The Florida Wildlife Corridor is giving species such as the black bear room to roam. Image: Shutterstock
The race against time to secure a survival path for Florida’s wildlife before development closes the door
A distance of roughly 600 kilometres separates the Florida panther’s last remaining breeding grounds – now confined to an area south of the Caloosahatchee River, which flows through Fort Myers – from the Okefenokee Swamp on the state’s northern boundary.
Panthers once roamed the entire length of Florida, but sprawling development and roads have drastically shrunk and isolated the remaining population to just five per cent of its historical range. Today, the Florida panther faces an uncertain future. A seven-million-hectare wildlife corridor offers a path to survival.
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First founded in 2010, the Florida Wildlife Corridor connects some 72,000 square kilometres of protected land from the Everglades in the south to the Georgia and Alabama borders. It provides much-needed access for endangered wildlife – including the Florida manatee, the black bear and the Florida panther – to move north, south, east or west across the state. But crucial gaps in the corridor still need to be closed. ‘We’re in a race against time,’ says Keith Fountain.
Florida has one of the fastest-growing populations of any USA state; research from the University of Virginia forecasts a 22 per cent increase between now and 2050, translating to an additional 3.1 million residents. Fuelled by development pressure, Florida’s pine forests and marshlands, farms and ranches are rapidly being converted into new homes and, sometimes, entirely new cities. But Fountain, a Florida real-estate attorney, actively works with landowners to secure a different outcome for their property: establishing a conservation easement.
Florida’s Everglades. Image: Bilanol/Shutterstock
Conservation easements are voluntary, legally binding agreements between landowners and land trusts or government agencies that permanently restrict a property’s use – typically barring commercial or residential development – to protect wildlife habitat.
They’re often made in exchange for tax benefits or direct payments. A similar tool, the conservation covenant, was introduced in the UK in 2021, though it doesn’t yet offer the same immediate financial benefits to landowners.
In the USA, conservation easements are among the most popular and fastest-growing methods for private land conservation. They’ve proved a critical tool in Florida, protecting important habitats within the Florida Wildlife Corridor.
In 2021, US lawmakers unanimously passed the bipartisan Florida Wildlife Corridor Act, formally recognising
the 15-year-old project. Fountain says that while the act itself ‘doesn’t have a lot of teeth’, its impact was undeniable: ‘Critically, it put those three words on the lips of every Florida politician.
It became a buzzword that wasn’t just embraced by the conservation community, but by the people that were doling out the money to fund it.’ US$400million was secured for land acquisition and protection measures, including conservation easements.
Despite its growing population, Florida still retains vast, sparsely populated open spaces, as most residents are concentrated along the coasts. However, that’s starting to change. ‘I think the risk of hurricanes, and just the sheer price of real estate, is driving more and more development inland,’ says Fountain.
Florida panthers now only have five per cent left of their traditional range. Image: Ismail Grapher/Shutterstock
He acknowledges the tough choices ahead: ‘There are parts of the state that some people want to protect, and I just don’t know that it’s feasible. There’s just too much development pressure. But we have other areas where we can focus.’ He notes that willing landowners typically fall into one of two categories: ‘Either they’re driven by financial need, or they’re driven by what I like to call “legacy”. It’s actually inspiring to just see how many of the old Florida ranchers have that desire to make this happen.’
Fountain remains optimistic that even when a conservation victory seems lost, the long-term effort to close the corridor’s gaps can prevail. In 2005, then a director at the Nature Conservancy, he narrowly lost an auction for an 11,000-hectare stretch of land located right in the heart of one of the corridor’s most vital areas.
‘They were going to build a new city there; it was going to be called “Destiny”,’ Fountain recalls. Then, the US housing market crashed, and the city never materialised. In 2019, he received a call from the late developer’s attorney: his widow wanted to donate the land. ‘We thought we’d lost, but we got a second bite at the apple over a decade later,’ says Fountain. ‘It’s not over ‘til the bulldozers roll.’