Conservation Photography
Shooting for Survival By Neil Aldridge

The rhino lifted her head. She was so close I could hear her munching leaves. The tip of her magnificent horn now seemed taller than the stunted mopane trees within my reach, any protection I hoped they would offer was clearly inadequate. I held my breath.

I was face to face with Africa’s most unpredictable and grumpy heavyweight, a black rhino with a calf to defend. Either side of me, rangers from the anti-poaching unit of Zimbabwe’s Save Valley Conservancy were reading the wind and plotting our route to safer ground.
My finger paused, hovering over the shutter release button of my camera. At this range, even the muted click of my camera’s ‘silent’ shutter could have shifted their attention from their dinner to us. To this day, it’s still the best photo I never took.
My decision to not take that photo was only partly based on our safety. There were significant ethical considerations too. Rhinos were – and still are – being targeted by people walking up to them and shooting them for their horn. So, we were aware of the danger posed to rhinos if they were to learn to see well-meaning people such as ourselves as no threat. They could well allow the next band of poachers close enough to fire that one fatal shot. No photograph is worth endangering the life of an animal.




This belief is not only at the core of the way I conduct myself as a photographer, it forms the basis of a huge stride taken by our industry towards ethical practice in the last ten years. Practices such as live baiting (which involves providing living organisms such as fish, insects and even mammals to lure a predatory subject for photography) and using performing captive animals or subjects taken from the wild and trained to carry out certain behaviour for a camera still exist but were more commonplace. Nowadays though, being an ethical photographer extends beyond just how a photograph is taken to being open and honest about any digital manipulation using software too.

Many of the world’s leading publishers and photo contests now have strict rules in place around ethics. But I believe it’s important for us as photographers to not solely operate with a set of guidelines in mind. The very well-being of our wild subjects should come first and as much as we may think we are, we are not passive observers.



Personally, the more I learn, the more I re-assess my actions and practices. For example, my use of lighting has evolved from using flashes to using sources of constant light where possible. Also, when camera trapping, I am now using longer lenses to get the camera and the noise of the shutter further away from my subject to reduce the likelihood of surprising and stressing my subject.

I hadn’t travelled to Africa from my home in the UK to photograph rhinos as some opportunistic career move because they were the focus of the world’s attention. I grew up in South Africa watching rhinos recover from the last poaching onslaught. Seeing them targeted so ruthlessly by poaching for their horn was heartbreaking and so by 2013 I had chosen to use my work (almost always as a donation and at cost to myself) to help the fight to save rhinos. I didn’t know it at the time but this encounter was the beginning of a seven-year journey. Along the way I have photographed poaching survivors throughout South Africa, documented the return of the rhino to Botswana and, more recently, filmed the re-establishment of a population in Uganda.
But photographing threatened animals and places – and championing the people who work hard to protect them – wasn’t always my raison d’être.
Photography has been in my family for four generations. My Great Grandfather was a press photographer in Yorkshire and, even as keen amateurs, both my father and grandfather ensured the skills were handed down. I can barely remember a time in my life when I didn’t have a camera. So, when we upped sticks and moved to South Africa when I was young, photographing the iconic wildlife around me was just a natural progression.
Initially, I looked for quiet moments where I could grab a clean portrait. But, as my obsession with the natural world grew, so did my dissatisfaction with the pictures I was taking. Surely I could do more?




Despite being fanatical about wildlife and birds in particular, as a 13-year-old I had dropped biology at school, so I knew I didn’t have the base knowledge and understanding of my subject that I wanted. That’s why, in 2005, I headed to the Antares Field Guide Training Centre on the outskirts of the Kruger Park and threw myself into learning in a way I had never experienced before.

I had always performed distinctly underwhelmingly at school and university and just assumed formal learning wasn’t for me. But at Antares I was like a sponge for information, both in the classroom and in the bush. Clearly, I had found my ‘thing’.
This rich experience wasn’t just about how to identify snakes and read tracks in the dust though. Guiding is about people. It’s about helping others to get the most out of themselves and their experience. This training prepared me for the role I carry out now as an Associate Lecturer on the Marine and Natural History Photography degree course at Falmouth University in Cornwall. Helping the next generation of storytellers, filmmakers and photographers is one of the most rewarding elements of my diverse career.
A key lesson I try to teach my photography students now is to never stop learning. I set high standards for myself and work damn hard because I want – and expect – a lot out of life. Always wanting to be better and do more goes hand-in-hand with that. Which is why I knew that my experience at Antares was not enough. Sure, I was better prepared for understanding and spending time with my wild subjects, and I was more respectful of their boundaries. But I was still just shooting pretty pictures. I had to step out of my comfort zone somehow.


In 2009, after moving back to the UK and working for various wildlife charities while quietly building my portfolio, I did something I swore I would never do – I moved to London. Its air, noise and frantic energy where all a far cry from the wilds of Africa but, looking at the work of the photographers who inspired me, I realised that I needed to step out from behind the safety of the long telephoto lens that most wildlife photographers hide behind and begin working closer to my subject and – crucially – working with people. The Masters course in Photojournalism at the University of the Arts London in Elephant and Castle provided me with the perfect opportunity to break out of the wildlife bubble and learn from photographers documenting conflict, social issues and urban life with short, intimate lenses.
People often think of ‘wild’ as being without humans but, as I had come to learn, people were at the heart of the wildlife stories that I wanted to tell with my camera. Human actions lie at the heart of almost every conservation issue, but people also bring solutions that can inspire change. I had to embrace working around people but as a natural introvert, the thought terrified me.



During the Masters course in London, we had to complete a module in street photography. I think if someone I didn’t know came up to me in the street and took my photo I would have some pretty strong words to say about it. So, I went out fully prepared to get punched in the face. I remember just wanting it to be over.

Pushing myself like that paid off though and since then, so many of my strongest images have involved people. Being prepared to photograph people as well as animals has won me many commissions ahead of straight-up wildlife photographers. Yet, one less measurable benefit to working in this way is the energy and inspiration I have drawn from some of the incredible people I have photographed who are out there on the frontline saving our wildlife. I love doing justice for their hard work. To me, there’s nothing more nauseating than a photographer or filmmaker who parachutes into a conservation project with the attitude that because they are there with their camera, this endangered species is going to be saved. It’s incredibly egotistical. Once the camera has stopped clicking and they are back on their plane, the rangers or scientists will still be there – day or night, rain or shine – working away, and often under difficult and dangerous conditions.

My decision to use my camera to document threatened wildlife and the people at the heart of those stories has allowed me to engage audiences around the world in the plight of species genuinely at risk, such as the pangolin and African wild dog. But I also do what I can to shine a light on less black and white issues and get people thinking about our relationship with species that are sometimes seen as less worthy of saving.

No animal sparks debate quite like the fox, which is why I have dedicated so many years to showing people the truth about our weird relationship with this species. I have stood in front of hunts, tethered my camera out of a 3rd floor window to snap an urban fox, ridden in Land Rovers with gun-wielding gamekeepers, released injured foxes back into the wild and even clamped my camera to the wingmirror of a car to photograph a fox with his head out of the window on his way to his weekly walkies in the woods. It’s just what you have to do if you want to tell the full the story.
I’ve been fortunate that this hard work has often paid off, landing me a number of major global awards, including the overall title of European Wildlife Photographer of the Year in 2014, two British Wildlife photography Awards and a World Press award in 2018 for my work with rhinos. The exhibitions and press coverage connected to these contests has taken my work to millions around the world. If I stop to think about the numbers and add them to the readers of my books, magazine articles and collaborative projects like Photographers Against Wildlife Crime, I guess I have been able to reach a considerable audience with the pictures I think people need to see and, in the process, hopefully creating greater empathy for a natural world under strain.


Decades ago, being a conservation photographer used to be about photographing wildlife. Nowadays, we have to do more and be better. We need to be leaders and communicators, not just photographers. Otherwise, we’re just tourists.

Do I regret not taking that photo of that black rhino and her calf? Absolutely not. Because when I put my camera down and allow myself to enjoy the moment, I get to see these animals as individuals. And it is in these moments that my connection with my subject is strengthened. If I can leave any advice for an up-and-coming photographer, it would be to shoot less and think more. For more stories like this, please visit Discover Interesting.

About Neil Aldridge

Neil Aldridge is a conservationist and wildlife photographer. He is a published author, professional wildlife guide and a lecturer in Marine and Natural History Photography at Falmouth University.
After growing up around the iconic wildlife in South Africa, Neil’s love for animals led him to want to capture them on camera. After photographing animals and people, he realised he could use his skills to not only promote ethical photography and animal conservation, but also the people behind it that help to save some of the worlds most endangered species.
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Conservation Photography
Guy Harvey Documentary Claims Closing Night at Fort Lauderdale Film Festival

The 65-foot research vessel cuts through Caribbean waters while a man with a PhD in marine biology leans over the stern, watching a tagged bull shark disappear into the blue. On deck, watercolor palettes wait beside satellite tracking equipment. This is the contradiction at the heart of Guy Harvey: a scientist who abandoned academia for art, only to discover his paintings could accomplish what peer-reviewed journals could not.
After four decades of transforming marine wildlife into cultural currency, Harvey’s story finally arrives on screen. Guy Harvey, directed by 22-time Emmy Award winner Nick Nanton and produced by Astonish Entertainment, will close the 40th Annual Fort Lauderdale International Film Festival with its world premiere on February 28 at 6:30 p.m. at the Museum of Discovery and Science. The screening includes a Q&A with cast and crew, followed by a celebratory reception.

The Artist Who Rebuilt Billfish Populations With Brushstrokes
Harvey never intended to become a conservation icon. Born in Jamaica with a British Army father, he earned his doctorate from the University of the West Indies in 1984, fully prepared for a life of academic marine biology. Then came 1988, when he set up a modest booth at a Fort Lauderdale boat show to sell his fish paintings.
What happened next reshaped marine conservation funding in ways traditional nonprofits still study. Harvey’s scientifically accurate depictions of marlin, sailfish, and sharks resonated with the sportfishing community at a visceral level. His T-shirts became ubiquitous along coastal America. That revenue stream, now reaching over one million followers across social platforms, generates ongoing support for the Guy Harvey Foundation and Guy Harvey Research Institute at Nova Southeastern University.
Consider the scope: over $800,000 in marine science scholarships funded, 2,168 teachers trained in marine science education as of late 2024, curriculum reaching an estimated 50 million students globally through partnerships with Discovery Education and Florida Virtual School. Research projects span from 22-year stingray population surveys in the Cayman Islands to groundbreaking billfish tracking studies proving catch-and-release sustainability.
“Guy Harvey bridges worlds: he’s as much a scientist as he is an artist, and his work has changed how millions of people see the ocean,” Nanton explains in the film’s press materials. “This film celebrates not just his achievements, but the movement he’s inspired to preserve our planet’s most vital resource.”
Nanton’s Lens: Where Biography Meets Cultural Archaeology
Nanton brings complementary credentials to Harvey’s story. Dubbed “America’s Biographer” by Larry King, the Orlando-based director has spent two decades documenting how individuals catalyze cultural change. His 60-plus documentaries cover everyone from Notre Dame’s Rudy Ruettiger to XPRIZE founder Peter Diamandis, collecting 43 Emmy nominations and 22 wins along the way.
Nanton’s filmmaking philosophy rejects hagiography in favor of what he calls “connection through contradiction.” His subjects succeed not despite their complexities but because of them. For Guy Harvey, this meant filming across the Cayman Islands, Panama, California, and Florida, capturing not just the artist at his easel but the diver photographing free-swimming billfish at depths most people avoid, the scientist collaborating with Tropic Star Lodge researchers on sailfish migration patterns, the educator developing STEAM curriculum for elementary schools.
The director assembled a production team matching the subject’s scope. Underwater cinematographer Carlo Alberto Orecchia captures what Harvey sees before he paints it. The film features fellow marine artist Robert Wyland, wildlife sculptor Kent Ullberg, photographer Jim Abernethy, Harvey’s children Alex and Jessica Harvey (the latter now serving as Guy Harvey Foundation CEO), and dozens of scientists whose research Harvey funds.
Fort Lauderdale: The Only Logical Stage
Lisa Grigorian, Fort Lauderdale International Film Festival president and CEO, notes the fitting symmetry of hosting Harvey’s premiere: “As the fishing capital of the world, Fort Lauderdale is the perfect home for a film that celebrates marine life, conservation, and the legacy of one of the most iconic ocean artists of our time.”
The 40th anniversary festival (February 20-28) represents one of America’s longest-running film celebrations, founded in 1986 by the Broward County Film Society. Over four decades, FLIFF has hosted everyone from Audrey Hepburn to Matt Damon across venues including the historic Savor Cinema art house and Cinema Paradiso. The festival showcases 100-plus films annually, maintaining its reputation as a crucial test market for American independents and international cinema while operating year-round programming through its arthouse theaters.
Harvey’s journey mirrors the festival’s timeline almost exactly. They emerged together in the mid-1980s, when South Florida’s cultural infrastructure was finding its voice, and both survived the transition from analog to digital, from local to global. Each proved that regional institutions could achieve international impact through authenticity and relentless quality.
The Foundation’s Living Laboratory
While Harvey became famous for his art, the Guy Harvey Foundation and Research Institute conduct the science justifying conservation policy. Recent research demonstrates that a commercially harvested billfish generates $50-60 in value, while the same fish in recreational catch-and-release fisheries produces $2,000-plus in economic impact and can be caught repeatedly, creating both ecological sustainability and economic multiplier effects.
The Foundation’s current projects include monitoring Nassau grouper spawning aggregations in the Caribbean (among the last remaining), tracking shortfin mako sharks (classified as vulnerable to extinction), studying how juvenile bull sharks function as nutrient pumps between Everglades habitats, and maintaining the world’s longest-running wildlife interactive zone study at Stingray City in Grand Cayman.
Jessica Harvey, who leads the Foundation after years conducting fieldwork in the Cayman Islands Department of Environment, recently expanded educational reach through the Guy Harvey Conservation Education Program. The initiative provides free professional development in environmental STEAM education, turning participants into certified Guy Harvey Conservation Educators with grants and resources for classroom enhancement.
“It is our collective responsibility to preserve our marine environment and maintain the biodiversity of this planet,” Harvey states in the film. “But it takes cash to care.” His model proved that conservation could be self-sustaining if it connected emotionally with people who love the ocean, even if they never publish research papers.


Measuring Impact Beyond Gallery Walls
Harvey’s cultural penetration extends far beyond marine biology circles. His distinctive style appears on everything from Tervis tumblers (which donate $1 per product to the Foundation) to Norwegian Cruise Line partnerships to Florida Lottery scratch-off games funding marine science education. The Guy Harvey brand operates across the U.S., Caribbean, and Central America, with solar-powered manufacturing in El Salvador producing sustainable apparel that funds research.
International recognition followed: Panama’s Order of Vasco Núñez de Balboa Grand Officer (the nation’s highest honor for non-Panamanians), induction into the International Game Fish Association Hall of Fame, NOGI Award from the diving industry, Wyland ICON Award, and Artists for Conservation honors. He’s been inducted into fishing, scuba diving, and swimming halls of fame, a trifecta reflecting his multi-disciplinary approach.
The documentary captures this scope by filming Harvey in his natural habitats: underwater photographing subjects before painting them, aboard research vessels deploying satellite tags, visiting classrooms where teachers use his curriculum, and in his studio where scientific observation transforms into art that funds more science.
The Closing Night Convergence
Guy Harvey screens February 28 at 6:30 p.m. at Fort Lauderdale’s Museum of Discovery and Science, with tickets available through the FLIFF website. The post-screening Q&A and reception provide attendees access to filmmakers and potentially Harvey himself, offering rare insight into four decades of conservation work that rewrote the relationship between art, commerce, and environmental protection.
For Nanton, the film represents something larger than biography: a case study in how individual passion scales into movement. That movement includes the 2,000-plus teachers trained in marine science, the graduate students receiving Guy Harvey Fellowships through partnerships with Florida Sea Grant, the commercial fishermen adopting sustainable practices after seeing research funded by T-shirt sales, and the millions of people who wear Harvey’s art as a declaration of alliance with healthy oceans.
The documentary arrives as marine ecosystems face compounding threats: warming waters, overfishing, and accelerating habitat loss. Harvey’s model offers something conventional conservation often lacks: a bridge between scientific rigor and popular culture, between research journals and everyday life, between understanding marine ecology and actually caring enough to protect it.
When Harvey set up that booth at the Fort Lauderdale boat show in 1988, he was just trying to sell paintings. He created something more durable: proof that art could fund science, that commerce could serve conservation, and that one person’s obsession with accurately painting fish could help ensure those fish survive for future generations to see.

Event Details:
- Film: Guy Harvey (World Premiere)
- Date: Saturday, February 28, 2026
- Time: 6:30 p.m.
- Venue: Museum of Discovery and Science, Fort Lauderdale
- Festival: 40th Annual Fort Lauderdale International Film Festival
- Post-Screening: Q&A with cast and crew, followed by reception
- Tickets: Available at fliff.com
Written by: Junior Thanong Aiamkhophueng
Attribution: This article draws on information from an Astonish Entertainment press release; details on the Guy Harvey documentary directed by Nick Nanton; research and educational programs by the Guy Harvey Foundation and Guy Harvey Research Institute at Nova Southeastern University; Fort Lauderdale International Film Festival programming for the 40th anniversary celebration; and biographical information on Dr. Guy Harvey’s marine conservation work spanning Jamaica, the Cayman Islands, Panama, and Florida waters.
ABOUT THE ORGANIZATIONS

With a focused mission to better understand and conserve the ocean environment, the Guy Harvey Foundation (GHF) collaborates with local, national and international organizations to conduct scientific research and provides funding to affiliated researchers who share this objective The GHF also develops and hosts cutting-edge educational programs that help educators to foster the next era of marine conservationists, ensuring that future generations can enjoy and benefit from a properly balanced ocean ecosystem. www.GuyHarveyFoundation.org
Conservation Photography
North Atlantic Right Whale Entanglement Threatens Juvenile Named “Division”

A North Atlantic right whale sighted off Georgia with a serious entanglement is facing uncertain survival, experts say, highlighting the ongoing threats facing this critically endangered species.
An aerial survey team from Florida Fish and Wildlife Conservation Commission (FWC) first sighted “Division” (Catalog #5217, named for his callosity pattern that looks like a division sign) entangled off Jekyll Island, Georgia, on Dec. 3. The 3-year-old male had fishing line wrapping his head and mouth cutting into this blowhole and embedded in his upper jaw. NOAA Fisheries biologists have categorized the case as a “serious injury.” Scientists in the Anderson Cabot Center for Ocean Life at the New England Aquarium assessed the impact of the entanglement on the whale’s health, and what they saw was concerning.
“Division’s entanglement is significant and life-threatening,” said Heather Pettis, Senior Scientist in the Aquarium’s Anderson Cabot Center. “There are multiple indicators that Division has been entangled for some time and that the entanglement has led to a worrisome decline in his overall health. Aggregations of whale lice on the head, body, and tail, a pronounced decline in body condition, and a section of remaining rope that is deeply embedded in the top of the whale’s head leave us very concerned for this whale’s welfare and survival.”
Trained responders from the Georgia Department of Natural Resources, in collaboration with FWC and Clearwater Marine Aquarium Research Institute, were able to remove some of the fishing gear from the whale. Further response efforts will depend on the whale’s condition, weather, and resightings, according to NOAA.
Division was born to mother “Silt” (Catalog #1817) in 2022 and has been regularly sighted in the waters of New England and the Gulf of St. Lawrence. He was last seen gear-free in July 2025 in the Gulf of St. Lawrence.
North Atlantic right whales are one of the most endangered large whale species in the world, with an estimated population of about 380 and only 72 reproductive females. This case marks the first right whale entangled with attached gear detected in 2025. Despite a relatively quiet year for right whale injury detections, researchers have noted that the low number may not represent accurate levels of events being experienced by the population, and it will take more time to determine if this reduction is real. The late fall and winter are not uncommon months for new entanglements to be detected for this population.
“Last year, there were four detected entanglement events in December, and so sighting this whale in its current state, while incredibly disheartening, was not a complete surprise,” Pettis said. “We are grateful for the extraordinary efforts that went into trying to free this whale from the gear and hold out hope that Division can overcome the odds stacked against him.”
Entanglements and vessel strikes remain the leading causes of death and injury for North Atlantic right whales. From 1980 to the present, scientists have documented over 1,800 entanglement events involving over 85 percent of the right whale population. Serious injuries and deaths of right whales caused by entanglements are preventable and highlight the importance of broad-scale adoption of ropeless or “on-demand” gear and weaker ropes. Without adequate protection measures implemented throughout the right whale’s range in U.S. and Canadian waters, combined with significant funding support, entanglements and vessel strikes will continue to threaten the survival of the species.
ABOUT THE ORGANIZATION

The New England Aquarium is a nonprofit research and conservation organization that has protected and cared for our ocean and marine animals for more than 55 years. We provide science-based solutions and help shape policies that create measurable change to address threats the ocean faces. We inspire action through discovery and help create engaged, resilient communities.
Conservation Photography
Running Wild: The Return of Patagonia National Park’s Rheas
The Chacabuco Valley stretched wide before us. The golden steppe was broken by winding rivers, framed by snow-capped ridges that seemed to glow in the fall sun. We were in the heart of Patagonia National Park, a place reborn from what used to be one of the largest sheep ranches in Chile. Old Estancias once carved the land into squares made of barbed wire and filled with overgrazed pastures. But today, those fences are gone. The grasslands pulse with guanacos again and the park has become a symbol of what rewilding can mean when it’s done right.
We’d come here to see a beacon of rewilding in the area, which took shape as an oddly familiar looking species of bird called the Darwin’s rhea (known locally as ñandú or choique.) It’s Patagonia’s strangest survivors, this flightless animal with legs built for speed and feathers streaked in soft browns that disappear into the grass. From a distance, they look almost prehistoric, like something you might imagine darting across the steppe in a bygone epoch. Up close, they’re ecosystem engineers, spreading seeds that shape grassland health, and feed predators such as pumas and foxes that depend on them for survival.

These birds possess an unusual way of fertilizing the land, making them critical players and worth a heavy invesment in their rewilding. Unlike guanacos, which use fixed latrines (skat dropping areas) that concentrate nutrients in one spot, rheas are wanderers in every sense. As they roam, they drop seeds across the steppe in a steady scatter, with each pile of droppings carried further by rodents like tuco-tucos that burrow and churn the soil. This gives plants a chance to take root in Patagonia’s harsh winds. It’s a less prominent, yet highly fundamental cycle where rheas eat, move, fertilize, and in doing so, stitch the landscape together. Without them, the steppe would grow weaker and far less resilient.

Rheas, standing about three feet tall, are designed to vanish into Patagonia’s grasslands rather than dominate them. Rheas move almost like ghosts, disappearing into the landscape until you realize the ground itself was alive and moving all along. And yet here, in what should be one of their strongholds, rheas had nearly vanished.
Just a decade ago, a survey inside the park found fewer than 22 individuals left—a catastrophically low number for a bird so integral. The reasons were painfully manmade, as they often are when it comes to biodiversity loss like this. Decades of ranching, which ended here in 2008, had blanketed the valley in fences that trapped and killed rheas. Eggs were taken for food, chicks were chased down, and their range shrank until they were pushing just shy of a memory.

That’s where Emiliana Retamal, a young veterinarian turned wildlife ranger, comes into the conversation. She’s part of a small team with Rewilding Chile trying to bring rheas back to the Chacabuco steppe. The first thing she said upon meeting was to slow our movements, talk less, and to follow her lead when approaching these flightless wonders. We were off to the holding pens that served as a temporary home for both rhea adults and chicks, known here as charitos. Some of them were getting ready to be released into the wild, marking another historic moment for the rewilding team.
The following morning was all about getting things right. Rewilding Chile’s rhea initiative, called Ñandú Conservation and Recovery Programme, has been running since 2014. Ever since, the team has been incubating eggs, raising chicks, slowly reintroducing birds into the wild, all building toward a goal of restoring a self-sustaining population of at least 100 adults and at least four actively reproducing.

For Emiliana, release days are equal parts research, nerves, and a ton of hope. Each bird is carefully prepared, including mandatory health checks, parasite treatments, and a period of acclimatization inside open-air pens where they gain strength and learn to fend for themselves. The idea is not to domesticate them in any way, but rather, give them just enough of a head start to survive top predators, and Patagonia’s harsh winters once the pen gates swing open. Some are fitted with GPS collars—the first of their kind for monitoring rheas here—allowing the team to track their survival rates and see if they’re reproducing in the wild.
We were fortunate enough to witness this particular relase, which was a true milestone. Alongside captive-born birds, a group of 15 rheas had been translocated from Argentina for the first time. These wild individuals were specifically brought in to bolster genetics. These bird groups act quite differently, with the wild ones moving as a tighter group and demonstrating discomfort around people. That’s exactly what Emiliana wants, as the goal is to ensure the animals remember what it means to be wild or remain entirely wild to up their chances of survival.

When the moment finally came, the puesto (or field station) buzzed with controlled urgency. Emiliana and her patchwork team of rangers, vets, community leaders, and allies, moved with practiced rhythm, coaxing these powerful, awkward-looking birds into small wooden crates. These rheas were not tame, so asking them to willingly go into confinement requires a patient and steady hand. Every movement was about safety—maximizing calmness while minimizing stress, and avoiding injury for all.
Outside, a convoy of trucks rumbled to life while drones circled high above, ready to follow the release. Autumn had painted the surrounding forests in fire-reds, yellows and oranges. The air carried the kind of crispness that warned of winter’s approach. Bundled in layers, we set off across the park along a road that wound through valleys where iconic mountains dominated the horizon. The landscape begged us to stop and stare, but the mission pushed us forward. When we reached the release site, the cages were lifted down and arranged side by side. The team stood in a nervous silence. Everything was ready, so the countdown began.

On the count of three, the gates opened and the wranglers stepped back fast. For a heartbeat, not a single bird moved. Then, with a rush of feathers and legs, the rheas spilled out into the open, scattering across the grasslands like wind made visible. Some lingered, hesitating at the threshold. Others bolted in tight groups, vanishing into the tawny steppe. It certainly was not graceful, but it was emotional nonetheless. A species that had nearly disappeared from this place was running free, once again.
Releases like this may look simple. Open the gates, let the birds run, right? But the reality is far from it. Rewilding is hard work, and with rheas, it’s closer to brutal. In the wild, more than half of chicks don’t survive their first year. Eggs are eaten by predators or trampled by livestock, chicks are picked off by foxes, eagles, and pumas, and even curiosity can be fatal. Young birds often die from mistaking the wrong thing for food, like rocks or other inedible objects. And on top of that, the male birds are sometimes left caring for 50 chicks at once, making survival that much harder. Add to that the genetic bottleneck of starting with so few individuals in the wild, and every single bird that makes it into adulthood feels like a victory against impossible odds.

That’s why Emiliana and her team treat each rhea like an individual case study. Every release is followed by weeks of long days in the field monitoring and collecting data. Collars on individuals provide glimpses of survival, but much of the knowledge still comes from old-fashioned ranger work of tracking footprints across the steppe. Their job next will be to spot birds from a distance, asking local police and community members to report sightings to speed up the process.
And yet, for all the setbacks, the progress is undeniable for this team. From a ghost population of just 22 individuals to more than 70 now roaming the Chacabuco steppe, the recovery is indisputable. But numbers alone aren’t enough around here. Survival depends on genetics, and until recently, most of the birds released here had been hatched or raised in captivity. This means they were strong in body, but softer in instinct. This release however, was marking a turning point.

These 15 wild rheas translocated from Argentina to Puesto Ñandú—just a few kilometers from the border—arrived carrying what captive-bred birds could not: diverse DNA, sharper instincts, and that memory of how to live without the aid of humans. While borders divide people, they mean nothing to the animals who cross them freely. Rheas don’t recognize Chile or Argentina, but they recognize habitat. And if this recovery is to last, it will take both nations working together to protect the grasslands they share.
Even with the numbers trending upward, one of the biggest challenges is, of course, social. In nearby Cochrane, Emiliana is known casually as “the choique girl.” People are aware of the project, but they don’t always feel ownership of it. Many still see the park as something created by outsiders, disconnected from their lives. That gap is fundamental, and something the Rewilding Chile team, as well as its other collaborators including Quimán Reserve, CONAF (Chile’s National Forestry Corporation), SAG (Agriculture and Livestock Service) and Carabineros de Chile, are putting emphasis on. Rewilding efforts must be equally about saving species and building genuine relationships with communities or everything done in the field will not be effective.

Being in attendance on that release day, standing in the steppe as the cages opened and rheas burst back into a landscape that once nearly lost them, was something that will never escape our memory. The pride on the team’s faces, the outward relief after months of preparation, the sight of those birds vanishing into the golden grasslands, all felt triumphant.
As Emiliana reminded us, this is only the beginning. In the vastness of Patagonia National Park, surrounded by snow-capped ridges and rivers that once ran through sheep pastures, the work ahead is as immense as the landscape itself. Watching rheas roam free again was proof that rewilding means to restore the past, in addition to defining a new future, where ecosystems can someday thrive without our intervention.
Written by: Andi Cross
ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Andi Cross is an explorer, strategist, and extended range diver with Scuba Schools International and Scubapro, who leads Edges of Earth—a global expedition and consulting collective documenting resilience and climate solutions across the world’s most remote coastlines. Her work centers on “positive deviance”—spotlighting outliers succeeding against the odds—and using storytelling and strategy to help scale their impact.
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News1 month agoANGARI Foundation Opens Spring Marine Science Webinar Series to Public
