Biologists want to repopulate German rivers with sturgeon. A test batch of aquarium-raised fish has already been re-introduced and a school of fish will likely be released in the Oder River this autumn.

By Philip Bethge

Seen from above, the young sturgeon resemble little prehistoric sharks. They splay their rounded fins as if they were little wings and glide elegantly through the water using their pointed tails. The only things that don’t seem to fit into the picture are the yellow plastic bands attached to their angular dorsal fins.

“We’ve marked the fish so we can identify them later,” says Frank Kirschbaum as he adeptly scoops one of the sturgeon from the water and runs his finger over its archaic-looking bone plates, which line the narrow, 30 centimeter (12 inch) body like an ornamental strip. The sturgeon gasping for oxygen in Kirschbaum’s hand is one year old. In a few weeks, it may be drawing oxygen from the Oder River.

Kirschbaum is a fish specialist at Berlin’s Leibniz Institute of Freshwater Ecology and Inland Fisheries (IGB). He’s pursuing an ambitious species-protection project along with his colleague Jörn Gessner and Polish researchers. “We’re planning Europe’s largest practical experiment in sturgeon re-population,” Gessner says. The scientists want to set some 6,000 young fish free in the Oder by 2008. That would herald the return of sturgeon to Germany’s rivers.

“You could find sturgeon virtually anywhere in this country as recently as a century ago,” says Henning von Nordheim from Germany’s Federal Nature Conservation Agency, which has invested about €2 million ($2.6 million) in the sturgeon program. “The sturgeon is the product of 200 million years of natural history, (and) we want this charismatic animal to feel at home in our rivers again.”

A primordial fish

The sturgeon is one of those rare creatures that have survived virtually unchanged since the time of the dinosaurs. Most of the sleek, bony-sided fish spend the greater part of their lives in the sea, like salmon, and migrate upriver only to mate. They’re threatened with extinction worldwide, but 27 varieties of sturgeon still live in the world’s rivers, including the Hausen variety, which can weigh up to a ton and yields the best Russian caviar.

The Elbe, the Weser, the Oder and other German rivers feeding the North Sea and the Baltic once belonged to the fish’s habitat. As recently as 1888 fishermen on the Elbe managed to catch about 3,500 sturgeon, including massive specimens weighing between 60 and 70 kilograms, or 132 and 154 pounds. (The fish can reach a length of up to six meters, or 20 feet.) But the 20th century thinned their population. Factories and sewage from the cities polluted the rivers; modern weirs prevented the fish from reaching their spawning grounds. The last German sturgeon was seen in the Eider, a small river in Germany’s Schleswig-Holstein region, in 1969. Since then, sturgeon has been considered extinct in Germany.

Now researchers at Berlin’s IGB want the fish repatriated. This project looks promising, at least along the Oder, which feeds the Baltic Sea. The Atlantic sturgeon (Acipenser oxyrhyncus) migrated to the Baltic about 1,000 years ago, displacing the European variety, and adopted the river between Germany and Poland as its natural home. This proved to be a stroke of luck for the biologists, because Atlantic sturgeon still live in the tens of thousands in North America.

The young fish at the IGB in Berlin were imported from across the Atlantic. They travelled to Europe via Canada as fertilized eggs. In some cases the scientists even transported fully grown sturgeon: Twenty of the massive gilled creatures flew to Frankfurt airport on Air Canada last April. IGB researchers had caught them in St. John’s River in southern Canada, then transported them to Halifax airport across a distance of 600 kilometers (373 miles).

Back from extinction

These fish now swim in aquariums in the Regional Center for Agriculture and Fishery in the Baltic Sea town of Born. They’ve grown to a length of almost two meters (6.6 feet). “We hope they’ll soon be ready to spawn,” says Gessner. “Then we want to start breeding young sturgeon for the Oder ourselves.”

Repopulating the Elbe and Weser Rivers will be more difficult. Both North Sea tributaries were once dominated by the European variety of sturgeon (Acipenser sturio). Unlike its Atlantic counterpart, the European variety is now extremely rare. The Gironde River, near Bordeaux, France, is the only place where an estimated 2,000 of the European variety still exist. “That’s the only variety suitable for repopulating the North Sea tributaries,” says Kirschbaum. “Anything else would mean falsifying the historical situation.”

Kirschbaum imported some of these fish from France in 1996. Sixteen adult sturgeon born in the Gironde now populate the IGB aquariums. Taking care of these demanding creatures is no easy task, though; they refuse to touch regular food. Every day, Kirschbaum has to feed his primordial gourmets five kilograms (11 pounds) of imported French prawns.

But it pays off. Kirschbaum discovered eggs in one of his female sturgeon early this year. The discovery was a sensation. It’s been 10 years since scientists last saw young sturgeon in the Gironde. “If we can breed them, that would be an enormous success,” says Kirschbaum. Repopulating the Elbe, at least in theory, would then be possible. The question is whether migrant fish can navigate the river. “There’s a weir near the town of Geesthacht on the Elbe,” Kirschbaum says. The weir blocks the route the sturgeon would follow to reach their spawning ground. The weir, in fact, was built to let salmon cross it. “But it won’t work for sturgeon,” says Kirschbaum.

Not enough for caviar

So the scientists, for now, have pinned their hopes on the Oder. They consider the river sufficiently unspoiled to attempt repopulation. “Since 1997, we’ve done research to find out whether there still are spawning grounds in the Oder or any of its tributaries,” says Gessner. The researchers found a number of gravelly sections of riverbed provided with a strong current, the kind sturgeon need to deposit their eggs — most of them in the Polish river Warta. Local fishermen have been informed, too: Proposals have been developed to change their net-pulling techniques in order to avoid trapping the sturgeon, which live mainly close to the river bottom.

The researchers eventually want to attach ultrasonic devices to all these fish and follow them by boat. They’ve tested the method in the Peene, a little river in West Pomerania — since July they’ve observed the behavior of 15 young, ultrasonic-equipped sturgeon there.

Now the IGB scientists are waiting for the right moment to release sturgeon into the Oder. They had been focused on a date in April, but the plan fell through at the last minute because of a political quarrel over expanding the river’s usefulness as a commercial waterway.

Now, though, the signs are favorable again. Some sturgeon could be placed in the Oder as part of preliminary tests in late fall. The river itself would stand to benefit, say the biologists. “If we restore the sturgeon’s habitat, the whole ecosystem will improve,” says Kirschbaum. Typical river fish such as barbs and rock herring could follow the sturgeon back to the Oder.

But it will take some time before the project’s success can be gauged. Sturgeon need 10 to 15 years to grow sexually mature. Only then can they return to their native rivers to spawn. “It would be a sensation if even a few of those fish survive that long and then find their way back to the Oder,” says Gessner.

Anyone looking forward to buying Baltic Sea caviar, though, will be disappointed. Sturgeon roe from Europe used to be a gourmet specialty, Gessner admits — “but if some of our sturgeon come back and a fisher catches one of them, that will hardly be enough to give birth to a new industry.”

–> read original article at SPIEGEL Online International

In the 19th century, the Bearded Vulture had a bad press. It was accused of carrying off and devouring lambs and even small children. Alpine authorities declared open season on the bird and the last one was shot in 1913. But the vulture, which is capable of digesting large bones, is back thanks to a successful and costly 20-year program of introducing bred birds into the wild.

By Philip Bethge

Portobello and Tauernwand aren’t yet comfortable with their new-found freedom. The two bearded vultures, born and bred in captivity, seem wary as they slowly ascend to a height of 1,500 meters above the Seebachtal valley in the Austrian Alps.

Half an hour earlier rangers had hauled the birds up the mountain in wooden crates to their new home in a prepared nest. The birds are part of Europe’s longest-running wildlife re-introduction scheme. Since 1986 zoologists in Austria, Italy, France and Switzerland have released 144 bearded vultures to the Alps.

They recently celebrated the 20th anniversary of the project. “Progress so far has been very pleasing,” said Hans Frey of Vienna’s Veterinary University who is coordinating the program. “The project proves that with persistence the re-introduction of wild animals can actually work.”

The bird doesn’t look like a typical vulture and is often mistaken for a Golden Eagle. It has a conspicuous red circle around the eyes and a wingspan of around 2.7 meters. A black strip over the eyes and the bristles at the base of the beak form the distinctive appearance of a beard.

Character assassination wiped out the Bearded Vulture in the Alps in the 19th century. The local population blamed the scavenger for the loss of lambs, goats and even small children. Hunters were offered rewards for shooting them and the last vulture living in the alps is believed to have been shot in 1913 in the Italian Aosta valley.

“The Bearded Vulture unfortunately never had a very good image,” said Frey, adding that it didn’t reserve its reputation because the birds aren’t dangerous to living animals.

Bone Crusher

The bird feeds mainly on the bleached bones of dead goats and sheep. If the bones are too big, it drops them 50 to 80 meters onto plates of rock to shatter them, and eats the splinters. No other animal is capable of digesting bone which means that the Bearded Vulture has no competitors for its food. Its powerful stomach acids can dissolve even large bones.

By the beginning of the 20th century the “Bone Crusher” was virtually extinct in the wild in Europe. Then in the 1970s zoologists decided to try to re-introduce the bird to the Alps. “We managed to breed the birds again,” said Frey, who manages Europe’s largest vulture breeding station at Haringsee near Vienna.

In 1986 the first four Bearded Vultures were released in the Hohe Tauern national park. Since then birds have also been released in Switzerland’s Engadin region, Italy’s Stilfser Joch national park, and in the French Haute Savoie region, as well as the Maritime Alps. In 1997 the first of these birds bred and 33 chicks have been born in the wild so far.

“Conditions for Bearded Vultures are better now than 100 years ago,” said Wolfgang Fremuth of Frankfurt’s Zoological Society which co-financed the project. Less hunting takes place in the Alps, which means that there is more wildlife. And another problem appears to have been solved. “We were surprised, but the population has embraced the Bearded Vulture to an incredible extent.”

Some 200 guests braved rainy weather to witness the release of Portobello and Tauernwind, which marked the 20th anniversary of the re-introduction program. Even local hunter Ferdinand Gorton praised the project. He said there had initially been some resistance to it. “But if one explains it well it becomes understandable even to the most simple hunter,” he said.

Natural garbage collectors

“The return of the vulture means farmers won’t have to remove dead animals,” said Frey. In addition, many local hoteliers have discovered the bird as a tourist attraction. Biologists see other advantages. “Bearded Vultures together with other types of vultures are a natural form of waste disposal and are important for the ecosystem of the mountains,” said Fremuth. Humans alone were to blame for their disappearance. “We have a duty to bring them back.”

The plan could work. Around 100 of the released birds are known to have remained in the Alps. Almost 5,000 unpaid helpers regularly document their whereabouts.

Newcomers Portobello and Tauernwind are constantly monitored. They will soon leave the Seebachtal valley. Biologists hope that in four to six years they will return to the Hohen Tauern range to breed.

At that point the time may have come to stop the program and leave the Bearded Vulture population alone. “We hope we will be able to stop releasing animals from 2010 because the population is regenerating itself,” said Frey. The project will have spent around €100,000 on each new vulture.

Frey recommends that future generations show more foresight. “Rendering a species extinct only to re-introduce it later is incredibly expensive. Wildlife protection pays off — it’s always cheaper in the end.”

–> read original article at SPIEGEL Online International

The brown bear is returning to the mountains of Central Europe, thanks to resettlement projects in Italy, Austria and France. Biologists celebrate the animals’ return as a success in endangered species protection. But the general population has mixed feelings about welcoming back the predator.

By Philip Bethge

It was Christina Kröll’s dog which showed the first signs of agitation. Only minutes later did she herself catch a glimpse of the massive creature that had frightened her pet.

Kröll, the wife of a butcher from the town of Nauders near Italy’s Resia Pass, says that she saw the bear standing on a forest path less than 30 meters (about 100 feet) away as she walked her collie early one summer evening. The bear followed the 53-year-old woman and her pet for about 15 minutes, until Kröll reached the vehicle that she believes saved her. “I was afraid — to the point of panic,” says Kröll. “The only thing between me and the bear was the glass windshield in my car.”

Kröll spotted the brown bear in August, and news of the encounter quickly spread throughout the town. But Nauders, it turns out, was merely a stop-over for this shaggy troublemaker. The young bear Kröll saw on the forest path, since named “Lumpaz,” has been making his way through a region bounded by three countries, Austria, Italy and Switzerland, for the past three months, and an excited local population has been following his every move.

In late July, the animal became the first bear to step onto Swiss soil in a hundred years when he strolled into the Münstertal, greeted by dozens of curious bystanders. A few of the tourists were even foolish enough to move within a few meters of this large predator. The Zürich tabloid Blick ran a cover story entitled “Yes, the bear is back!” But, on a more cautionary note, the paper asked “Just how dangerous is our brown bear?”

Friend or foe?

The story of Lumpaz is symbolic of the dilemma facing Central Europe’s biggest predator. The animal, which can weigh up to 300 kilograms (662 pounds), causes equal measures of euphoria and horror the minute it is spotted — not surprising given that in these areas human beings were the ones to drive it out in the first place.

Outside of Russia, there are still about 14,000 bears in Europe, mostly in Romania and the Balkans. But “ursus arctos arctos,” the European brown bear, is making a comeback elsewhere in Central Europe too, aided by resettlement projects in Austria, Italy and France. In particular, the creature is making his way back into the forests of some of the continent’s hot spots for mountain tourism – such as Austria’s Northern Limestone Alps, Italy’s Dolomites and the Pyrenees on the border between France and Spain.

While biologists see the brown bear’s return as a success story, it has also revived the age-old conflict between man and beast. What happens when the first hiker is killed by a bear? How will shepherds, beekeepers and hunters react to the bears? And why should today’s Europeans make room for a predator that, only a hundred years ago, frequently met a horrible death in steel traps?

Bear experts from all over the world recently came together at the 16th International Bear Conference on Italy’s Lake Garda to discuss these issues. (Meanwhile, an Austrian research center has just completed a long study on European brown bears sexual habits.) Appropriately clad in multifunctional trousers and outdoor shirts, the delegates, sipping Bardolino and snacking on Pizza Romano, discussed such topics as the infanticide common among male bears and the use of barbed wire to obtain hair samples. But the issue at the top of everyone’s agenda was the “human dimension.” “Some people see bears as sexy and charismatic,” says Alistair Bath of the Large Carnivore Initiative of Europe, “but for others they are evil, blood-thirsty predators.” For Bath, the central issue is this: “Just how much of the wild are people willing to accept?”

Just knowing that this powerful animal has been sighted somewhere in the area can turn a mountain hike into a completely different out-of-doors experience. The Italian nature park Adamello Brenta is less than 50 kilometers (about 31 miles) north of Lake Garda. From the Dolomite village Madonna di Campiglio, a funicular takes you up to the Grosté Pass, at an altitude of 2,450 meters (8,038 feet), from where you hike down into the Tovel Valley — to a spot surrounded by the jagged walls of the Brenta Massif. “We released the animals down there,” says Claudio Groff, pointing into the valley. “And now they walk across this pass at night.”

Groff is the bear expert for Trento’s regional government. Since 1999, the Italian has been leading a team with only one goal: to resettle the brown bear in the Italian Alps. In 1950, there were still about 70 of the creatures living in Trentino. By the 1990s, that number had dwindled to three older males. “That meant, of course, that offspring were out of the question,” says Groff. The scientists decided to address the problem with resettlement. They released “Masun” and “Kirka” in 1999, “Daniza,” “Jose” and “Irma” a year later and, finally, “Gasper,” “Brenta,” “Maya,” “Jurka” and “Vida.”

The ten animals were lured into baited traps in Slovenia, which has a thriving bear population, and were then trucked to the Adamello Brenta Park. The bear museum in nearby Spormaggiore documented their arrival on video. Like drunken sailors on shore leave, the brown bears stagger from their shipping crate into their new environment. After briefly scenting the weather, they head into the underbrush. “The resettlement has been a great success,” says Groff. “At least twelve cubs have been born already.”

The excitement of the wild

Hiking through bear territory is an incredible feeling. It’s a five-hour walk from the Grosté Pass down to shimmering Lago di Tovel. Pulses quicken as the forest becomes more dense closer to the lake. After all, a bear could emerge from the underbrush at any time. What then? “Don’t run away,” as experts advise? And if attacked, “lie on the ground, stomach-down” and “play dead?”

“Fear is a completely normal reaction,” says Groff, “the bear is bigger, faster and stronger than we are.” But human beings are not part of this predator’s normal fare. “There hasn’t been a single known death in Italy, Spain or Austria in the last 100 years,” Groff adds. Besides, the animal’s diet is 75% vegetarian. But is that enough to calm jittery nerves?

Trentino Alto Adige is in the heart of ancient bear country. “Orso bruno,” the brown bear, appears 49 times in the local place names. But reference to the bear is far from flattery, and indeed was once the expression of a bitter enmity. Historically documented bounties for the bear and faded photos of celebrated teams of hunters, the bear’s skin at their feet, are witness to the South Tyroleans’ proud victory over this powerful animal. And now, once again, the furry animals are managing to reignite old grudges.

According to the Trento provincial government, there have been more than 250 reported incidents of bears attacking livestock, raiding beehives or scaring humans since 1999. “The problems were especially serious this year, when a few bears went into towns,” says Groff. “Jurka,” a female, has particularly worried scientists. She has developed a taste for chickens and tasty garbage, both available mainly near towns and villages. “Many people want us to get rid of this animal,” says Groff, “but Jurka is one of the few females who produces cubs regularly. Within the space of only one year, she’s already been seen with two new cubs.”

A 21-member bear management team is on hand to prevent the conflict from escalating. Employees of Italy’s forest police shoot at overly aggressive bears with rubber bullets to “frighten” them. The provincial government pays for mobile electric fences to protect sheep herds in their Alpine meadows at night. Shepherds and beekeepers already receive financial reimbursement. The Italians have paid almost €160,000 in compensation since 1999.

“Resettling bears is very expensive and has been causing problems for decades,” says Piero Genovesi of the Italian wildlife conservation organization, Istituto Nazionale per la Fauna Selvatica. According to Genovesi, a population is only considered stable once it reaches about 50 animals. For this reason, Genovesi fears, the Trentino bears would have to be managed intensively for up to 80 years, and even then success is not a guarantee. The delicate balance between bears and humans could swing back at any time.

Take Austria, for example. For the past 15 years, Austrian biologists have been trying to bring back the brown bear. But they remain “miles away” from a “stable situation,” reports Georg Rauer of the Austrian World Wide Fund for Nature (WWF). Rauer was there when, 16 years ago, the Austrian bear saga began on a hopeful note when scientists brought in a female bear, “Mira.” Two years later, she gave birth to two cubs, fathered by the legendary “Ötscher bear,” which had entered Austria from Slovenia back in the summer of 1972. Two more bears were soon resettled in Austria, and the project seemed to be heading in the right direction. Just five years ago, the Austrians were able to proudly count a brown bear population of 25 to 30 animals.

An attorney for bears

But their elation has since been tempered. “We haven’t seen any signs of young animals in two years,” says Rauer, who has devoted his efforts to bears since 1995. Indeed, the bearded biologist terms himself a “bear attorney,” an arbitrator of sorts between human and beast. Whenever a bear causes trouble, Rauer quickly arrives at the scene to assess the damage. “The animals here have become especially fond of rapeseed oil, which is used in chain saws and large machinery.” Rauer recently dealt with a case involving a steam roller that a bear had dismantled to reach the oil in the hydraulic system — the most costly damage he has ever seen, says the biologist.

According to Rauer, bears cause less than €7,000 in damage each year in Austria. He has never had any reports of direct conflicts between bears and humans. But the Austrian bear population is shrinking again, suggesting that public sentiment is once again beginning to turn against this funny, reclusive creature.

“27 animals have been born here since 1991,” says Rauer. However, current genetic analyses of hair samples show that there are only about ten animals living in the state of Lower Austria and five to six in Carinthia (Kärnten) today. The situation speaks for itself, as far as Rauer is concerned: “The remaining bears were most likely shot illegally.”

So it seems that biologists’ dreams of a peaceful coexistence between predators and humans are constantly being thwarted by both our primal fear of the beast and the stupid pride of a new breed of bear hunters. There isn’t much room for the brown bear in Western Europe to begin with. At the Lake Garda conference, Spanish researchers Carlos Nores and Juan Herrero reported that the population of Cantabrian bears has declined to 100. Nowadays, only about 50 bears travel along the mountain passes in Italy’s Abruzzi region. And despite resettlement programs, the population in the Pyrenees is also suffering. Last November, the death of female Pyrenees bear “Cannelle” (the French for cinnamon) stirred the emotions of the French. The animal, accompanied by her cub, came into a hunter’s crossfire in the village of Urdos.

To protect her cub, Cannelle attacked the hunter’s dog, and the hunter shot the bear. The incident prompted hundreds of bear supporters to stage protests, both in the Pyrenees and at the Panthéon in Paris. Even French President Jacques Chirac called it “a tremendous loss for biological diversity.”

“One could do all kinds of exciting research and still end up with a pile of dead bears,” researcher Bath soberly concludes. Nevertheless, he is convinced that the brown bear deserves a permanent home in the mountains of Central Europe. According to opinion polls, a solid 75 percent majority favors the animals’ return. “Especially the local people are often intensely proud of the fact that specimens of this great carnivore still live in their region,” says Bath.

Locals should grin and bear it

In the case of the troublemaker making his rounds at Resia Pass, biologists can only hope that local residents will continue to tolerate the animal’s escapades with patience. Young bear Lumpaz, since identified as an offspring of Dolomite female Jurka, is doing exactly what researchers want him to do: He is migrating, bringing the biologists closer to their goal of making the brown bear indigenous to the entire Alps region.

At the same time, however, the animal’s youthful curiosity makes him what Rauer calls a “problem bear.” On the one hand, the region’s tourist industry appreciates Lumpaz as “free advertising,” and vacationers in Switzerland’s Münster Valley are already getting a taste of the latest local specialties, “bear pizza” and “bear beer.” But officials are also concerned about the safety of visitors.

To deter bear tourists, they keep the animal’s exact whereabouts a secret. Lumpaz, they believe, has become too comfortable with humans, and Christine Kröll isn’t the only one who has been frightened by the bear. The animal came within five meters of a tourist, also near Nauders, and a hunter near Ramosch “practically had a heart attack” when he looked up to see the bear standing in front of him.

“The bear is a large, defensive animal, and the consequences can be serious if it feels threatened,” warns Rauer. He insists that Lumpaz has not been aggressive yet, but that the real problem is that he spends too much time near villages. “We should quickly cure him of his trusting nature.” But now the bear’s education will have to wait until next year, since Lumpaz has migrated south to spend the winter in South Tyrol, where he will soon curl up in a cave. When that happens, things will quiet down for a while for the bear and his champions. Lumpaz, like most bears, will be hibernating until next March.

Translated from the German by Christopher Sultan

–> read original story at SPIEGEL Online International