By official measures, the Mexican wolf recovery program is a success. The latest count reports 319 wolves in Arizona and New Mexico—just one animal shy of the recovery benchmark. Because these figures represent minimum counts rather than a full census, the true population is almost certainly higher.
For many Americans, especially in cities, that sounds like an environmental triumph: a species brought back from the brink.
But numbers alone do not tell the full story.
In the rural communities where wolves now live, daily life has changed in ways that most Americans would find unthinkable. Reports from Catron and Cibola Counties describe wolves entering residential spaces, taking pets from yards, and killing livestock. In 2025, verified livestock depredations in New Mexico rose by roughly 49 percent. For ranchers operating on tight margins, even a few losses can threaten the viability of a family operation that may have existed for generations.
The effects ripple outward. When herds shrink, so does local economic activity—from feed suppliers and veterinarians to truckers and small-town businesses. Some producers are reducing herd sizes or exiting altogether because they cannot absorb repeated losses.
Wildlife patterns are shifting as well. Hunters and outfitters report declining elk presence in certain areas, affecting rural economies that rely heavily on seasonal hunting tourism. Fewer elk means fewer visitors filling hotels, buying fuel, and eating in local restaurants.
Perhaps less visible—but equally important—is the psychological impact. Families in wolf-occupied areas must supervise children outdoors, wait at bus stops, and restrict recreation. Pets are kept indoors or in enclosures. If statistics suggest that the risk to humans is low, the reason is because residents have had to change how they live their daily lives.
Complicating matters further, gray wolves from Colorado are dispersing south into northern New Mexico. Some are uncollared, making monitoring difficult. Federal law allows lethal action only in extreme circumstances involving human safety, leaving residents with limited options when livestock or pets are attacked.
The question now is how many wolves, where, and at what cost—and who bears that cost.
Currently, the burdens fall disproportionately on rural communities that provide the open landscapes necessary for recovery and on livestock producers. While compensation programs exist for certain livestock losses, they often do not cover or fully cover dead cattle never found or indirect costs such as reduced weight gain, reproductive losses, stress-related illness, or the time spent monitoring herds more intensively.
Meanwhile, policymakers debate next steps, including potential federal delisting legislation and funding for loss compensation. Yet long-term management plans that balance conservation with community sustainability remain uncertain.
True conservation success should not be measured solely by population counts. It should also be measured by whether people and wildlife can coexist without forcing one side—human or animal—into crisis.
For urban readers far from wolf country, the takeaway is not that recovery has failed, but that recovery is incomplete. Protecting a species while protecting the people who live alongside it is harder than restoring numbers on a spreadsheet.
If the goal is lasting conservation, the path forward must include both ecological science and human reality.
Because a recovery that works only on paper is not a recovery that will endure.
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Tom Paterson, a Catron County rancher, serves as President of the New Mexico Cattle Growers' Association
