In the heart of Florida's wild landscapes, from dense swamps to sprawling flatwoods, a long-dormant tradition has come back to life. For the first time since 2015, the state has greenlit a black bear hunt, sending a select group of hunters into the field with rifles and crossbows. This move has stirred up plenty of talk, with strong voices on both sides weighing in on whether it's the right step for managing wildlife or just opening the door to unnecessary kills.
The hunt kicked off on December 6, 2025, and runs through December 28, drawing massive interest from across the state. Over 160,000 applications poured in for a tiny fraction of available spots, showing just how much passion this topic ignites. The Florida Fish and Wildlife Conservation Commission ran a random lottery to hand out 172 permits, each allowing the holder to take down one bear in one of four specific zones. These zones were picked based on where bear numbers are solid enough to handle some harvesting without hurting the overall population.
Getting in on this isn't cheap or easy. Hunters need a valid license plus a special bear harvest permit—$100 for folks living in Florida, $300 for out-of-staters, on top of application fees that run $5 a pop. The zones each have their own kill quotas, set by experts to keep things balanced. State officials point to the black bear's comeback as a big win for conservation efforts. Back in the 1970s, there were only a few hundred of these animals left in Florida. Now, estimates put the population at over 4,000, roaming across habitats that have held up so far but might not forever if numbers keep climbing.
Supporters see the hunt as a smart way to keep bears in check and bring in cash for ongoing wildlife work. Mark Barton from the Florida chapter of Backcountry Hunters and Anglers backs this approach, saying it motivates people to stay invested in healthy populations. Having an annual hunt will help guarantee funding to "keep moving conservation for bears forward,” Barton said. Wildlife pros agree, noting that regulated hunting is a proven tool worldwide for managing animals like bears. It turns conservation into something that pays for itself through those permit sales and fees.
The state's own bear hunting guide lays it out clear: "While we have enough suitable bear habitat to support our current bear population levels, if the four largest subpopulations continue to grow at current rates, we will not have enough habitat at some point in the future." It's a practical view—bears are thriving, but unchecked growth could lead to problems down the road, like running out of space or more run-ins with people.
On the flip side, critics aren't buying it. They call the whole thing cruel and pointless, arguing it's more about trophy hunting than real need. With humans pushing deeper into bear territory, they say the focus should be on smarter ways to handle conflicts, like securing trash to stop bears from wandering into yards. Activists pushed hard to block the hunt in court but came up short. In a clever twist, though, groups like the Sierra Club's Florida chapter urged opponents to apply for permits anyway. At least 43 of those 172 tags went to folks who have no plans to use them, effectively sparing that many bears from the crosshairs.
One such opponent, Joel Cleveland, summed up the strategy with a sense of relief: “Somewhere out there a bear will be walking the grounds of the Panhandle, and I gave them a stay of execution.” It's a protest move that's cut the actual hunting pool by about a quarter, highlighting how divided opinions are on this.
Looking back, the last hunt in 2015 offers some lessons. That year, permits were open to anyone willing to pay, leading to over 3,700 issued. Things got messy fast—hunters took 304 bears in just two days, including at least 38 females with cubs, which likely doomed the young ones too. Officials pulled the plug early, even though the total quota wasn't hit, calling it too chaotic. Doug Moore, who runs a hunting club and manages over 6,000 acres of timberland in northeast Florida, remembers it well. He spots bears all the time on his land and supports hunting in principle, though he and his family didn't snag a permit this go-round. Moore called the 2015 management “fouled up” and “totally wrong" but added, “they’re doing it right this time."
This year's setup is tighter all around. Limits on permits, zone-specific rules, and quotas aim to avoid the overload from before. Pro-hunt folks highlight safety as a key reason—bears are showing up more in backyards, digging through garbage, and even near playgrounds. It's not just about numbers; it's about living alongside these animals without constant headaches. Local reports back this up, with bears on porches and in neighborhoods becoming a regular sight.
Still, detractors insist better trash control and habitat protection would fix most issues without pulling triggers. They see the hunt as sidestepping the real culprit: Florida's booming human population eating up wild spaces. It's a clash between old-school wildlife management and calls for non-lethal fixes, with bears caught in the middle.
As hunters head out this month, the debate rolls on. For some, it's a chance to connect with the outdoors, contribute to conservation, and address growing concerns. For others, it's a step backward in how we treat wildlife. Either way, Florida's black bears are in the spotlight, their future tied to how well this balance holds. With populations strong but habitats finite, the state walks a fine line between celebration of a success story and the tough calls that come with it. Time will tell if this hunt sets a sustainable path or fuels more pushback in the years ahead.
