It was once on the verge of disappearing altogether, but Canada’s most endangered mammal is making a comeback, thanks to a dedicated team of scientists, researchers and conservationists climbing mountains – quite literally – to save it.
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High in the cloud-covered alpine meadows of Vancouver Island’s Strathcona Provincial Park, a conservation success story is quietly unfolding. This landscape of boulder fields and windswept slopes is the only place on Earth where the Vancouver Island marmot survives.
At first glance, the species might seem unremarkable: an oversized rodent, chocolate-brown with a white nose and a fondness for sunbathing. But appearances can be deceptive.
The Vancouver Island marmot is among the rarest mammals in North America and, for a time, it was perilously close to extinction.
Back in 2003, fewer than 30 wild marmots were estimated to remain on the mountainsides of Vancouver Island, off the west coast of Canada. But at the last count in November 2025 that number had increased to 427 (across 33 colonies) in the wild, along with about 120 in conservation breeding programmes.
This upward curve represents one of the most successful wildlife recoveries in Canada and is the result of more than two decades of dedicated effort by the Marmot Recovery Foundation (MRF) and its partners.
“People are often surprised when I say it, but this is one of the best examples of species recovery in the world,” says Adam Taylor, executive director of the MRF. “We’ve pulled this animal back from the brink – but we’re not done yet.”
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An island species
Vancouver Island marmots (Marmota vancouverensis) are actual islanders: they exist only in the high mountains of Vancouver Island. They evolved here in isolation, diverging genetically from their mainland relatives over a period of hundreds of thousands of years.
Their home is characterised by rugged, wind-lashed ridgelines and open subalpine meadows, typically higher than 1,000m. They spend approximately seven months a year in hibernation, tucked beneath the snow in an insulated burrow known as a hibernacula, excavated beneath the frostline using their robust, beaver-like teeth and sharp claws.
When they emerge in spring, life is fast and fleeting. They have only a few short months to feed, breed and prepare to sleep again.
Vancouver island marmots are bursting with character. Whether jumping among the rocks, scampering through the meadows or sparring with rivals, they are incredibly active and playful during the warmer months.
Their loud, sharp whistles echo across the slopes, alerting the colony to predatory cougars, grey wolves and eagles, while also serving as a means of communication. The Vancouver Island marmot has more calls in its repertoire than any other marmot, and is the only one to make non-whistle calls, including a distinctive kee-aw.
These social little mammals live in tightknit colonies, often greeting each other with nose touches and bouts of gentle grooming. They forage on more than 40 species of wildflowers, sedges and grasses, working hard to regain the weight lost during hibernation as well as fatten up for the winter to come.
Much of their activity still takes place underground, where multiple burrows are used to sleep, raise young and escape predators. Breeding begins soon after hibernation ends and, if successful, marmots produce litters of three to six pups. Both the male and the female share parenting duties, carefully guarding the burrow.
The youngsters emerge in early summer, wide-eyed, wobbly-legged and eager to explore. They hibernate with their mother for their first – and usually second – winter, before dispersing across Vancouver Island’s subalpine regions at around two years old.
More males disperse than females (thought to account for the island’s slight demographic bias to female), usually travelling 5-20km – though one bold individual was recorded dispersing 36km. It may be well adapted to alpine life, but such niche ecological requirements are also part of what makes the Vancouver Island marmot so vulnerable.
“There just aren’t many places on the island that offer suitable habitat,” explains Adam. “And when those habitats are fragmented or degraded, it puts the species at real risk.”
That risk became reality in the latter half of the 20th century. The construction of hydroelectric dams, together with significant infrastructure and fragmented populations, while forestry roads and clear-cut logging operations (where all or most trees are felled in one go) expanded into Vancouver Island’s high country.
Marmots began colonising these newly cleared areas, mistaking them for natural meadows. At first, these new habitats seemed like an opportunity. But they are ecological traps.
Without the security of a large colony, isolated individuals in the clear-cuts become easy targets for predators. Cougars in particular are avid marmot hunters, known to take several individuals a day. This may not seem like many, but every individual counts when the population is minimal and sensitive to any form of disruption.
Populations plummeted. By the late 1990s, alarm bells were ringing as entire colonies vanished from their native ranges. The once lively whistles that cut through the mountains fell silent. Without swift action, extinction seemed unavoidable.
In 1998, the MRF was established in response to the crisis. Based on Vancouver Island, the foundation built partnerships with the British Columbia government, private landowners and a network of zoos and breeding centres across Canada.
They initiated a last-ditch effort to save the species using a combination of scientific research, captive breeding, habitat restoration and field monitoring.
“From the beginning, this was a ground-up effort,” says Adam. “It wasn’t just a government programme or a zoo initiative. Scientists, community members, donors and volunteers were all pulling together.”
The first decade focused on preventing immediate extinction. Captive-breeding facilities were established at Calgary and marmots (31 males, 25 females) were captured from the wild to kick-start the programme – mostly youngsters, to avoid disrupting established breeding pairs.
Saving Vancouver’s marmots
Breeding marmots is a delicate business. Timing is critical, as pair-bonding typically occurs just after hibernation, when hormone levels peak. Not all marmots hit it off, so introductions are made carefully.
When things go well, litters are born in the spring and the pups are raised until they’re ready to join the recovery effort, either retained in breeding programmes to maintain genetic diversity or prepared for release back to the wild.
The first four captive-bred marmots were released into the wild in 2003. More than 750 have since followed, usually equipped with radio-tags so their movements can be monitored.
Every summer, field technicians from the MRF travel by helicopter deep into Vancouver Island’s rugged backcountry to check on marmot colonies. They hike long distances, often through steep, brush-choked terrain, to reach known burrow sites. Once there, they scan the slopes using binoculars and log every sighting.
“It’s hard work, but incredibly rewarding,” says field co-ordinator Kevin Gourlay. “These animals live in some of the island’s most spectacular places. You’re out in these wild, remote areas, and suddenly a marmot pops its head up. It’s like finding treasure.”
The team tags and tracks individual marmots using radio-telemetry, which helps them monitor various vitals and movements, and carries out translocations between mountains to boost ailing populations and increase genetic diversity. It’s conservation at its most hands-on. And it’s paying off.
Today, marmots are reclaiming lost habitat in key recovery areas such as Strathcona Provincial Park, Mount Arrowsmith Regional Park and the Nanaimo Lakes. Pups are being born in the wild, some colonies are growing naturally and reintroductions continue. Yet there is still some way to go.
“Things are heading in the right direction,” says Adam, “but this is a managed recovery. Without continued intervention, the population would likely crash again.”
No “silver bullet”
Part of the challenge lies in the marmot’s small population and restricted range, with genetic bottlenecks a persistent concern. Climate change has also introduced new uncertainties by shrinking and stressing the alpine meadows that these mammals depend on.
Warmer temperatures reduce the snowpack, dry out the soil and increase the frequency and severity of drought. Trees and shrubs creep higher up the mountainsides, not only inhibiting wildflower seed germination, but also providing stalking cover for cougars and wolves.
Predation is, of course, a natural part of an ecosystem, but human-altered landscapes heighten the risks. For this reason, the MRF team is also working to conserve marmot habitat by removing tree ingress in autumn, once the animals have entered hibernation.
“There’s no silver bullet,” says Kevin. “You need science. You need boots on the ground. You need money, and you need time.”
And while recovery efforts are making a huge difference, the progression is not linear. Populations are still prone to fluctuate dramatically with mortality events, which is what happened in 2014 and 2016 – possibly due to predation or unusual weather conditions, or both.
The efforts of the MRF now serve as a model for other recovery programmes. The team’s positive results demonstrate that even a species on the brink of extinction can recover if given the opportunity and a helping hand. But they also act as a warning.
Preventing further harm is far easier than saving a species teetering on the edge. On a sunny July afternoon, with alpine flowers blooming and the air buzzing with insects, two young marmots play outside a burrow near Vancouver Island’s Mount Washington. They tumble, roll and chirp in an innocent scene that hides how fragile their existence has been.
For Adam, moments like these make all those years of effort worthwhile. “You see that and you think: we did this. People did this. But we need to keep doing it.”
Marmots may be small but their story is big in Canada’s conservation history. It shows what can happen when we dedicate ourselves to protecting biodiversity, not just in far-off rainforests or coral reefs, but right in our mountain backyards.
As Adam puts it, “We saved them once. Let’s not have to do it again.”
Top image: this Vancouver Island marmot has been tagged by the Marmot Recovery Foundation (MRF). Credit: Ryan Tidman
