For decades, wildlife conservation policy has aimed to protect endangered species until there are enough individual animals alive that the species won’t go extinct. Then the policymakers declare victory.

That principle is enshrined in laws such as the U.S. Endangered Species Act and Canada’s Species at Risk Act. It shapes how governments manage wildlife and their habitat, how politicians weigh trade-offs between species protection and human development goals, and how the public understands conservation.

But often, those minimalist population numbers – enough to avoid extinction – aren’t enough to restore ecosystems or cultural connections between people and those animals.

There’s another way of thinking about species recovery: emphasizing not just avoiding extinction but instead enabling species to truly thrive. A shift from conserving minimum populations to restoring thriving populations involves recovering the species’ ecological role, including large parts of its geographic range and genetic diversity, as well as its relationships with people.

The difference between recovering thriving populations instead of traditional minimalist approaches becomes clear when looking at three iconic North American species: gray wolves, grizzly bears and bison.

Gray wolves: More than a number

After decades of federal protection, gray wolves were taken off the list of species protected by the Endangered Species Act in parts of the U.S. in January 2021.

The Trump administration is considering removing federal protections for gray wolves nationwide.

But in the wake of the regional protection removal, states such as Montana and Idaho expanded hunting and trapping seasons for wolves, and some organizations added bounties for killing them.

Officials justified their actions by pointing to the fact that gray wolves had surpassed a minimum population threshold for species survival, and saying that intensive predator control would not jeopardize the species’ long-term viability.

The states’ current population goals would reduce wolf populations to about one-third of current numbers: from 1,235 to 500 in Idaho and from 1,134 to 450 in Montana.

For contrast, there are 3,300 wolves in Italy. That country has an area about 80% of the size of Montana and is home to less prey, less open land and more than 50 times as many people, all of which significantly raise the potential for human-wolf conflict.

So far in Idaho and Montana, gray wolf numbers have stopped increasing and may still satisfy requirements under federal laws protecting the species. But the wolf population there is not robust and thriving – it’s just surviving.

Wolves remain absent from large areas that provide suitable habitat for them. Reducing wolf numbers further, as the states want to do, would limit their ability to reoccupy these areas, where they could restore ecosystems by helping to manage often overabundant prey populations and also inspire millions of people with their wildness.

Grizzly bears: Viable yet vulnerable

Grizzly bear populations in the Greater Yellowstone and northern Continental Divide ecosystems have exceeded the federal recovery targets set decades ago under the Endangered Species Act to prevent the bears’ extinction.

In July 2025, a U.S. House of Representatives committee agreed to remove the species’ protection under the law, which would allow states to permit people to hunt the bears for the first time in decades. But it was overhunting that, in part, drove them to near extinction in the first place.

Government agencies often say that hunting and trapping reduce human conflicts with bears. But scientific and public opinion on that point is far from a consensus. There are effective, nonlethal methods for keeping bears away from humans, such as public education, electric fencing, bear-resistant garbage containers and removal of roadkill and dead livestock.

Once numbering more than 50,000 across at least 18 states in the 48 contiguous United States, grizzlies now number just over 2,000 and occupy less than 5% of their original habitat area. They can be found in only four states.

Current grizzly populations are also not interconnected, despite the availability of suitable habitat for them. That risks genetic isolation of subpopulations, which decreases genetic diversity and their prospects for adaptation and survival. Disconnection of populations also reduces their ability to disperse seeds, improve soil health and prey on other species. Grizzly bears are also an umbrella species, meaning they share habitat with a disproportionate number of other species, so recovering grizzlies benefits the entire food web.

One day, hunting might offer a new way for humans to reconnect with thriving grizzlies. But right now, with populations isolated and vulnerable, opening a hunting season would risk cutting off their chance to thrive in large, unoccupied ranges.

Bison: The illusion of return

Perhaps no species better captures the failure of existing recovery models to move beyond survival toward thriving populations than the bison. Tens of millions of them used to roam North America, shaping grassland ecosystems and playing significant material, spiritual and communal roles in Indigenous cultures.

Hunting for bison hides and tongues reduced their numbers to fewer than 1,000 at the cusp of the 20th century. Today, most bison live on ranches in small, fenced herds. Only 31,000 bison in North America are managed for conservation, and most are in isolated pockets of habitat at the fringe of their historic range. Even in Yellowstone National Park, which supports thousands of bison and provides a glimpse into how bison historically shaped North American ecosystems, the animals are barred from expanding to other parts of their historic range due to concerns about disease transfer to domestic livestock.

Thinking about the bison’s recovery in different terms does not mean tens of millions of them need to be stampeding across the continent. But it could mean large, free-ranging, genetically diverse herds that are integrated into a variety of ecosystems, where they also have a role in cultural revitalization.

A thriving view of species recovery is central to Indigenous-led initiatives, such as those guided by the 2014 Buffalo Treaty, which has been signed by more than 40 Indigenous nations. The treaty helped drive bison reintroduction to Banff National Park in Canada and is currently inspiring the recovery of free-roaming bison on Indigenous reservations across the U.S. and Canada, including the Blackfeet Reservation in Montana and Wind River Reservation in Wyoming.

A broader vision of recovery

Shifting away from the long-standing goal of a minimum viable population would require changes to how recovery targets are set, how success is measured, and how decisions are made when populations reach those minimum thresholds.

While national laws in the U.S. and Canada provide valuable starting points, focusing on species not just surviving but thriving would involve more ambitious goals, longer timelines and stronger human-wildlife coexistence measures. It would also require shifting public expectations away from the idea that recovery ends when minimal legal obligations are met.

Doing so could help combat climate change by restoring the role of large, wild animals in nutrient cycling, as well as reverse ecosystem degradation and help people of all backgrounds reconnect with nature.

As wildlife biologists, we aim to provide the best available science and recommendations to inform the conservation of North America’s wildlife. Yet under the current management paradigm, where recovery often equates to mere survival, we are compelled to ask whether this is enough. Should wildlife conservation aim merely to prevent extinction or to foster populations that thrive? How each and every one of us answers this question will shape not only the future of wolves, grizzly bears and bison, but also the legacy of wildlife recovery across North America.

Benjamin Larue, Faculty Affiliate in Wildlife Biology, University of Montana; Jonathan Farr, Ph.D. Student in Wildlife Biology, University of Montana, and Mark Hebblewhite, Professor of Ungulate Habitat Ecology, University of Montana

This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license. Read the original article.

Humanity’s drive to explore has taken us across the solar system, with astronaut boots, various landers and rovers’ wheels exploring the surfaces of several different planetary bodies. These environments are generally hostile to human and equipment health, so designing and executing these missions requires a lot of planning, testing and technological development.

You may have heard about the extensive testing facilities for spacecraft and equipment, but how do scientists prepare for the human aspect of space exploration?

One way to test out techniques and identify situations that may arise during a real mission is using a simulation, which in this field is more commonly known as an analog. Researchers choose and design analog missions and environments to replicate elements of a real mission, using what is available here on Earth.

These missions are conducted in extreme environments on Earth that are comparable to the Moon or Mars, in habitats designed to replicate living quarters, or a combination of both. Researchers can use analogs to study crew performance and procedures, or to test instruments under development for use in space.

For example, operating a drill or wrench may seem easy here on Earth, but try doing the same task in thick gloves on a bulky, pressurized space suit in lower gravity. Suddenly, things aren’t so straightforward. Testing these scenarios on Earth allows researchers to identify necessary changes before launch. The analogs can also train crew members who will one day undertake the actual mission.

I’m a planetary scientist, which means I study the geology of other planets. Currently, I study environments on Earth that are similar to other planets to improve our understanding of their counterparts elsewhere in the solar system. I participated as a volunteer in one of these analog missions as an “analog astronaut,” serving as the crew geologist and applying my prior research findings from studying the surfaces of the Moon and Mars.

These analog missions vary in setting, length and intensity, but all aim to learn more about the human factors involved in space exploration.

Where do we send them?

Analog missions are designed to simulate the crew’s experience in a given mission plan. In some cases, they simulate surface operations on the Moon or Mars for up to a year. Others might replicate the experience of being in transit to Mars for a period of time, followed by the crew “landing” and exploring the surface.

NASA uses several analog mission facilities spread across the world. For example, the Mars Desert Research Station in Utah is located in an environment chosen to imitate conditions on Mars, while analog missions at Aquarius, an undersea research station off the coast of Florida, help scientists learn about crew behavior and psychology in a confined habitat located in a hostile environment.

Some natural environments are commonly used for analog operations, such as volcanic terrains in the western U.S., human-made craters in Nevada, the natural meteor crater in Arizona and research stations in Antarctica. These locations mirror the geologic settings the crews are likely to encounter on future missions, and so training in these locations helps them execute the actual missions.

I participated in a simulated 28-day lunar surface mission at a facility called Hi-SEAS as part of a study on crew dynamics and psychology in extreme isolation. The facility is located on Mauna Loa, a volcano on the big island of Hawaii. This habitat has been used for a variety of studies, as the volcanic terrain is reminiscent of both the Moon and parts of Mars, and the isolated location simulates being in space.

Analog mission crews

Most missions require applicants to hold relevant degrees. They must undergo physical health and psychiatric evaluations, with the goal being to select individuals with similar backgrounds to those in the astronaut corps. The ideal crew is typically made up of participants who work and live well with others, and can stay cool under stress.

Crews also include at least one person with medical training for emergencies, as well as a variety of scientists and engineers to operate the habitat’s life support systems.

The experiences of each crew varies, depending on the mission design, location and makeup of the crew. My mission was designed so that the six crew members would not have any information about our crewmates until we arrived in Hawaii for training. In addition to geology expertise, I also have some medical training as a Wilderness First Responder, so I was there to assist with any medical issues.

Daily life on an analog mission

Once in Hawaii, the crew spent three days learning how to operate the habitat systems, including the hydroponic garden and solar panels. We practiced emergency procedures and were taught how to perform other tasks.

After that orientation, we were deployed to the habitat for 28 days. We turned in our phones to mission control and could only access the internet to check emails or use a few preapproved websites required for our daily duties. Our days were scheduled with tasks from wake up, about 6:30 a.m., to lights out, about 10 p.m.

The tasks included a variety of exercises to assess individual and group performance. They included individual assessments – similar to a daily IQ test – and group computer-based tasks, such as team 3D Tetris. The researchers remotely monitored our interactions during these activities, and the results were analyzed as the mission progressed. They used our fluctuating performance on these activities as a proxy for estimating stress levels, group cohesion and individual well-being.

Additionally, we went on two-to-three-hour extra-vehicular activities, or excursions outside the habitat, on alternating days. During these expeditions, we conducted geologic investigations on the volcano. On our “off days,” we spent two hours exercising in the habitat. We had to be fully suited in a mock spacesuit any time we went outside, and we had to be careful about the airlock procedures. We were never outdoors alone.

We could only eat freeze-dried and powdered foods, aside from what we were able to grow in the hydroponic system. We had no additional food delivered during our stay. Water was also rationed, meaning we had to find innovative ways to maintain personal hygiene. For example, a bucket shower one or two times per week was allowed, supplemented by “wilderness wipe” baths. As someone with a lot of very curly hair, I was happy to figure out a method for managing it using less than two liters of water per week. We were also permitted to do laundry once during our stay, as a group. Sorting through your crewmates’ wet clothes was certainly one way to bond.

Though physically demanding at times, the workload was not unreasonable. We were kept busy all day, as certain everyday tasks, such as cooking, required more effort than they might need in our normal lives. Preparing nutritionally balanced and palatable meals while rationing our very limited resources was hard, but it also provided opportunities to get creative with recipes and ingredients. We even managed to bake a cake for a crew member’s birthday, using peanut butter protein and cocoa powders to flavor it.

After dinner each night, we shared the pre-saved movies and shows we had each brought with us into the habitat, as we could not access the internet. Those of us who had brought physical copies of books into the habitat would trade those as well. One crew member managed to acquire a downloadable form of the daily Wordle, so we could still compete with our friends back home. We also played board games, and all of these activities helped us get to know each other.

Though different from our typical daily lives, the experience was one of a kind. We had the satisfaction of knowing that our efforts advanced space exploration in its own small way, one IQ test and slapdash cake at a time.

Jordan Bretzfelder, Postdoctoral Fellow, Earth and Atmospheric Sciences, Georgia Institute of Technology

This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license. Read the original article.