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For more than two decades my students, collaborators, and I have conducted field-based research aimed at conserving threatened species in some of the most remote (and incredibly beautiful!) places on the planet. Despite their remoteness, these sites have not been spared the ill effects of human activities – and anthropogenic threats are the ultimate causes of species declines in every instance (e.g. Wittmer et al. 2013). Examples include population declines of woodland caribou (Rangifer tarandus caribou) in British Columbia, Canada, resulting from apparent competition caused by changes to the predator–prey system following large-scale logging of old-growth forests; huemul deer (Hippocamelus bisulcus) in Chilean Patagonia, that were historically affected by overexploitation and habitat loss, but are now failing to recover at least in some areas due to apparent competition as well; and entire tropical vertebrate communities containing multiple threatened species, such as clouded leopards (Neofelis diardi), in Gunung Palung National Park, West Kalimantan, Borneo, whose habitat outside the National Park is rapidly disappearing due to anthropogenic land use changes. Like so many other conservation biologists, I am driven by the desire to conduct meaningful research that informs conservation management and may ultimately lead to the recovery of endangered species. But I find it uncomfortably difficult to identify tangible successes. Worldwide, human activities continue to cause population declines and species extinctions, perhaps even at increasing rates (Dirzo et al. 2014). As I am writing this Editorial, I am on Codfish Island (Whenua Hou). Codfish Island is one of the many off-shore island reserves established and managed by the New Zealand Department of Conservation (DOC) to protect the country’s threatened biodiversity. The invasive mammalian predators that wreaked havoc on the biodiversity of New Zealand’s mainland were confirmed extirpated on Codfish Island in 2000, and since then the island has been a sanctuary including for many of New Zealand’s most iconic species. For example, Codfish Island is home to a large proportion of the world’s ,150 remaining kākāpō (Strigops habroptilus), a critically endangered, flightless parrot. But the island is precious in many other ways. Glancing out the window of our field station, I am treated to a glimpse of endemic Codfish Island fernbirds (Megalurus punctatus wilsoni) scurrying mouse-like through the dense vegetation. Just outside, I have stumbled across a snares snipe (Coenocorypha huegeli), introduced to Codfish Island for conservation purposes, and playfully pretended for 2 long minutes that freezing upon being sighted by a ‘mammalian predator’ is indeed an effective antipredator strategy. In the evenings I see Campbell Island teals (Anas nesiotis) along the beach. Yesterday night I heard the first call of the sooty shearwater (Ardenna grisea) just returning from its wintering grounds in Alaska. Later in the year, an estimated 500 000 breeding pairs will return every night to the island to attend to their nests and then chicks. The diversity of birds here is simply amazing. I am thoroughly enjoying every minute of my stay on this special island – and acutely aware of the privilege of being able to see firsthand a sight that few New Zealanders will ever enjoy. As crucial as Codfish Island is to the survival of kākāpō, it is even more important to a far less well known endemic: the Whenua Hou diving petrel (Pelecanoides whenuahouensis). This species is new to science. It was described in 2018 by my PhD student Johannes Fischer (Fischer et al. 2018) and Codfish Island is home to their last remaining breeding colony. These small seabirds burrow their nests into a single, fragile sand dune on the island that is roughly 900 m long. Despite the eradication in 2000 of the invasive mammalian predators thought to be responsible for the species’ extirpation across New Zealand and its territories, the population is recovering, if at all, extremely slowly. Indeed, there are currently fewer than 250 breeding individuals of this critically endangered species left. The reasons the population is so slow to recover are the topic of Johannes’s ongoing PhD research. Despite their dire situation, and contrary to the many other endangered species I have worked on, I like to think that Whenua Hou diving petrels at least have a fighting chance. The last remaining population inhabits one of the best managed nature reserves in the world, where access is severely restricted and there is a long history of effective management interventions. There is a collaborative team of scientists and managers committed to their conservation. Local iwi treasure the birds as taonga (treasure). If we are able to identify the factors responsible for their slow recovery, I see no reason why we shouldn’t be able to implement conservation strategies that will permit the population to return to a viable size. In my opinion, most other endangered species face worse odds. Yet places like Codfish Island are extremely rare and fewer and fewer of my graduate students will have the opportunity to work in remote areas that contain relatively intact ecological communities. Perhaps most CSIRO PUBLISHING

Why I have come to care about conservation and restoration in peopled landscapes