There’s a scene which is repeated in many parts of the world: a forest, intact, green and silent. The visitor contemplates the scene and thinks that they are in the midst of nature at its purest. Sometimes, though, silence is not harmony. It represents absence. César Javier Palacios has already written about this in this article. Where are the herbivores that graze? The predators that regulate? The scavengers that clean? The insects that pollinate? What’s missing? Life.
For decades, conservation focused on tracing lines on a map and declaring national parks. And this was (and continues to be) fundamental. But protecting perimeters is no guarantee that an ecosystem functions. A forest without animals can be beautiful… and also biologically incomplete.
This is where “rewilding” comes in: returning a territory its lost species and processes so that it can recover its natural dynamic.
In South America, a pioneering organization with this vision is Tompkins Conservation, whose work, undertaken by Douglas and Kristine Tompkins, isn’t limited to creating parks, but asks what’s happening inside them.
Kristine summarizes this clearly with the following sentence:
“Conservation without biodiversity is just scenery.” A mere postcard.
What will I learn from this article?
The Tompkins’ first major step was to protect large chunks of land: temperate forests in southern Chile, the Patagonian steppes, wetlands in Argentina. But it soon became clear that many of these areas were ecologically mutilated. Decades (sometimes centuries) of hunting, intensive animal farming, and human pressure, had diminished or wiped out vital species.
Leading to the decisive question: what’s the point of a park missing the essential pieces?
Kristine explains it this way:
“Our work is not finished until these areas are functioning in their original role.” This involves restoring ecological relationships, not only landscapes. It’s about completing the puzzle, so that the territory can function independently again.
One of the most graphic examples is that of the huemul (Hippocamelus bisulcus), an Andean deer and national symbol of Chile. At the beginning of the 2000s, its population was fragmented and in critical decline. Within the bounds of the present Patagonia National Park, the species was close to collapse.
So, a Huemul Rehabilitation and Reintroduction Center was created, a scientific space dedicate to rescuing sick or injured individuals of the species. The center improved sanitary conditions, strengthened the deer, and reinserted them into safe habitats.
Today there are fewer than 2,000 huemuls in the wild worldwide, distributed between Chile and Argentina. Every individual deer counts. Each young that survives improves the chances of the species as a whole. They live, not thanks to a symbolic gesture, but ecological surgery mainly performed by Rewilding Chile and coordinated on both sides of the Andean mountain range.
In northern Argentina, in Iberá, another challenging and dangerous experiment was underway: the reintroduction of the jaguar. Per body size, the jaguar has the strongest bite of all felines. Lions and tigers tend to kill by suffocation, whereas the jaguar punctures skin. The last one in this region was hunted at the beginning of the 20th Century. Its absence changed the balance of the ecosystem, since it regulates populations of herbivores, which in turn affects the vegetation. Its presence reorganizes the behavior of other species.
Today over 50 jaguars linked to the reintroduction process have been registered and, when the jaguar returns, the landscape changes without humans touching it.
After years of hard work, the first cubs were born free. Today over 50 jaguars linked to the reintroduction process have been registered and are being monitored by Rewilding Argentina. And when the jaguar returns, the landscape changes without humans touching it.
Rewilding does not consist of adding animals as if they were isolated parts, it’s about restoring networks. In Patagonia, the recovery of the puma had cascade effects. The puma controls populations. Its prey generates carrion, feeding another majestic animal: the Andean condor vulture.
Rewilding does not consist of adding animals as if they were isolated parts, it’s about restoring networks.
Without predators, chains break. Without carrion, scavengers decline. And without equilibrium, the system simplifies. It’s what ecologists call “trophic cascade effect”. In other words, all is connected. One link is the key to the next one. And just as the chain can collapse, it can also be revived, because an ecosystem is not a collection of species, it’s a constant conversation between them.
It’s important to put this urgent discussion into a global context. Since 1970, populations of wild vertebrates have diminished dramatically worldwide. Every year, millions of hectares of natural habitat are lost. Every year, the map of the wild becomes more impoverished.
An isolated park can become a genetic island. And islands, in times of climate change, are fragile.
This is why it’s important to consider that, in rewilding, our motivation is not for a feeling of nostalgia for an idealized past. The aim is the contrary: to draft a strategy for the future.
Kristine Tompkins explained this in terms of proportionality. If the degradation accelerates, the restoration must do so, too. First, there were the parks. Then, the species. Now, the corridors.
Because an isolated park can become a genetic island. And islands, in times of climate change, are fragile.
The ultimate goal of rewilding is not to keep an ecosystem in perpetual intensive therapy. It’s about returning autonomy. We know when a system is breathing again when independent populations are viable; when food chains are re-established, and; when human intervention can be reduced.
The ultimate goal of rewilding is not to keep an ecosystem in perpetual intensive therapy, but to return its autonomy as soon as possible.
Rewilding does not seek to freeze nature at a static point. Its aim is to allow nature to return to changing all by itself.
In the end, this is an act of humanity. Recognizing that humans have altered complex systems and that, in certain cases, should intervene anew, but this time to restore not to exploit. We put so much effort into dominating nature, in domesticating it, that now the time has come to set it free again.
The work now is to accept that protecting is not enough. Beauty alone is not sufficient. A forest without animals is empty silence. Returning life is not a romantic gesture, but a robust ecological strategy.
In a less and less wild world, rewilding is not radical, but responsible. When life returns, it doesn’t come back alone. Balance and resilience accompany it. And with these two attributes in an ecosystem, there’s hope for the future.
Amaro Gómez-Pablos is a journalist and communicator with an international career spanning more than three decades. He was a war correspondent and television presenter, recognized with the King of Spain Journalism Prize and the Gabriel García Márquez Award for his reporting in conflict zones and on human rights issues. Today, his journalistic focus is on the major challenges of the 21st century: climate change, the regeneration of the planet, and impactful stories that connect science, sustainability, and hope.