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Bears Have Come to Residential Areas, Poisonous Mushrooms Have Sprouted in the City — The Boundary Between Urban and Wild in Hiroshima is Shifting

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A bear was spotted in a residential area in Asakita Ward, Hiroshima City. In Yamaguchi Prefecture, there have also been ongoing reports of encounters with bears while walking dogs or during logging activities in cities like Iwakuni and Hikari. Around the same time, there have been multiple discoveries of poisonous mushrooms in downtown Hiroshima, prompting experts to urge residents not to eat mushrooms they cannot identify (Source: HOME Hiroshima Home Television).

Bears and poisonous mushrooms — at first glance, these may seem like two unrelated events. However, when viewed from a broader perspective, both are based on the same underlying structure: the “invisible line” that once separated humans from the wild is quietly, yet surely, beginning to shift.

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“For the First Time. Scary” — What Residents’ Voices Reflect

Residents of Asakita Ward expressed, “For the first time. Scary.” Though brief, these words encapsulate two significant facts. One is the physical change that bears have come to a place where they previously did not. The other is the psychological gap where residents were unprepared for this change.

Asakita Ward is located in the northern part of Hiroshima City, characterized by a landscape where mountains and residential areas are adjacent. The proximity to nature was once a part of daily life for residents. However, there has always been an invisible buffer zone between “proximity” and “intrusion.” Human activities such as managing satoyama (managed forest areas), tending fields, and the presence of people in villages served as signals for wildlife indicating, “This is human territory.”

That signal is gradually weakening.

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The Increasing Incidents of Bear Sightings — Not Coincidence, But Structural Change

According to statistics from the Ministry of the Environment, the number of sightings of Asian black bears has remained high nationwide since the 2020s. The Chugoku region, including Hiroshima Prefecture, is no exception. Reports from TNC Television West Japan confirm multiple sightings in Yamaguchi Prefecture as well.

To perceive this phenomenon merely as an increase in bear populations lacks precision. While fluctuations in population numbers do occur, the more fundamental issue lies in how the overlap between bear habitats and human living areas has changed.

There are several layers to this background.

First, the management of satoyama has declined. Forests that were once tended for firewood and charcoal production have been left unattended with the shift to alternative fuel sources, leading to denser underbrush. This underbrush provides a convenient hiding and travel route for wildlife. The “pathway” from the mountains to residential areas has connected without humans realizing it.

Second, there is an increase in abandoned farmland. Surveys by the Ministry of Agriculture, Forestry and Fisheries indicate that the area of abandoned farmland in Hiroshima Prefecture has been on the rise since the 2000s. The fruits of trees and weeds left in abandoned fields can serve as an easy food source for bears. Where humans have departed, wildlife enters. This is not a matter of will, but a physical reality of filling in the gaps.

Third, the impact of climate change. There are indications that the fluctuations in the yield of beech and Japanese oak — in other words, the variability of mountain harvests from year to year — have become more pronounced. In years of poor harvests, if there is insufficient food in the mountains, bears will move over a wider area. Their descent into human settlements is less a choice of starving individuals and more a result of the overall instability of the ecosystem.

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Poisonous Mushrooms Sprouting in the City — Another “Shift in Boundaries”

The discovery of poisonous mushrooms in downtown Hiroshima may seem like a different scale of issue compared to bear sightings. However, the underlying structure is surprisingly similar.

The growth of poisonous mushrooms at the bases of street trees and in urban parks is related to soil conditions and fungal ecology. The accumulation of fallen leaves, soil moisture, and the types of trees present — when these conditions align, mushrooms can sprout independently of human considerations. The problem lies in the fact that urban dwellers no longer have the experience to distinguish these “fragments of the wild.”

In the past, people living in satoyama had experiential knowledge of which mushrooms were edible and which were not. This was not knowledge taught in schools, but rather judgment honed through daily life. As urbanization progresses and everyday contact with nature diminishes, this judgment is becoming harder to pass down through generations.

The necessity for experts to repeatedly urge, “Do not eat mushrooms you cannot identify,” itself indicates a shortage of “translators” between humans and nature.

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Who Drew the Boundaries?

Neither the appearance of bears nor the emergence of poisonous mushrooms signifies a sudden offensive from the wild. The core issue is that humans are quietly relinquishing the mechanisms that maintain these boundaries.

So, what were those mechanisms?

Grass cutting, thinning, patrols of satoyama, inspections of wildlife protection fences, and management of irrigation channels. All of these are mundane tasks that rarely make the news. However, the accumulation of these tasks formed a “buffer zone” between humans and the wild.

In the mountainous areas of Hiroshima Prefecture, the cost of outsourcing grass cutting is estimated to be around 10,000 to 20,000 yen per session. Some locations require this multiple times a year. The cost of installing wildlife protection fences ranges from several thousand yen to over 10,000 yen per meter. If the length extends to several hundred meters, it becomes a significant burden for individuals or small communities.

Moreover, more serious than the costs is the issue of “people.” According to statistics from the Ministry of Internal Affairs and Communications, there are numerous areas in Hiroshima Prefecture where the population aged 65 and older exceeds 40%. The number of people capable of performing physical labor such as grass cutting and fence repairs is decreasing year by year. When the number of individuals responsible for maintaining these mechanisms diminishes, the mechanisms themselves cease to function. This is not a matter of willingness but a structural issue.

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The Question of “Who Benefits from This?”

The government has developed wildlife damage prevention plans and established systems for capture and deterrence. Hiroshima Prefecture is no exception. However, what is heard on the ground is the sentiment that “there is a plan, but there are no people who can act.”

Here, the question arises: “Who benefits from this?”

When considering new mechanisms — volunteer grass cutting events, citizen-participatory nature observation programs, and wildlife monitoring using drones and sensors — all of these hold potential. However, if they merely add to the burdens of those already fatigued on the ground, they will not function as effective mechanisms.

Noteworthy are the “small experiments” that have begun in several regions. For instance, some municipalities are positioning satoyama management as part of community revitalization efforts. This is an attempt to establish grass cutting and thinning as “jobs” for newcomers. Additionally, there are movements to introduce community learning programs focused on wildlife damage prevention in elementary and middle schools, aiming to convey the “meaning of boundaries” to the next generation.

All of these efforts are still small. However, mechanisms always start small.

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Future Points of Interest

The phenomenon of the shifting boundary between urban and wild is not a transient news story. While reports of bear sightings and discoveries of poisonous mushrooms are made each time, what truly deserves attention is the change in the “mechanisms that are no longer maintained” behind these events.

In the future, three points should be closely monitored.

The first is the change in the bear management workforce. How far will the involvement of external personnel and companies progress, beyond traditional local residents? The sustainability of these mechanisms depends on the diversity of their workforce.

The second is the integration of technology and the field. While monitoring wildlife damage with AI cameras and sensors is technically feasible, it holds no meaning without “people” to install, interpret the data, and respond. The design of the junction between technology and humans is a critical question.

The third is the change in residents’ awareness. The phrase “For the first time. Scary” can be interpreted as, “I didn’t have to think about this before.” When people become aware of the existence of boundaries, can they transition to being those who maintain them?

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The arrival of bears is not the bears’ fault. The sprouting of poisonous mushrooms is not the mushrooms’ fault either. Both reflect the same story: the “invisible line” that someone — an unnamed someone — has laid down over a long time between humans and the wild is gradually fading.

Redrawing that line will likely not be the work of a single hero. It will be the accumulation of humble efforts — cutting grass, repairing fences, and walking the mountains — that will once again outline the boundaries.