killing? Hunting had come to him through his family. His father and grandfather were known around Sreemangal, in northeastern Bangladesh, for killing leopards, wild boars, and other animals that threatened people or crops. As a boy, he accompanied his father into the forest. After his father died, he continued hunting. He became a gunsmith and a guide, familiar with animal tracks, forest paths, and the habits of creatures that most people encountered only by accident. Sitesh Ranjon Deb holds a pair of jungle cats in his house in Sreemangol, Bangladesh. Image via Agence France-Presse (AFP) After the bear attack, Sitesh Ranjan Deb, who died on July 14th, gave up hunting. He began capturing injured animals, removing snakes from houses, treating wildlife recovered from traffickers, and returning animals to the forest. The grounds of his home became a treatment center. It eventually developed into the Bangladesh Wildlife Service Foundation, one of the country’s best-known privately established wildlife-rescue institutions. The center remained closely tied to his household. Its patients occupied bedrooms, courtyards, cages, and improvised treatment spaces. Jungle-cat cubs, pythons, slow lorises, monkeys, birds, and other animals passed through. Those requiring constant attention stayed close to the family. Deb kept photographs…This article was originally published on Mongabay

The North Atlantic can look empty until someone begins paying attention. A stretch of gray water off Newfoundland may hold only a few white specks at first glance. Through binoculars those specks become murres riding the swell, puffins carrying fish crosswise in their bills, or fulmars riding the wind above the waves. To Bill Montevecchi, these birds were never simply inhabitants of the ocean. They were observers of it. Their breeding success, feeding trips, and unexplained absences offered evidence about fish stocks, changing currents, pollution, and the state of an ecosystem that people could not otherwise see. For more than five decades, William A. “Bill” Montevecchi, who died on July 11th, aged 80, treated seabirds as the ocean’s most reliable witnesses. His work helped establish them as indicators of environmental change long before the idea became commonplace. At the same time, he became one of Canada’s best-known public interpreters of marine science, moving comfortably between academic journals, government advisory panels, newspaper columns, and radio interviews. He approached each with much the same purpose: to understand what the birds were saying and to explain why others should listen. Bill Montevechi shows a small injured storm petrel in Bay De Verde, Newfoundland. Photo © Mary Lynk/CBC Born in New York, he developed an interest in birds at an early age and trained as an ornithologist before moving to Newfoundland, where he spent most of his career at Memorial University. Newfoundland offered what he sought: immense seabird colonies, productive seas, and unanswered questions.…This article was originally published on Mongabay

His nephew recalled that the children were taught to chant, “Hyenas are beautiful!” as often as possible. On visits to Kruger National Park, he got them out of bed at midnight to look for bushbabies and again at five in the morning to search for big cats. Wildlife was often most active at inconvenient hours, and he expected anyone accompanying him to adjust. Michael “Gus” Mills, who died on July 13th, spent more than 40 years studying Africa’s large carnivores, especially hyenas, wild dogs, and cheetahs. He published more than 150 scientific papers, chapters, and reports, advised conservation bodies, and trained younger researchers. Much of his working life was spent in a vehicle on a sandy track, waiting beside an animal that might sleep for most of the day. Gus and Margie Mills. Sourced via the Endangered Wildlife Trust At school he had seemed an unlikely future scientist. He described himself as a “very bad student,” failed South Africa’s high-school leaving examination, and was told that science was beyond him. After passing the examination on a second attempt, he joked that he had earned an MA: “Matric Again.” Three years of psychology persuaded him that he did not want to be a psychologist. Zoology held his attention. A visit to Kruger in 1954, when he was eight, had already pointed him toward field biology. “It did something to me,” he said. From then on he wanted to work in the bush. After studying at the University of Cape Town and…This article was originally published on Mongabay

By some accounts, in the Philippine reefs of the 1970s, large groupers appeared every 50 feet or so. Some seemed as large as Volkswagen Beetles. Around them were snappers, fusiliers, wrasses, turtles, and corals, along with fish whose identities were still uncertain. A young biologist could spend his days diving and still feel he had only begun to understand what was there. Kent E. Carpenter arrived in the Philippines at 22, soon after graduating from the Florida Institute of Technology. The Peace Corps assigned him to the Philippine Bureau of Fisheries and Aquatic Resources and put him in charge of coral-reef research. He later called it “the best job there ever was or ever will be in the Peace Corps.” It gave him access to reefs across the archipelago and set the direction of his career. Carpenter was shot dead at his home in Sibulan, Negros Oriental, on July 12th. He was 73. According to police, three men entered the house late at night. A special task group was formed to investigate, and no motive had been established when his death was announced. Kent Carpenter. Image via Old Dominion University Pollution and destructive fishing were already damaging Philippine reefs during his early years there. The large predators he had seen so often became harder to find. He spent much of the next half-century recording marine life in increasing detail: which species lived where, how they were related, how populations changed, and what made them vulnerable. After completing a doctorate in…This article was originally published on Mongabay

Founder’s Briefs: An occasional series where Mongabay founder Rhett Ayers Butler shares analysis, perspectives and story summaries. In Salonga National Park in the Democratic Republic of Congo, researchers and trackers are working to habituate a group of about 60 bonobos. The aim is to help the great apes accept a limited human presence, first for research, and later for carefully managed tourism. The process is slow. Trackers may leave camp around 3 a.m. to reach the previous night’s nesting site before the bonobos (Pan paniscus) wake. They then follow the group through the forest until the endangered apes build new nests in the evening. “The whole idea of habituation is that you meet the group every day in a very friendly, non-interactive way so they accept you as part of the forest,” Felix Bofeko, an assistant researcher in the program, told Mongabay’s David Akana. Habituation requires the same people, same restraint, and same routine, repeated long enough for the animals to stop treating human presence as a threat. When the work began, the bonobos fled at the sight of people. Now, Bofeko says, researchers can sometimes remain with them for two or three hours. Two visitors may be tolerated. Three or four may still be too many. The work has value even before tourism begins. Habituated animals can be observed more closely. Researchers can collect fecal and urine samples for genetic, pathogen, and diet analysis. Salonga is part of the Bonobo Diversity Project gathering standardized data across the DRC. Camera…This article was originally published on Mongabay

  A field station is usually a working place. It may have bunkrooms, trails, a generator, stored specimens, weathered notebooks, drying boots, a small lab, and staff who know when the road floods, where to find a mobile network signal, or which hillside burned five years ago. Its value is easy to miss because it is often measured through other things: papers, students, monitoring plots, visiting researchers, restored forest, fewer snares, or a longer record of what changed. A new BioScience paper argues that these stations deserve a larger role in conservation policy, especially in the tropics. The authors describe tropical field stations as institutions that can help turn global environmental commitments into local work. Governments have promised to protect more land and sea, restore degraded ecosystems, slow extinctions, and make conservation more equitable. These goals require information, trust, capacity, and persistence. Field stations can supply much of that infrastructure. Cabang Panti research station in Gunung Palung, Indonesia. Photo by Rhett Ayers Butler The argument is strongest in places where conservation decisions affect both biodiversity and livelihoods. A station in a forest, savanna, wetland, or coastal ecosystem is more than a base for visiting scientists. It can support long-term monitoring, train local researchers, employ people from nearby communities, and keep conservation connected to park staff, farmers, fishers, Indigenous groups, and officials. More data, harder answers That gap is important because conservation has become data-rich and answer-poor. Satellites can detect tree-cover loss within days. Acoustic sensors can record birds, frogs, insects,…This article was originally published on Mongabay

  The Amazon is often described in terms of how much carbon it stores. It also moves vast amounts of water. Its trees draw moisture from the soil and return it to the air through transpiration. Some rain caught by the canopy also evaporates back into the atmosphere. That moisture falls again, some of it inside the basin and some of it far downwind. For much of South America, the forest helps sustain rainfall, farming, hydropower, and urban water supplies. A recent paper in Nature, by Nico Wunderling and colleagues, gives this hydrological role greater weight in the climate case for the Amazon. The authors used a dynamical systems model and atmospheric moisture tracking to estimate how deforestation and warming interact across the basin. Without deforestation, their model finds a critical global warming threshold of about 3.7 to 4.0 degrees Celsius, beyond which up to a third of the Amazon forest risks losing stability. When deforestation is included, the risk becomes much larger at a lower level of warming. Under deforestation of 22% to 28% of the biome and warming of 1.5 to 1.9 degrees Celsius, the model finds a near system-wide transition affecting 62% to 77% of the forest. Rain over the Amazon. Photo by Rhett Ayers Butler Those numbers should be treated carefully. The Amazon is not a single ecological unit. Western forests, southern forests, flooded forests, upland forests, secondary forests, and fire-damaged edges differ in species composition, rainfall, soils, and drought tolerance. A model cannot capture every…This article was originally published on Mongabay

At night on Mansouri beach, the first evidence was often a track in the sand. The beach lies south of Tyre, near the border with Israel, where checkpoints, shelling, and evacuation orders have long shaped daily life. It is also one of Lebanon’s important nesting grounds for loggerhead and green sea turtles. The turtles come ashore after dark. They dig, lay, cover, and return to the water. For the hatchlings, the distance from nest to sea is only a few yards. It is still dangerous. Dogs and foxes dig up eggs. Crabs and birds take the young. Lights from roads and resorts pull them away from the water. Plastic drifts offshore. Fishing nets catch adults that have survived for decades. Even a footprint can trap a turtle no bigger than a child’s palm. Mona Khalil gave much of her life to that narrow strip of beach. She was 76 when she died on June 19 from wounds sustained after an Israeli airstrike struck her home at Mansouri beach earlier that month. Her assistant was also injured, suffering severe burns. The house, known to visitors and volunteers as the Orange House, had been the base of her conservation work for more than 25 years. Mona Khalil in 2004 in Lebanon. Photo by Joseph Barrak/AFP/Getty Images She had not set out to become a conservationist. Born in Lagos to Lebanese parents, she later left Lebanon during the civil war. In the Netherlands she worked as a porcelain restorer, a trade that required…This article was originally published on Mongabay

  Montañita is a place many people intend to pass through. They come for surf, sun, music, and a stretch of Ecuador’s coast known for surf, music, and its free-spirited nature. Some stay longer. They open small businesses, learn the workings of the communes, put children into local schools, and begin to notice what visitors often do not see: the sewage that is not properly treated, the public works that arrive without answers, the land whose ownership becomes uncertain, and the turtles whose nesting beaches are treated as available ground. For a woman from northern Poland, the change of country became something beyond expatriate life. Ecuador was where she made a home, ran a hostel, raised two daughters, and became part of Santa Elena’s disputes and loyalties. Monika Silva Koniuszek, who was found dead on June 8th at her home in Montañita, was 41. The circumstances of her death remain under investigation. In the weeks before she died, she had spoken publicly of warnings that there was a plan to kill her. She had alerted authorities and sought protection. After her death, Polish diplomats, the European Union, human-rights groups, and the Inter-American Commission on Human Rights called for a thorough and independent inquiry. Her public work began with local problems. Montañita’s inadequate sewage system troubled her. So did the way decisions about beaches, mangroves, public land, and services seemed to benefit the same networks of power. She came to see poverty, malnutrition, poor infrastructure, and environmental damage as linked by…This article was originally published on Mongabay

Williams electric blue day gecko is a small Tanzanian reptile whose recovery shows what focused conservation can do, reports Mongabay contributor, Manuel Fonseca. Once heavily collected for Europe’s pet trade, the species is now rebounding because pressure from trade has eased, captive breeding has reduced demand for wild animals, and local people are helping restore the forest it needs. The gecko (Lygodactylus williamsi) lives in only two small forest reserves in central Tanzania, Kimboza and Ruvu, and depends almost entirely on screwpines for shelter, food, basking and breeding. That dependence made it vulnerable. Collectors cut down screwpines to reach the geckos, and by 2009, researchers estimated that tens of thousands had been taken from the wild. The species was later listed as critically endangered, and international commercial trade was banned under CITES, the global wildlife trade convention, in 2017. The work on the ground has mattered just as much. In Kimboza, forest ecologist Charles Kilawe and people from surrounding villages have worked with rangers to remove invasive Spanish cedar, which had spread through the reserve and displaced native habitat. Since 2016, they have cut down nearly 100,000 cedar trees, reduced forest fires by around 80%, and planted about 5,000 native trees a year. Those efforts are helping the gecko’s population return toward earlier levels. They are also improving habitat for other wildlife, including blue monkeys (Cercopithecus mitis), white-chested alethes (Chamaetylas fuelleborni) and trumpeter hornbills (Bycanistes bucinator). For species with tiny ranges, conservation can be very specific work: Keep trade pressure…This article was originally published on Mongabay