California is known for its giant, multi-laned highways bustling under bright blue skies. And while this infrastructure is useful to humans, the Golden State’s many highways represent an almost impenetrable barrier for wildlife.

Soon, habitats on either side of the 10-laned 101 Freeway in Agoura Hills, California will be reconnected thanks to the world’s largest wildlife crossing, according to the Los Angeles Times. The Wallis Annenberg Wildlife Crossing is scheduled for completion on December 2.

Wildlife crossings are structures that help animals safely cross roads. In the United States, collisions between motorists and large animals take place more than a million times a year. Experts estimate that this results in 400 human deaths every year. But the problem isn’t just road accidents. Habitat fragmentation is also a concern, especially for species that require a large range. Inbreeding can occur if a small enough group of animals becomes isolated. 

In the Los Angeles area, mountain lions (Puma concolor), also known as pumas or cougars, are currently the species most vulnerable to genetic isolation caused by roads and development, according to the project’s website. And the 101 Freeway appears to be the most important obstacle, out of all the roads in the area, to the region’s ecological health. 

As such, the Wallis Annenberg Wildlife Crossing aims to reconnect local plants and animals in the ecosystem of the Santa Monica Mountains.  It’s about 210 feet long and about 170 to 174 feet wide. A thick, sturdy-looking vegetation-covered bridge already straddles the busy freeway—but the weather might throw a wrench in the project’s schedule. 

“We’re just hoping El Niño‘s on our side,” Beth Pratt, president of the Wildlife Crossing Fund, tells the Los Angeles Times, in reference to the climate pattern that typically brings wetter winter weather along the United States’ southern border. Flooding would put work on pause, according to the outlet. “I keep saying, ‘Mother Nature, we’re trying to help you. Let’s not throw any more complications our way.’” 

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A single bat colony contains hundreds or even thousands of the winged mammals. But with less-than-ideal eyesight and so many neighbors, how do mothers identify their pups amid the extremely crowded conditions? Writing in a new study published today in the journal Frontiers in Ethology, researchers say it often comes down to the subtle, unique vocalizations emitted by their individual offspring. To assess their responses, the team relied on an even more delicate biological signal—the mother bat’s own heartbeat.

The investigation began when biologists at Japan’s Doshisha University noticed a surprising—but consistent—behavior among the Japanese house bats (Alionoctula abramus) in their laboratory colony. Whenever a pup wandered too far from its roosting area, only its mother raced to the rescue.

“We knew that pups emit isolation calls—acoustic distress signals—when separated. But seeing this strict behavioral selectivity made us wonder: what is happening inside the mother when she hears these calls?” recalled study co-author and Doshisha University biologist Kazuki Yoshino-Hashizawa.

To learn more, Yoshino-Hashizawa and his colleagues monitored four mother bats who each recently birthed a litter of three pups. Some of the litters only contained females, so they decided to exclude the young males from the study to avoid sex-based variations. At two days old, the team recorded clips of the female pups’ tiny isolation calls. These function like the cries from a human baby, and each vocalization has its own unique tones.

However, Japanese house bats grow quickly. The new generation started making echolocation calls at about eight days old, and they ceased isolation calls after around 12 days. After roughly one month, they began flying like adults and set off on their own within the colony. The researchers then recorded their adult echolocation calls, as well.

Around 40 days after the pups’ birth, the team isolated each mother and played them the various audio clips while monitoring their heart rates using an ECG machine. As a control, they also played the recording of a random adult male bat. The study’s authors quickly saw that a mother bat’s heart rate sped up when they heard cries of their own pups, but not the pups that belong to other bat moms. Surprisingly, the mother bats’ heart rates boosted the most from recordings of the older, independent pups. Researchers theorize this might relate to the bats’ memory of more recent calls, but that idea requires more study to confirm.

Still, don’t get overly sentimental. The team also recorded strong heart rate reactions when the mothers heard calls from the random adult male. It’s possible the bats interpreted the sounds as a threat, but the team stopped short of categorizing the reactions as good or bad.

“‘[Heart rate measurement] cannot distinguish between positive emotions, such as maternal motivation, and negative ones, such as stress or alarm,” Yoshino-Hashizawa added.

Instead, the study authors suggest heart rates may be a solid starting point when trying to analyze bat behaviors and responses to their everyday environment. At the same time, a mother bat’s heart certainly seems to patter a bit more for her pups.

“[This] suggests that these vocalizations instantly physiologically prime the mother to engage in maternal behavior,” explained Yoshino-Hashizawa.

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Rattlesnake venom is a complex blend of necrotic toxins designed to quickly disrupt blood coagulation and destroy tissue cells. This effective biological weapon comes at a major premium, however. Snakes must regularly replenish their venom reserves, which means they need to dole out just the right amount with each bite. Injecting too little venom into prey may allow their next meal to escape, while delivering too much can leave a rattlesnake defenseless against its own predators.

But that doesn’t mean rattlesnakes adhere to a one-bite-fits-all policy. According to researchers at California’s Loma Linda University, the amount of venom routinely varies by individual reptile. Their recent findings published in Frontiers in Ethology indicate these dosage ranges aren’t randomly distributed, and that snakes and their venom are much more complicated than many people realize.

“This study gives us a better understanding that reptiles, such as rattlesnakes, are behaviorally complex and have personalities like humans do,” explained Loma Linda University biologist and study co-author Chelsea Martin.

Martin and her colleague, William Hayes, focused on the preferences of the Pacific rattlesnake (Crotalus oreganus helleri). On three occasions over a four-week window, the team offered 48 snakes the chance to sink their fangs into a membrane-covered beaker. Previous experiments mainly focused on the frequency of bites, but Martin and Hayes also measured the amount of injected venom in each instance. They then compared the data across snakes.

“The results were striking in their consistency,” the study’s authors wrote in an accompanying Phys.org rundown.

The team also reported measured behaviors like aggressiveness, bite willingness, and the amount of venom amount were statistically significant and repeatable across many of the snakes. Additionally, their study further debunks the lingering myth that larger snakes actually produce less venom.

“Larger snakes expended more venom than smaller snakes, as expected given their greater capacity for venom storage,” explained the biologists, while noting that actual delivered levels still occasionally varied regardless of size.

The study’s authors emphasize that their findings shouldn’t be held against the rattlesnakes themselves. While often feared, the snakes generally do everything they can to avoid confrontations with larger animals like humans. Bites are almost always the result of an unintentional encounter in the wild rather than an overly aggressive serpent. If anything, it’s people who aren’t paying attention to their surroundings, and not the other way around.

“One practical lesson remains unchanged: No rattlesnake should be approached or handled on the assumption that it will behave predictably,” the authors said. “Consistent individual differences do not make any particular snake safe.”

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Our fingerprints, patterns on whale flukes, and fur patterns on cheetahs are examples of the natural ways we can tell one individual animal from another. For an Amazonian treefrog called the egg-eating spiny-backed frog (Osteocephalus oophagus), we need to look into their eyeballs. Fine black radial lines cross their golden irises, and form a pattern similar to our fingerprints. A study recently published in the journal Herpetozoa details the discovery.

The project began with study co-author Mélissa Peignier, a behavioral ecologist at the University of Bern in Switzerland, admiring frog eyes. 

“At the time, I was doing my PhD, studying Allobates femoralis in the field in French Guiana,” Peignier said in a statement. “My first reaction was simply something along the lines of, ‘Wow, what beautiful eyes!’ That initial curiosity gradually turned into a genuine interest in the species, and I realised how little we actually know about them.”

There was also an ethical component. One of the standard ways to tell amphibians apart from one another is toe-clipping, where a section or all of a single toe is removed. This procedure can affect their survival, physiology, and behavior. 

“Other studies have used toe-clipping, which involves removing some of the digits. Personally, I was uncomfortable with this approach, especially given that these are arboreal frogs that rely on their limbs to climb trees.”

Looking for other markings could offer a more humane solution and a way to observe the animals natural behavior unimpeded.

For this study, fieldwork took place over three rainy seasons (2021 to 2023) on a river island in the Nouragues Nature Reserve in French Guiana. They identified 103 individual frogs over the course of the study.

During their later encounters, the team took pictures of each animal’s eyes without touching it and then compared the images with a reference library. This way, the recognised frogs were left undisturbed and their eyes appeared in their more natural state. The identifications were then independently verified using Wild-ID, a software package that analyzes photographic markings in animals.

They found highly distinctive iris patterns. Within one season, between 56 and 80 percent of the frogs were recaptured and reliably re-identified. According to the team, this indicates that the patterns on their eyes remain stable enough to monitor the frog in the short-term. Photographs could even be taken of frogs while in their mating embrace (called amplexus) without disrupting them. The team hopes that this method will spread. 

“In a world where biodiversity is declining at an alarming rate, it is essential that we minimise our impact on the animals we study,” added Peignier. “If we can reliably identify individuals using naturally occurring features, we may be able to reduce the need for more invasive marking techniques while still collecting the data needed to answer important scientific questions.”

While the reliability of the eye markings will vary between species, and should be done case by case, the team sees considerable promise for amphibians with complex irises. And working with them offers its own benefits. 

“Honestly, the frogs themselves are incredibly beautiful and surprisingly chill, which makes working with them a real pleasure,” Peignier said. 

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Fall is here, and with it comes very determined deer. Mating season for the hoofed ruminants typically begins once temperatures dive and the days grow shorter, but the annual event also poses problems for humans. The deer have one thing on their mind, which means they pay even less attention to vehicles and roadways. In New Jersey, roughly 41 percent of all annual animal collisions occur between October and December, while the AAA Foundation for Traffic Safety routinely tallies over 275 fatalities from similar accidents nationwide every year.

Driving gets even riskier in rural areas, which frequently host higher deer populations and much darker roads. However, a recent pilot program in Virginia offers a promising tool that may keep commuters safe while also allowing the animals to do their thing. At the Virginia Tech Transportation Institute (VTTI), researchers designed an automated digital roadside sensor system that warns drivers of large jaywalkers like deer and elk.

According to VTTI engineer Shreyas Bhat, the year-long trial demonstrated a “measurable change” in how local drivers responded when alerted to oncoming wildlife. Bhat and his colleagues tested the system with help from the state’s Department of Transportation along a 14-mile section of Route 460 in southwest Virginia. The array was composed of eight portable, solar-powered trailers and customizable digital message signs. Each station included thermal cameras analyzed by onboard machine learning software, which triggered the sign alerts whenever it flagged nearby medium– to large–sized animals.

Over the course of the trial, researchers amassed driving data on over 10,000 vehicles, while the detection system maintained an estimated accuracy of around 97 percent. This is particularly impressive given the region’s environmental and infrastructural challenges.

“This system is unique because of the requirements of the area—it needed to be solar powered, portable, and be able to withstand all weather conditions,” explained VTTI engineer Jean Paul Talledo Vilela.

The team reported an average reduced speed of about three miles per hour thanks to the roadside warning signs. That may not seem like much, but even a slight slowdown can save lives. It also proved people took note of the system.

“Speed is an important data point to understand if drivers were actually paying attention to the message board,” said Talledo Vilela. “Even if they are not braking aggressively, some reduction in speed indicates that they may be paying more attention to their surroundings because they got that alert.”

While Talledo Vilela, Bhat, and their collaborators are still parsing through data from the program,(it ended in September) the initial findings remain promising. From here, the team hopes to refine the overall system while organizing future trials in other regions of the country. If successful, the relatively simple installations could also be adapted for other year-round road safety situations like construction or real-time weather hazards.

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Before giant manta rays (Mobula birostris) can grow to up to 30 feet long and 4,409 pounds, they must start small like most living things. Giant manta ray babies (called pups) in Central America don’t have their size to protect them from orca whales (Orcinus orca) and the numerous sharks in the open ocean. Their solution—sticking to the coast, where there is plenty of food to help them grow and defend themselves. A new study published today in the journal Frontiers in Fish Science details the baby rays’ behavior. 

“We show that manta rays’ lifestyle isn’t a one-size-fits-all behavior. Giant manta rays in Central America undergo a dramatic shift in space use as they mature,” Jeffry Madrigal-Mesén, a study co-author and project leader of Mantas Costa Rica, said in a statement. “Juveniles remained strictly within shallow nearshore waters that serve as coastal refuges, but most of the tracked adults executed long-distance transboundary migrations along the continental shelf break into Central America.”

Where the pups grow

In the study, the team used multiple methods to track and identify mantas at five locations between 2018 and 2025. Acoustic telemetry uses underwater sound pulses to monitor fish movements and allowed the team to track 59 individual rays. With satellite telemetry, transmitters track movement and behavior from a distance and helped the team track large-scale movements of 12 individuals. Lastly, photo identification helped to identify individual manta rays.

“If we hadn’t used all three technologies together, we simply wouldn’t have been able to piece this puzzle together,” explained Madrigal-Mesén. “Combining these tools turned fragmented data into a unified, undeniable story.”

The team ended up with a dataset of over 12,000 detections. The data showed that young mantas (those with a body about 10 feet or less) stick to shallow coastal refuges. In these more shallow spots, the pups have a safe place that doesn’t overlap with their predators’ hunting grounds. They have plenty of food and places to hide, and even get essential services like cleaning from reefs.

“Mature adults can rely on their massive body size and their ability to dive deep to evade threats. But juveniles don’t have that luxury,” said Madrigal-Mesén. “What is truly amazing is seeing how strictly young manta rays stick to coastal waters as long-term refuges. We see the same individuals more often than once a year. In fact, just recently, they were sighted again at the exact same tagging location. It is always a joy to see them again—they have truly become a part of the family.”

By comparison, nine mature mantas in the study went on expansive migrations along the continental shelf break. One manta ray nicknamed Mickey Mouse because of a spot pattern on his belly had movements that suggest the fish also continue to display loyalty to a particular site once they grow up. Unusually approachable for a manta, Mickey Mouse allowed the team tag him multiple times over several years, which provided a continuous dataset. In 2020, he logged 462 acoustic detections at a coastal hub called El Secreto. He returned to the same shelf in 2023, and stayed there for 38 days.

“Nearshore cleaning stations transcend basic hygienic function; they act as primary social hubs where courtship and reproductive interactions take place,” said Madrigal-Mesén. “Returning to a predictable coastal depot allows mature rays to prioritize social and cleaning needs before undertaking large-scale regional migrations.”

Traveling the manta swimway—safely

Once they leave coastal regions, adult manta rays face different dangers. Coastal areas are often legally protected marine reserves, but the open ocean is another story. They no longer have legal protection and are exposed to dangers from industrial fisheries and vessel strikes.

According to the team, this shows that marine protected areas alone are not enough to protect this highly mobile species as it swims across Central America. They say that multi-national “conservation swimways”  that link the domestic juvenile coastal refuges with adult migratory corridors could help keep the endangered rays safe. 

“This study opens a new chapter for manta ray research in Central America,” Madrigal-Mesén concluded. “We hope it sparks fresh enthusiasm and encourages future collaborators to join us in executing the new ideas and research projects we have planned for the conservation of this species.”

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When a new disease emerges, things can get a little weird. We start to clean groceries with antibacterial wipes, the sound of a sneeze can trigger our fight-or-flight response, and we generally become more cautious. Humans may not be the only primate species that change their behavior in the face of disease. 

According to a study published today in the journal Royal Society Open Science, Japanese macaques (Macaca fuscata) that lived through a deadly outbreak in 2020 became noticeably more cautious about food that appeared contaminated, even though this disease was not spread by food or feces. This indicates that purposefully shifting behavior to avoid a pathogen can be shaped by our appearance and that disgust may have deep evolutionary roots. It also sheds light on the behavioral immune system—a collection of behaviors that help animals avoid an infection before the biological immune systems respond.

“We can show now, in non-human primates, that this is the same for them,” Federico Rossano, a study co-author and cognitive psychologist at the University of California San Diego, said in a statement. “Even with no knowledge of how disease is transmitted, being exposed to others getting sick and dying changes the likelihood of engaging in behaviors that potentially could lead to some form of sickness.”

2020 was a big year for outbreaks

In 2020, the staff at a primate sanctuary in southern Texas confirmed the presence of simian retrovirus Type II. This disease can cause AIDS-like immunodeficiency and is primarily transmitted through bites and scratches. It caused severe illness and death in some of the monkeys. The sanctuary staff separated the groups and implemented testing and quarantine measures in response to the outbreak. Since the groups live in separate enclosures, scientists then had the chance to compare animals with similar backgrounds that had experienced very different social and disease environments. 

In total, three groups of monkeys experienced the outbreak while one had not. The team tested 

55 macaques to see how they responded to a choice between food that was put on a clean wooden surface and food placed on a surface covered with real macaque feces. The food with the feces was sealed under a layer of clear epoxy, so that the monkeys could see the food and poop without risking infection.

In the group that had been exposed to the outbreak, some of the individuals had been infected while others had lived alongside sick monkeys without getting sick. This allowed the researchers to question if experiencing an outbreak without getting infected could change the macaque’s behavior. To test that further, the clean surface was replaced with a brightly colored kitchen sponge in some of the scenarios to see if the animals were just avoiding unfamiliar objects. 

Previous studies found that macaques aren’t necessarily deterred by contamination—as long as the payoff is tempting. When presented with a favorite treat (such as a peanut) wild Japanese macaques would still eat food from a surface covered in feces, but will avoid it for food like grains of wheat.

Continued caution

The team found that macaques from groups that went through the outbreak were far less likely to eat the food from the contaminated surface. They ate from the fake contaminated surface in only 47 percent of trials. The monkeys that did not experience the outbreak ate from the potentially contaminated surface in 79 percent of trials.

The monkeys from outbreak-exposed groups also behaved similarly whether or not they themselves had been infected. According to the team, this suggests the behavioral change was associated with their experiencing living through the outbreak, instead of actually getting sick

“Groups have histories, and those histories show up in behavior,” added study co-author and UC San Diego cognitive psychologist Stephan Kaufhold. “Living through the disease outbreak appears to have made those monkey groups more cautious around food that looks contaminated.”

The virus was spread through blood or saliva from bites and scratches, and not through contaminated food. Interestingly, the macaques who saw their fellow primates get sick, were more reluctant to eat food placed on a surface that visually suggested contamination in some of the tests.

Disgust’s evolution

In addition to shedding light on how illness affects primate behavior, it also offers insight into the evolution of disgust. The team did not measure disgust directly, but found that monkey’s avoidance of potential sources of infection can change with their experience, similar to what humans do.

Human disgust is believed to play an important role in protecting us from pathogens. We recoil from the smell and sight of poop, spoiled food, and other potential sources of infection. Our sensitivity to those cues can also change depending on context.

Since primates are capable of social learning, the team believes that heightened pathogen avoidance could be learned from other members in the group and persist over time. Future studies could see if newly introduced animals adopt the behavior of a group that has already experienced an outbreak.

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With Alaska’s fat bears done packing on their winter weight and spooky season in full swing, it’s time to turn our collective animal-loving attention to a smaller mammal—bats. The Bureau of Land Management’s (BLM) annual Bat Beauty Contest returns on October 24 and promises “plenty of batty puns.”

Beginning Saturday, October 24, BLM will post photos of the competitors to their Facebook and Instagram accounts and ask you to vote for the best-looking one. All of the competing bats are part of wild populations that live on land managed by the public agency and are photographed by wildlife technicians. The winner will be announced (appropriately) on Saturday, October 31.

The bats in this competition are known for their squishy faces and clever names. In 2024, a hoary bat (Lasiurus cinereus) from Oregon named Hoary Potter took the crown. Other contestants included a long-eared myotis (Myotis evotis) named Honey Bunches of MyOtis, a myotis bat (Myotis myotis) named Robert Battinson, and western small-footed bats (Myotis ciliolabrum) named Batt Damon and Batlor Swift. The contest was not held in 2025 due to the 43-day-long federal government shutdown. 

The contest is not all bat puns and a way to keep the spirit of Fat Bear Week alive. It falls during Bat Week (October 24-31). Bat Week raises awareness about the Earth’s only flying mammal. More than just a Halloween symbol, bats play a critical ecological role as plant pollinators and through eating insects that can threaten crops and forests around the world. According to Bat Week, one bat can eat up to its body weight in insects every night. Only three species of bats eat animal blood, with two specializing in bird blood. Female lesser long-nosed bats even make tequila possible. Every spring, they migrate from south-central Mexico up to the southwestern United States, following “nectar corridors” of columnar cacti and agave plants. They pollinate agave plants, which are then used to make tequila and mezcal. When they feed on cactus fruits and nectar, they may also help disperse cacti seeds. Other bats eat pollen, nectar, or fruit.

Bats are increasingly threatened due to habitat loss, light pollution, and diseases like white-nose syndrome. This fungal disease infects the skin of the muzzle, ears, and wings of hibernating bats. In about 20 years, it has killed millions of bats across North America and affects about half of the species on the continent. Bats also are often misunderstood as carriers of diseases such as rabies. 

The planet is home to over 1,400 species of bats, and they make up almost 20 percent of all mammal species. Bats also can be found almost everywhere on Earth, even in desert and polar regions. To look up which bat species live near you, you can use Bat Week’s state bat database.

Stay tuned for more Bat Week updates!

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Snakes will bite, rattle their tails, and even spit venom to escape danger. But of all the world’s species, southeast Asia’s dwarf reed snake (Pseudorabdion longiceps) relies on an especially fascinating escape method. When threatened, the diminutive serpent rolls away like a speeding wheel.

An adult dwarf reed snake typically measures less than 12 inches long, but its unique locomotive maneuvers allow it to retreat as fast one foot per second—about four times faster than it travels by simply slithering on the ground. It’s not a flailing getaway, either. The snake also easily rolls along a straight path while somehow keeping its head both stable and facing forward.

Now, researchers finally have a better understanding of how the dwarf reed snake achieves such dizzying acrobatics. In a study published today in the journal Current Biology, a team at Japan’s Toho University detailed the specific physiology that enables its locomotion after filming the snakes with high-speed cameras. Essentially, the snake doesn’t rotate its entire body in a singular, forward motion—it whips one side of its body forward towards the ground while an arched portion swings down by its head in what the study’s authors call a “stroke.” The snake then alternates between its left and right side coming into contact with the ground for each successive stroke. Essentially, it’s like twirling a rope in a lateral circle while holding one end in your hand—except that end is the snake’s head.

The cumulative efforts bypass the traditional idea of a wheel requiring something like a central axle. Instead, this ingenious, highly controlled movement allows the animal to keep its head and sensory organs upright and facing ahead while traveling at such high speed. This is compounded by the dwarf reed snake directing regions of its body to engage in large, alternating rotations while stabilizing its head.

By gaining better insight into these biological mechanisms, researchers also highlight the difficulty in trying to predict an animal’s capabilities based solely on its physiology. A snake may have primarily evolved to slither—but that doesn’t mean it can’t get creative when necessary.

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October is officially Bat Appreciation Month. In the spirit of the season and conservation, a team of biologists in California recently spent time finding bats at Muir Woods National Monument and Samuel P. Taylor State Park. And while Halloween is fast approaching, the activity had nothing to do with spooky festivities and everything to do with tracking hoary (Lasiurus cinereus) and western red bats (Lasiurus blossevillii). 

The goal of their survey was to put GPS trackers on bats from the two migratory species. Hoary bats have grey-white fur and are the most widespread bat species in North, Central, and South America. Western red bats, also known as southern red bats, sport a reddish fur and are found in parts of South America. In redwood forests, bats like nesting within holes inside large trees. 

“When they migrate, those little guys can cover a LOT of ground!” the Golden Gate National Recreation Area writes, referencing both species. “By learning about these migratory patterns, we can better understand entire ecosystems like Muir Woods.”

Bats are important members of such ecosystems. They are pollinators, they spread seeds, and they help manage insect populations. To catch these helpful agents, scientists set up a sheer, delicate net called a “mist net” over a creek at dusk. All bats are nocturnal, and when they went searching for their next meal—bugs—they flew into the net. 

It was a bit of a trick for the winged mammals, but a treat for the human team. “Expert bat wranglers” carefully took them out of the nets, noted their weight and size, presumably attached the GPS tracker, and then returned them to the wild. 

The Golden Gate National Recreation Area’s shared pictures of tiny, disgruntled looking bats carefully pinched between gloved fingers. In one image, an expert holds a bat wing up to the light of a colleague’s headlamp. In fact, illuminated wing membrane patterns literally shed light on the bat’s age and developmental stage.

While this survey focused on two bat species, researchers at the Muir Woods National Monument have previously spotted 10 different species.

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Excerpted from PENELOPE by Paul Bochner. Copyright © 2026 by Paul Bochner. Published in the United States by Crown, an imprint of the Crown Publishing Group, a division of Penguin Random House LLC. 

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On the evening of March 18, as it was growing dark, I went to the window, not knowing what was drawing me. Next to the house stood a shadow, ghost-like, shrunken, at one with the dusk, almost translucent, and I recognized The Girl with the Broken Foot.

I walked out into the falling wet snow, slowly approaching her, and she allowed me to come close. Nine months old, she was the size of a fawn half that age. Starkly emaciated, her body seemed to be collapsing inward, her head held low. Literal hunger and a deeper starvation were palpable. She bore the haunted look of terminal solitude seen in souls driven to the margins of society, among the liv-ing, yet apart. She seemed so frail that I couldn’t imagine she would live more than another day or two.

Going inside and returning with a bowl of apples, I cut them into pieces and placed a few on the ground between us. She was raven-ously hungry and I gave her a few more apples, and still more, until she had eaten a total of eight. After she had finished eating, she stayed with me. We stood about a foot apart. She showed no fear of me, a fact which I would later come to recognize as meaningful. The moment had the compelling quality which has been present at the onset of many enduring connections in my life, of being un-bound by linear time.

“I am watching over you,” I said softly. “If you come here, I will take care of you. You are not alone.”

It was fully dark when we parted, having been together for an hour. I expected that she would recede into the woods, yet the next morning she was sleeping against the house, directly beneath the window closest to where I sit all day to work. Save for the wall separating us, she could not have gotten any closer to me.

When I went around to the front of the house, she struggled to her feet and approached. In the morning light, I was better able to assess the state of her health. Months of solitary survival had taken a severe toll. Her body seemed hollowed, her ribs and pelvis sharply visible beneath her skin, and it felt a miracle that she was alive. On her right flank was a hemispherical mass the size of a cantaloupe, which I took to be a tumor, yet it had an open, running wound at its center, which she periodically craned her neck to lick. Her eyes were running and had congealed masses at their inner corners.

I bent to get a look at her injured foot. From not being walked on, the backward-facing cloven hoof had grown to an abnormal length and was curling upward. The wrist, which unnaturally bore her weight, had a flattened forward surface, an oval about two inches across, worn raw, without hair or skin, only pale pink–grey flesh, which, at its center, appeared to have been further abraded to the bone. Her right front foot, forced to compensate, was splayed and rockered, her right scapula protruded, and her front quarters were substantially lower than her hips.

I again placed apple pieces on the ground between us. I spoke very gently to her, saying, “You are the best one of all the deer. You are the most beautiful. You are good.” I continued to talk to her while she ate her apples, and when she had taken all she could, she returned to her resting spot under the window. I went inside to work, keeping periodic watch, pleased that she seemed to have claimed a place. But in a few minutes, from around the corner of the house came the twins, followed by their mother who immediately and ag-gressively charged at her. The Girl with the Broken Foot lurched upright and hobbled down the embankment, across the road and into the woods.

She was once again alone, but a step had been taken. Since the previous evening, things had changed. Even before her second feed-ing she had recognized me on sight. She had approached and had again allowed me near.

Although I had seen her fewer than half a dozen times in the preceding months, from the night of our first connection, she began to come to the house every day. She slowly gained strength and I would watch for her and thrill to the sight of her slow approach. It was our private time. We stood together, and I placed her food on the ground between us. After she ate, she would stare into my eyes for long periods, seemingly entranced. I told her stories. I sang softly to her. I told her she was my beauty.

So began our journey, and one of the greatest loves I have ever known.

About the Author

Paul Bochner began his professional life early, as a working musician through his mid-teens in Los Angeles, then moving to Montreal at the invitation of the National Film Board of Canada. He has won several international awards for his films and is the recipient of a Guggenheim Fellowship in painting. He has written for The New Yorker and The Atlantic.

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When zoology professor Daniel Baldassarre traveled to the remote Galápagos Islands of Wolf and Darwin with two other researchers, getting there proved quite a challenge. With no beaches to land a boat on, they had to approach the islands’ cliffs in a small dinghy and wait for a lull in the waves before jumping onto sharp, black lava rocks.

But their efforts paid off. On that trip, they saw a bird that very few people have ever set eyes on in the wild: the vampire ground finch. These finches are only found on Wolf and Darwin, and feed on the blood of much larger birds called Nazca boobies that also live on the islands. 

Up close, Baldassarre and his colleagues noted the vampire finches’ blood-stained bills and their throats visibly engorged with blood. They also saw them in action. 

“We observed scores of vampire finches clamouring all over the backs, tails, and wings of boobies, opening up substantial wounds with their sharp beaks, and drinking their fill of blood,” they wrote in an article for The Conversation. 

Why only some birds drink blood

“Blood is a notoriously difficult food source to process and extract nutrients from, which probably partly explains why so few animals have evolved to feed on it,” Baldassarre tells Popular Science. He suspects that on these islands where freshwater is extremely rare, blood might serve as a water source for the finches. 

It’s not the only component of the vampire finches’ diet, however. Based on unpublished data collected by Baldassarre and his colleagues, blood makes up about one-tenth of the vampire finches’ diet. 

“These finches are quite opportunistic, so they will eat just about anything they can find,” Baldassarre says. “We observed them feeding on everything from seeds to insects to broken seabird eggs.”

One theory is that vampire finches rely more on blood feeding in periods of extreme drought, when other resources are scarce. But more research is needed to see if this idea holds up in practice.

How this strange behavior evolved

Vampire finches weren’t always vampires, scientists think. The relationship between vampire finches and boobies probably started off with the finches eating parasites found on the skin and feathers of the boobies. This would have been mutually beneficial because it provided a cleaning service for the boobies and food for the finches.

But at some point in evolutionary history, in the process of picking off parasites, the finches started to create lesions on the boobies’ skin, and eventually began feeding on their blood.

Over time, their bills became more scalpel-like, perfect for making skin incisions. Their digestive system also changed. When Baldassarre and his colleagues studied the microbes found in vampire finches’ guts, they found that their gut microbiome was very different from that of other, non-blood-consuming finches on the Galápagos Islands, something they attribute to their unique diet. 

Until recently, vampire finches were considered a subspecies of the sharp-beaked ground finch (Geospiza difficilis). 

“But they have now been designated as their own species [Geospiza septentrionalis] because of the differences they have evolved because of blood feeding,” Baldassarre notes. 

How the boobies cope 

Baldassarre and his colleagues have seen vampire finches gang up on and kill nestling boobies,“but that was quite rare,” he points out. 

“In most cases, the finches seem to inflict just enough damage to break the skin and extract some blood, but not too much to harm the boobies significantly.” This is similar to many parasite-host relationships, such as fleas, ticks, and mosquitoes on mammals. “You can kind of think of the vampire finches as giant mosquitoes,” Baldassarre says.

As seen in a segment on vampire finches in David Attenborough’s documentary A Perfect Planet, the boobies seem to tolerate the vampire finches rather than chasing them away. There are likely a few reasons for this, Baldassarre says. 

“For one, as in large animals being bitten by mosquitoes, often the damage is minimal and not noticeable, so it doesn’t elicit a strong reaction. Also, the boobies sometimes have a vested interest in staying put and guarding their spot in the colony, or perhaps nest or nestlings, so may not want to fly away. Finally, the finches seem to target hard-to-reach areas on the boobies like the base of tail feathers, so it’s likely difficult for the boobies to deter them.”

I, for one, was feeling very sorry for the boobies being constantly hounded by these small vampire birds. Until I learnt that Nazca boobies practice something called “obligate siblicide,” which essentially means that the first-hatched chick routinely attacks and kills its younger sibling. It’s a harsh, bird-eat-bird world in the Galápagos Islands. 

In Ask Us Anything, Popular Science answers your most outlandish, mind-burning questions, from the everyday things you’ve always wondered to the bizarre things you never thought to ask. Have something you’ve always wanted to know? Ask us.

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Some animal rescues are more complicated than others—especially when the creature in peril is about to become a snack for a seagull on a remote Alaskan beach with polar bears lurking nearby. 

That was the sticky situation an orphaned Pacific walrus (a subspecies of Odobenus rosmarus) calf was in when two researchers found it on an island in the region of Point Lay, Alaska. U.S. Geological Survey (USGS) research walrus biologist Tony Fischbach and Ilisaġvik College student and Point Lay local Violet Anniskett stumbled upon the young male while investigating walrus carcasses on a remote beach. They found the orphan between the remains of two adult walruses, which was a first in Fischbach’s long experience working with walrus herds there. 

The researchers requested permission to rehabilitate the walrus from the local Inupiaq community and the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service. Once the approval arrived, the next hurdle was getting the mammal to the Alaska SeaLife Center. The center is the only marine mammal rehabilitation facility in Alaska, and was over 800 miles away. As if things could get any more difficult, stormy weather left Anniskett, Fischbach, and the walrus stuck on the island for days. In the meantime, the researchers guided the calf to an abandoned building to shelter from predators.

“When we found him, a determined flock of gulls was intent on scavenging him. He was in immediate peril of suffering this fate had we not gotten approval to intervene. Two polar bears were also active on the island,” Fischbach said in a statement. 

“He bonded with us fast and wouldn’t sleep unless one of us were in the room. It was just us two for three days, stuck in a storm with the young walrus,” Anniskett added. 

The calf was finally transported to the local airport, and made it to Alaska SeaLife Center on September 14 after a flight and van ride. The 200 pound baby arrived dehydrated, but in good physical condition. They treated some superficial wounds, gave him fluids, and applied other stabilizing treatments. 

But the calf’s journey wasn’t over. In fact, orphaned Pacific walrus calves are one of the most specialized patients in marine mammal rehabilitation.That’s because in the wild, calves are very attached to their mothers, with whom they usually stay for one to two years. Close physical contact both with their mothers and others of their king is a crucial element in a calf’s early life. In the case of an orphaned calf, humans (who are authorized specialists) can act as surrogates, but it’s a tough babysitting job. Someone has to be around all the time to provide physical contact, social interaction, feeding support, and any veterinary care. 

“Caring for an orphaned walrus calf is truly a team effort and requires around the clock commitment,” said Jane Belovarac, an Alaska SeaLife Center wildlife response curator. “At least two staff members have been working shifts around the clock to stay with him and provide the care he needs. This means long days and some unusual sleeping schedules for our team.”

It also means that the calf becomes comfortable with humans and thus cannot return to the wild. Now in a new long term home (whose location hasn’t been announced yet), he will be an ambassador for his species by teaching people about Pacific walruses. 

The post Orphaned walrus calf rescued from nearby polar bears in Alaska appeared first on Popular Science.

It takes a village to raise a child, and sometimes it takes more than one wildlife rehabilitation center to care for a bat. Even if the bat in question weighs only six grams (about two ounces). 

The recent rescue of the juvenile bat in Lancaster, Pennsylvania involved teamwork from the beginning. The “sky puppy” had been hanging on a local porch for two days. While that might not sound off, the bat’s exposure to the elements in a single location for that period of time made the situation an emergency, according to Raven Ridge Wildlife Center in southern Pennsylvania. 

Pennsylvania Bat Conservation and Rehabilitation contacted Raven Ridge, who sent a team member to get the bat. The winged mammal was very dehydrated and underweight. It was also unlike the bats that typically arrive at Raven Ridge. The team stabilized her, recontacted PA Bat Conservation and Rehabilitation, and the two organizations realized that they had a northern long-eared bat (Myotis septentrionalis) on their hands.  

“Sadly, northern long-eared bats are now critically endangered in North America, with their population dropping by as much as 97% to 100% because of white-nose syndrome,” Tracie Young, Raven Ridge Wildlife Center director, tells Popular Science. White-nose syndrome is a fungal disease that has killed millions of bats in the U.S. and Canada. 

“They are now protected at both the state and federal levels,” Young adds.

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A Raven Ridge volunteer ultimately drove the youngster to the PA Bat Conservation and Rehabilitation facility about an hour away, where the team is expert in critically endangered bats. The bat was eventually returned to the wild, with a video featuring the little bat launching from a woman’s gloved hand into the night. 

“Even though this is just one bat, it was important to get this bat to the rehabber who specializes not only in bats but also in those in a critically endangered status,” Young adds. “The video shows her flying beautifully. This effort was a wonderful partnership between Raven Ridge Wildlife Center and PA Bat Conservation and Rehabilitation.”

Happy bat appreciation month!

The post Tiny, critically endangered bat rescued and released in Pennsylvania appeared first on Popular Science.

Nothing is quite as joyful as watching a dog get caught up in a bout of “zoomies,” zipping around a living room or backyard in a burst of energy. But our canine pals aren’t the only animals subject to these hyperactive displays. 

Young condors can also engage in zoomies, as demonstrated in a recent Facebook post from the Ventana Wildlife Society in California. The video shows clips of two young California condors (Gymnogyps californianus), Chert and Pumice, seemingly having a blast in their release pen. 

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“We observe the zoomies in both captive and wild condors. It’s just a sudden expression of pure excitement for young condors and very fun to watch,” Joe Burnett, California Condor Recovery Program Manager at the wildlife society, tells Popular Science. “Zoomies come out of nowhere and they just can’t contain themselves and totally let loose. They hop, run in circles, or flap around, or all the above! It’s just pure fun!”

It’s not just about the fun, however. Zoomies allow the young condors to release energy and grow stronger, as well as help them figure out their wings, according to the team. 

The two zoomie condors are 1.5-year-old males who were raised in zoos before arriving at Ventana Wildlife Society’s San Simeon release pen in early September. It’s called a release pen because Chert, Pumice, and three other captive condors will be kept in the pen to acclimate until their release on October 24 at 10 a.m. The release will also be livestreamed. 

The quintet will become a part of the wild condor population of central California, which today includes 104 individuals. But it won’t be a total goodbye. Scientists will be able to keep an eye on Pumice and Chert’s locations via wing-mounted radio & GPS transmitters and ID tags. 

California condors are North America’s largest land bird. They measure 9.5 feet from wing tip to wing tip. But their size didn’t spare them from a precipitous population drop. In 1982 there were only 23 condors left in the world. All wild condors were captured and included in a captive breeding program. 

“Condor releases are critical to achieving our ultimate goal- to reestablish a self-sustaining condor population in the wild,” Burnett concludes. 

At the end of 2025, there were 607 California condors. We’d say Pumice and Chert earned their right to party. 

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In the Huab River Valley of Namibia, a female elephant carries the body of a deceased calf. It’s a tragic scene that offers a rare glimpse at the complex social behaviors of animals. Photographer Federico Veronesi documented the moment and his striking image took top honors at 2026 Wildlife Photographer of the Year awards.

“This photograph works on so many levels. Emotionally it’s a gut punch, heartbreakingly poignant,” Kathy Moran, Chair of the Wildlife Photographer of the Year Jury, said. “Intellectually it’s proof that animals have cognition. This photograph says it all!”

Photographers from around the world submitted more than 65,000 photographs for consideration this year. Prizes were awarded across 20 categories, including honors for young photographers.

Winners across categories:

• 10 Years and Under: Amelie Davis (UK)
• 11 – 14 Years: Oscar Whitfield (UK/Zimbabwe)
• 15 – 17 Years: Konrad Gräeter (Germany)
• Animals in their Environment: James Lewin (UK)
• Animal Portraits: Aaron Sanders (UK)
• Behaviour: Birds – Isak Pretorius (South Africa)
• Behaviour: Mammals – Federico Veronesi (Italy)
• Behaviour: Amphibians and Reptiles – Anton Sorokin (USA)
• Behaviour: Invertebrates – Sitaram Raul (India)
• Oceans: The Bigger Picture – Alex Lindbloom (USA)
• Plants and Fungi: Agorastos Papatsanis (Greece)
• Natural Artistry: Michał Michalski (Poland)
• Underwater: Tony Wu (Japan/USA)
• Urban Wildlife: Seth Forestson (USA)
• Wetlands: The Bigger Picture – Alex Visbal (Colombia)
• Photojournalism: Francisco Negroni (Chile)
• Photojournalist Story Award: Loren Elliott (USA)
• Rising Star Award: Alexis Tinker-Tsavalas (Germany)
• Portfolio Award: Kutub Uddin (Bangladesh/UK)
• Wildlife Photographer of the Year: Federico Veronesi (Italy)

Wildlife Photographer of the Year is developed and produced by the Natural History Museum, London. The winning images will be on display at the museum until July 11, 2027.

The post Powerful image of a grieving elephant wins Wildlife Photographer of the Year appeared first on Popular Science.

Marine biologists are sounding the alarm on behalf of the Galápagos Islands’ marine iguana (Amblyrhynchus cristatus). Without tightened regulations on the often abused exotic pet trade, researchers warn that a recent “strange uptick” in illegal animal trafficking combined with this season’s Super El Niño is further endangering the already vulnerable reptiles living on the Eastern Pacific archipelago.

“They are already shrinking in size and facing mass mortality, either by starvation or by trying to swim longer distances in search of food,” Juan José Alava, a marine ecotoxicologist at Canada’s Simon Fraser University, explained in a recent letter published in Science.

The marine iguana family encompasses at least 11 known subspecies, each specially evolved to live on the Galápagos Islands. They are the only reptiles in the world capable of foraging underwater for macroalgae, which makes up the majority of their diet. Although iguana colonies remain relatively stable, the International Union for Conservation of Nature (IUCN) still lists them as Vulnerable due to predators, mounting pollution issues, and cyclical El Niño events. Ten of the 11 recognized subspecies are also locally classified as either Critically Endangered or Endangered. Sale of iguanas is banned under the Convention on International Trade in Endangered Species of Wild Fauna and Flora (CITES), but a recent uptick in illegal trafficking along with increasingly dramatic climate shifts is adding more stress to the situation.

Ecuadorian authorities have caught people attempting to smuggle iguanas multiple times this year. In May, officials discovered at least a dozen animals inside handbags at an airport that were bound for illegal markets. Law enforcement found another 32 tied up inside a suitcase intended for similar buyers in August. Many trafficked iguanas won’t survive the stress and rough handling, but even rescued reptiles face challenges. Because subspecies are evolved to live on specific islands, ecologists must test each rescued iguana’s DNA to determine where to return them.

Smuggling hasn’t been seen within the Galápagos Marine Reserve itself, but Alava and his colleagues theorize that smugglers are capturing iguanas near Ecuador’s coastal shorelines. Traffickers then obtain CITES permits that falsely declare the reptiles are captive bred in other nations, even though no such authorized facilities actually exist. Often, smugglers are only engaged in the industry out of financial necessity or coercion.

“Artisinal fishing communities from Galapagos and coastal Ecuador, who are facing severe socioeconomic hardship and expanding organized crime activities, may feel pressured to participate in this international black market,” the letter’s authors wrote.

Conservationists are now urging a multifaceted approach to protect the animals. CITES representatives need to close existing permit loopholes, while the Ecuadorian government should focus on simultaneously breaking up organized crime and providing economic aid to struggling communities.

“Maintaining global ocean observing systems is essential, and extreme marine event forecasting and response capabilities are improving,” the authors wrote. “But responsibility and action remain fragmented across environmental [organizations], fisheries, and emergency management, and public health agencies.”

The post Super El Niño influencing ‘strange uptick’ in illegal Galápagos iguana trafficking appeared first on Popular Science.

The Ojai Raptor Center released the final necropsy results for Jackie, an internet-famous bald eagle mother who was in their care this summer. Jackie was brought into the bird rehabilitation center weak and dehydrated following an altercation with another eagle in July. 

Officially designated as Patient 26-519, Jackie’s necropsy revealed a “complex and unusual disease process involving severe, chronic inflammation and ulceration of the stomach, persistent internal bleeding, anemia and secondary bacterial sepsis.” She was also diagnosed with Highly Pathogenic Avian Influenza (HPAI) commonly called bird flu, which was behind severe stomach ulceration. Raptors (eagles, hawks, falcons, owls, etc.) are highly susceptible to the virus 

All of these medical complications developed over time and ultimately contributed to her death on August 10.

“These findings have helped connect many of the pieces we were seeing throughout her hospitalization and provided a better understanding of the challenges she faced,” the Ojai Raptor Center wrote. “We are grateful to the many veterinary specialists, laboratories, wildlife agencies and partner organizations who worked alongside our team to understand her illness and provide her with the best possible care. Caring for her was an extraordinary privilege for our entire team.”

The full report can be read in Jackie’s veterinary medical journal. The necropsy was preformed by veterinary pathologists at the San Diego Zoo Wildlife Alliance.

Friends of Big Bear Valley (FOBBV), the non-profit organization that runs the live cameras where viewers from all over the world watched Jackie and her partner Shadow, said that they will follow up with their thoughts once their team has had time to process the report.

“The story of the Big Bear bald eagle reflects the powerful connection people feel to these iconic birds,” California Department of Fish and Wildlife Director Meghan Hertel added. “We’re grateful to everyone who cared for her and worked to support her well-being.  Understanding the results of these tests is an important part of learning from this case and can help inform the care and treatment of other eagles and wildlife in the future.”

Jackie’s story

Jackie was born, raised, and lived in Big Bear Valley in Southern California. Prior to the 2011-2012 nesting season, no bald eagle chicks were known to have ever hatched in Big Bear Valley. Then came Jackie, named after a forest ranger and born to parents Ricky and Lucy in 2012. 

During the 2016-2017 nesting season, Jackie took over a nest where Friends of Big Bear Valley (FOBBV) had a camera stationed. In 2018, she had two chicks named Stormy and Big Bear Baby (or BBB) with her first mate, Mr. B. 

Her long-time partner Shadow entered the picture in summer 2018. He showed up at the nest and would not leave. FOBBV called the new male Shadow because he appeared so determined to stay in the nest, and the team initially believed he was one of Jackie’s siblings, also named Shadow. The eagle’s plumage indicated he was one year older than the other Shadow and not Jackie’s sibling, but the name stuck. 

Shadow continued to hold his ground and Mr. B gave up and eventually left. Jackie then accepted Shadow as her new mate.

Wildlife cameras documented Jackie and Shadow’s life together, offering viewers a direct look into the brutality and beauty of nature. The pair successfully raised chicks in 2019 (Cookie and Simba) and 2022 (Spirit). The pair’s eggs failed to hatch in 2023 and 2024. In 2025, Jackie laid three eggs that all hatched in early March. However, a strong snowstorm dumped up to two feet of snow and battered the nest with strong wind and only two of the chicks (Sunny and Gizmo) survived.  

In January, Jackie laid two eggs in the nest, but ravens destroyed them. She later laid two more eggs that hatched in April and named Luna and Sandy. The name Sandy is in honor of FOBBV’s former executive director Sandy Steers who died from cancer in February. 

Jackie’s injury and death

On July 17, Jackie was found injured on the ground near Dana Point Park, California. Cell phone video from a witness confirmed that she had an altercation with two other subadult eagles. She successfully fended off the other eagles by turning over and using her talons, but could not fly far away. 

She was transferred to the Ojai Raptor Center, where she was diagnosed with severe anemia. Her anemia worsened during the first week of August, the Ojai Raptor Center said that she was in unstable condition on August 9. Her packed cell volume (PCV) fell below percent, before rising to nine percent.  

On July 17, Jackie was found injured on the ground near Dana Point Park, California. Cell phone video from a witness confirmed that she had an altercation with two other subadult eagles. She successfully fended off the other eagles by turning over and using her talons, but could not fly far away. 

She was transferred to the Ojai Raptor Center for care, where she was diagnosed with severe anemia. Her anemia worsened during the first week of August, the Ojai Raptor Center said that she was in unstable condition on August 9. Her packed cell volume (PCV) fell below percent, before rising to nine percent. 

Jackie died early in the morning on August 10. The necropsy did not reveal a single cause of death, and instead pointed to several factors including severe anemia, blood clots in her wing and one kidney, and liver and lung abnormalities.

Jackie’s resilience inspired millions of people around the world. To honor her memory, FOBBV accepts donations to support its conservation efforts in the area.  Supporters can also donate to Ojai Raptor Center’s Bald Eagle Recovery Campaign. 

The post Jackie the bald eagle’s final cause of death revealed appeared first on Popular Science.

The internet’s favorite Fat Bears in Alaska are not appearing on wildlife cameras quite as much these days. The salmon has been eaten, the Fat Bear Week crown has been won, and it’s time to survive the winter ahead. However,  some other bears from the great white north are getting their close-up.

Explore.org and Polar Bears International run eight different livestreams from Churchill, Manitoba, Canada. Known as the polar bear capital of the world, Churchill’s Wapusk National Park is home to one of the world’s largest concentrations of polar bear (Ursus maritimus) maternity dens. During October and November, viewers can watch bear families wait for sea ice to form. 

Twenty populations of polar bears live in the Arctic. The population living along the Western Hudson Bay is one of the most comprehensively studied and best known. It is part of Canada’s “Seasonal Ice Ecoregion.” In this area of the Arctic, the sea ice completely melts in the summer, typically in July. While the bears may remain sporadically active on land, in the summer, they generally create day beds or curl up in the bush to rest. The pregnant females will often settle in or near their dens for several months to rest where it is cooler and with less mosquitoes. Many of these dens were first excavated by bears generations ago.

In the fall, all of the bears except the pregnant female will increase their activity and move closer to the coast. Here, the bears will hunt for seals once the bay freezes over again. From early October onward, they will gather on the tundra along the shores of Hudson Bay, waiting for ice to form. As soon as the first coastal ice is thick enough to support their weight, they will head out to find seals. They may continue to trek back and forth between ice and land at first, but they primarily head out onto the bay until it begins to thin and they ashore again in the summer.

These cameras are one way for scientists and the public to aid in real scientific research. In December 2025, scientists here confirmed that a wild female polar bear adopted a cub that was not her own. This rare behavior was captured on cameras during the polar bear’s annual migration along Western Hudson Bay. 

The mother bear (designated as bear X33991) was first spotted in spring 2025, when she came out of her maternity den with one tagged cub. When scientists saw her again in the fall, she had two cubs. One cub had a tag and one did not, indicating that the untagged cub was not hers. The survival rate for a polar bear cub into adulthood is about 50 percent, so only time will tell how this blended family will do. 

Viewers can also take a virtual ride on the Tundra Buggy Lodge from two different angles. The lodge is made of tundra buggies that are linked together like a train. This moving hotel includes staff quarters, a dining area, a supply cart, and two carts for guests.

By night, viewers can also take in another of the north’s natural wonders with the aurora borealis cam. The northern lights livecam is on top of the Churchill Northern Studies Center and located directly underneath the aurora oval. This spot is considered one of the best places to watch the aurora dance across the night sky. The aurora season is only just beginning, with late winter and early spring being the best times to tune into this camera.

And if birds are more your thing, a raven cam is streaming from Cape Churchill Wapusk National Park. The resident ravens selected the topside of a radar reflector attached to the Cape Churchill observation tower for their nest. This “cabin in the sky” has also been home to numerous biologists researching the local wildlife since the 1970s. This camera will be switched off at night to preserve power.

The organizations also provide highlight reels to help viewers catch up on what to watch for this winter. Happy polar bear season!

The post How to watch Churchill’s famous polar bears live appeared first on Popular Science.

A migrating monarch butterfly (Danaus plexippus) recently brought into Sweetbriar Nature Center in Smithtown on New York’s Long Island came with a unique backstory. The male butterfly flew into a nearby house and landed on a pot of refried beans. The man living there took the butterfly out of the pan, but by morning the butterfly still could not fly. There was only one thing left to do for the injured insect—bring him to the professionals.

“Butterflies are incredibly delicate, and even handling them can cause additional damage or leave them unable to fly,” Janine Bendicksen, Sweetbriar Nature Center’s Director of Wildlife Rehabilitation, tells Popular Science. “That makes butterfly rehabilitation especially challenging—we have to be extremely careful with every step.”

The team got to work on fixing this unusual patient. They started by checking the butterfly for a parasite called OE (Ophryocystis elektroscirrha) that can live on monarchs. If the insect is parasite-free, the team can then assess the injuries and determine whether rehabilitation is possible. Butterflies are very delicate, and just handling them can cause additional damage.

“In cases where a monarch has lost part of a wing, we may be able to transplant a portion of a donor wing,” says Bendicksen. “When the circumstances are right, we can carefully attach the donor wing to the injured butterfly.”

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The team gently sprayed the butterfly’s wings with water several times to remove the bean residue that prevented him from flying. Then, a challenge arose. How do you remove the greasy residue from such delicate wings? The solution came from a common powdery substance found in kitchen pantries—cornstarch.

“We use starch regularly in wildlife rehabilitation to help dry out materials, and we had also previously used starch when replacing a wing on another monarch,” Bendicksen explains. “Because we already knew it was safe and effective in that context, we felt it was a good option for this particular situation. We were looking for something that would help remove the remaining moisture and residue without causing additional damage to the delicate wings.”

The cornstarch trick worked. The monarch was able to fly again. The team gently transported him outside and he took to the skies. Monarchs are currently on their way to the overwintering grounds in the forested mountains of Central Mexico. Their migrations are multigenerational, with roughly four generations of monarch butterflies emerging throughout the year. This butterfly may have been in the third generation (lays eggs in the north, but does not migrate) of the fourth generation that treks south. 

“It’s not often that we are called upon to rehabilitate a butterfly,” Bendicksen says. “Most butterflies have relatively short lifespans, but when we receive a monarch in the fall—especially one that will travel thousands of miles on its migration to Mexico—we do everything we can to give it the best possible chance.”

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