At the Forest’s Edge- How Technology Is Helping Japan Coexist with Bears

Brown bear

In Japan’s northern and mountainous regions, the boundary between human settlement and wild habitat is growing ever thinner. As bears venture closer to towns and cities, encounters that were once rare are becoming increasingly common—posing risks to both people and animals. In the coastal city of Ishinomaki, in Miyagi Prefecture, local authorities are testing an unconventional response. Rather than fences or force, they are turning to technology. Specially equipped drones, designed to disperse bear repellent, are being introduced as a way to discourage bears from entering populated areas without direct human confrontation. The drones are produced by Terra Drone, a Japanese company that says the system allows bears to be deterred remotely and with precision. Operated from distances of up to half a mile, the aircraft can be deployed swiftly, keeping wildlife officers and residents out of harm’s way. An initial drone will be launched as a trial, with plans to expand the program next spring. The initiative, expected to cost several million yen, will be managed by a private operator appointed by the city. Officials hope the approach will reduce damage and defuse encounters, while allowing bears to retreat back into the surrounding forest. A demonstration video offers an early glimpse of the technology in action. Though filmed in Japanese and staged using a person in a bear costume, it reflects a broader ambition: to find new ways for humans and wildlife to share an increasingly crowded landscape.

An anti-bear attack drone equipped with bear spray. 

Bear sightings and attacks have become an increasing concern across Japan. Data from the country’s environment ministry show that reported sightings rose by 163 percent between 2021 and 2025. Since April alone, bear encounters have resulted in around 100 injuries and 12 fatalities. In response, authorities have introduced a range of countermeasures. In December, units from Japan’s Self-Defense Forces were deployed to northern regions where repeated sightings had been recorded. Their task: to install trap cages designed to capture bears that had strayed too close to human settlements. Technology has also begun to play a growing role. Alongside repellent-spraying drones, other aerial deterrents are being tested. In November, Gifu Prefecture launched drones fitted with oversized “googly eyes,” loudspeakers that mimic barking dogs, and firecrackers—an effort to frighten bears and drive them back toward forested areas before encounters escalate.

The Karelian Bear Dog; once used to hunt bears is now used to mitigate human-bear conflict.

While drones represent a strikingly innovative way to deter bears without causing harm, they are only one part of a much broader solution. Long-term coexistence depends just as heavily on prevention—particularly public awareness programs that teach bear safety and improve waste management in regions where sightings are frequent. Poorly stored food and rubbish remain among the strongest attractants drawing bears into human settlements. On the ground, more traditional methods continue to prove their worth. Specially trained hunting dogs have been used with notable success to reduce human–bear conflict. One such breed, the Karelian Bear Dog, was originally developed in Finland to confront large and dangerous wildlife. Today, its natural prey drive is employed not to hunt bears, but to drive them away. By standing its ground—barking persistently and nipping when necessary—the dog teaches bears to associate human areas with discomfort and risk. In Japan, these hardy dogs were first introduced in 2004 in Karuizawa, a popular resort town near Tokyo. The results were striking: reported bear incidents fell from 255 in 2006 to just four by 2017. Wildlife managers attribute this success to both the dogs’ presence and scent, which discourage repeat incursions. Their effectiveness, however, depends on careful application. The dogs are not used solely to chase bears away in the moment, but also as part of a process known as “hard release.” In this method, dogs are used to intimidate a captured bear before it is released back into the wild—often accompanied by loud noises such as bean-bag rounds fired into the air. The aim is to recondition the animal, reinforcing a lasting fear of human spaces. Taken together—public education, improved waste practices, drone technology, capture-and-release programs, and trained dogs—these approaches point toward a more sustainable future. It is through this layered strategy, rather than any single solution, that Japan may yet achieve a lasting and peaceful coexistence between people and bears.                

A Fragile Comeback at a Crossroads- The Mexican Wolf and the Politics of Survival

Mexican wolf at New Mexico's Sevilleta National Wildlife Refuge.

Once driven to the very edge of disappearance across the deserts and mountains of the American Southwest and Mexico, the Mexican wolf has clawed its way back from oblivion. Decades of painstaking conservation and captive-breeding efforts have returned at least 286 wolves to the wild—a fragile but remarkable recovery. Protected under the Endangered Species Act, the wolf’s survival has long depended on this legal shield. Now, that protection hangs in the balance. A House committee has advanced a bill that would remove the Mexican wolf from the endangered list. Introduced last summer by Arizona Representative Paul Gosar and titled the Enhancing Safety for Animals Act, the proposal reflects the enduring conflict between wolves and ranchers and is set to advance to the House floor. The challenge does not end there. Additional bills introduced this year by Representative Lupe Diaz would allow private landowners to obtain permits to kill wolves on private property and even open the door to sport hunting. Conservationists warn that such measures could unravel decades of progress and push the species back toward extinction. “This is very bad news for the wolves,” said Michael Robinson of the Center for Biological Diversity—an echo of a wider fear that the Mexican wolf’s hard-won return to the wild may once again be at risk.

Rep. Paul Gosar

In the wild today, the Mexican wolf clings to recovery with a population of just 286 animals, as of 2024. Under the strict benchmarks of the Endangered Species Act, that number still falls short—true downlisting is permitted only once the population reaches at least 326. Yet, in a move that startled conservationists, the House Natural Resources Committee has backed the Enhancing Safety for Animals Act, a bill that would remove the wolf from the endangered species list altogether. The proposal is one of four measures introduced amid growing frustration from ranching communities, who argue that wolves prey on livestock and household pets, inflicting financial strain on rural Arizona. But critics warn that delisting could undermine the very recovery it claims to address. Arizona’s wolf conservation program depends heavily on federal funding tied to the ESA, and that support is now in limbo. The effects are already visible. A stall in federal funding has halted coordinated aerial surveys across Arizona and New Mexico—vital tools for tracking wolf numbers. Forced to adapt, wildlife officials now conduct surveys by foot and vehicle, a slower and less effective approach. As Jim deVos of the Arizona Game and Fish Department explains, without helicopters, keeping watch over one of North America’s rarest predators becomes a far greater challenge.

Gila National Forest, one of many places home to Mexican wolves.

The U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service reports that livestock losses linked to Mexican wolves have been declining since 2022. Yet, despite this downward trend, wolves remain firmly in the political crosshairs. At both state and federal levels, lawmakers are advancing bills that would strip the species of its endangered status—moves that conservationists say risk undoing decades of fragile progress. In the landscapes of the American Southwest, the Mexican wolf plays a quiet but vital role, shaping the balance of forests and grasslands. Conflicts with livestock, scientists argue, are less a symptom of wolf behavior than of human transformation of the land—where wild habitat has been converted to ranches and natural prey has been pushed aside. There are alternatives. Non-lethal measures, such as the use of livestock guardian dogs, have proven effective in protecting cattle while allowing wolves to survive. By contrast, shooting wolves on sight threatens not only their recovery, but the health of the ecosystems they help sustain. Critics also warn that removing federal protections now would violate the Endangered Species Act itself, given that recovery targets have not yet been met. Compounding the risk, delays in federal funding are already weakening efforts to monitor wolf populations, leaving scientists with an incomplete picture of how well the species is truly faring. The future of the Mexican wolf, it seems, hinges not on conflict, but on cooperation—between ranchers, conservationists, lawmakers, and communities—working together to find a way for people and predators to share the same land in peace.               

Returning the King- Saudi Arabia’s Asiatic Lion Project

Asiatic lion

Once true to its name, the Asiatic lion roamed a vast realm that stretched from the forests of India to the plains of Greece. Its presence is etched into human history—carved into Mesopotamian and Iranian reliefs, cast in sculptures and statues, and woven into the stories of ancient texts. From the biblical tales of Daniel, David, and Samson to the Greek legend of Hercules, the lion stood as a symbol of power and awe. Yet the most compelling testimony to its former dominion lies buried in the earth itself, where lion bones have been uncovered at archaeological sites across these regions. Over centuries, relentless hunting and the steady loss of habitat drove the Asiatic lion from Greece and West Asia, with the last confirmed sighting in Iran recorded in 1942. In India, it vanished from the north and the heart of the subcontinent, surviving today only in a final stronghold—the Gir Forest of Gujarat.

Andrew Zaloumis, CEO of Prince Mohammed bin Salman Royal Reserve

Now, a bold vision is taking shape in the deserts of Saudi Arabia. Within the vast expanse of the Prince Mohammed bin Salman Royal Reserve, plans are emerging to return the Asiatic lion to a land it once knew. The proposal forms part of an ambitious conservation program aimed at restoring 23 endangered or locally extinct species across the kingdom. Progress is already visible. Last year, the Persian onager—native to Iran—was released into the reserve, stepping into the ecological role once filled by its closest genetic relative, the now-extinct Syrian onager. Earlier, in 2022, Arabian oryx were reintroduced, their numbers steadily rising to 86 today. Preparations are also underway for the return of the Arabian leopard, with breeding programs established in the city of Ta’if. Yet the lion’s homecoming remains undecided. According to the reserve’s chief executive, Andrew Zaloumis, no timeline has been set, and discussions are still at the consultation stage—though they have met no resistance from the board of directors, chaired by Crown Prince Mohammed bin Salman. Alongside these plans, the reserve works closely with local communities, holding regular consultations and prioritising local recruitment, seeking to ensure that conservation and coexistence go hand in hand.

View of Prince Mohammed bin Salman Royal Reserve.

Evidence of the Asiatic lion’s former presence in Arabia is written into the stone itself. Ancient rock carvings, some more than 10,000 years old, bear silent witness to a predator that vanished from the region by the 19th century. Today, with plans for its return, Saudi Arabia could become only the second nation—after India—to once again host wild lions. The Prince Mohammed bin Salman Royal Reserve offers a landscape vast enough to sustain such an ambition. Spanning 24,500 square kilometres—more than twice the size of Lebanon—it surpasses even Kruger, the Serengeti, and Yellowstone in scale. Within its boundaries lie fifteen distinct ecosystems, rising to peaks over two kilometres in the Hejaz Mountains, stretching across the volcanic lava fields of the Harrat Plateau, and plunging to depths of a thousand metres beneath the Red Sea, where deep-water corals flourish. Across this extraordinary range, more than 300 species of birds, mammals, and plants have already been recorded.

A herd of Persian onagers in the reserve.

While plans to return the lion remain under discussion, conservationists agree that the immediate priority lies elsewhere. The Arabian leopard, a subspecies now teetering on the edge of extinction, numbers no more than 100 to 120 individuals worldwide, and its population is believed to be in decline. In response, captive breeding programs have been established across the region—in Israel, Oman, the United Arab Emirates, Yemen, and Saudi Arabia—offering a fragile lifeline to this elusive predator. Though smaller than the lion, the Arabian leopard fulfils a similar ecological role, helping to maintain balance within the Middle East’s terrestrial ecosystems. Only once these populations are securely restored would conditions be right for the return of the lion, whether in Saudi Arabia or elsewhere in West Asia where it once reigned. As with the leopard, any future reintroduction of the Asiatic lion would depend on carefully managed captive breeding, made possible through close collaboration between conservation organisations, governments, and local stakeholders.