It was declared extinct in the wild, but its comeback story is still in fragile territory.
For a wallaby that’s barely bigger than a rabbit, the mala, or rufous hare-wallaby, has been through enough plot twists to deserve its own documentary. It once hopped across vast stretches of central Australia, quietly thriving in the arid scrublands. But within a few decades, the species vanished from the mainland entirely, driven out by foxes, cats, and habitat loss. For a while, it seemed like the story had ended. Then scientists found surviving wild populations—barely clinging on—on remote islands off Western Australia. That’s when the comeback began.
Even now, though, this little marsupial hasn’t truly bounced back. It’s still listed as critically endangered, and every part of its recovery depends on human intervention. Reintroduction attempts are underway, but every project hinges on careful planning, intense predator control, and constant monitoring. The story of the mala is far from over. Here’s why its future is still hanging in the balance.
1. The mainland population was wiped out by predators and fire.
Decades ago, the mala was a common sight across arid and semi-arid regions of central and western Australia. It occupied desert grasslands, spinifex-dominated plains, and sandy soils where it could shelter in burrows or dense vegetation. But as foxes and feral cats were introduced across the continent, mala numbers dropped rapidly. These predators found the small, ground-dwelling wallabies easy targets.
Wildfires, especially the large and intense ones that became more common with European land use changes, only made things worse. Fires destroyed food sources and cover, exposing malle to predation even further. By the 1990s, the mala was declared extinct in the wild on the Australian mainland. It was one of many small mammals that seemed to vanish almost overnight, part of a broader wave of mammal extinctions that hit Australia harder than any other continent, according to Uluru.
Luckily, a small, isolated population survived on Dorre and Bernier Islands in Shark Bay, where predators had not yet reached. Without those island strongholds, the species would have been gone completely. Those survivors became the basis for all future recovery efforts.
2. Island populations gave conservationists a second chance.
Bernier and Dorre Islands are remote, windblown, and surrounded by shark-infested waters. That’s bad news for foxes and cats, but great news for a tiny wallaby with nowhere else to go. These islands became accidental sanctuaries. And when conservationists realized mala had survived there, the urgency shifted from mourning a loss to managing a comeback, as reported by the Australian Museum.
Australia’s wildlife authorities began relocating a small number of individuals into carefully managed captive breeding programs. The goal was to build a genetically viable population that could be reintroduced into predator-free zones on the mainland. It was a long shot. Mala are notoriously shy and sensitive to stress, and their preferred habitat—arid grasslands with lots of spinifex—isn’t easy to replicate in enclosures.
Still, the programs worked. Captive breeding centers like those run by the Alice Springs Desert Park and the Territory Wildlife Park became key players in the effort to bring mala back. Without those island survivors, there would be no second chance.
3. Predator-proof fences became the only way to reintroduce them.
You can’t just drop a few mala back into the wild and hope for the best. That’s not how rewilding works when foxes and feral cats are still lurking in the brush. So Australian conservationists started building enormous, high-tech fences around carefully chosen plots of land. These fenced reserves were designed to keep predators out and give endangered species like mala a shot at survival, as stated by The Guardian.
One of the most ambitious of these projects is the 9,450-hectare fenced enclosure at Newhaven Wildlife Sanctuary in the Northern Territory. It’s run by the Australian Wildlife Conservancy and is now home to reintroduced mala populations. Inside the fence, there’s 24/7 monitoring, strategic burns to prevent wildfires, and no invasive predators.
But even these secure zones come with risks. If a cat breaches the fence—which has happened before—the entire population can collapse. That means conservationists have to be constantly on alert, using motion sensors, camera traps, and regular patrols to keep the area safe. It’s not exactly a return to the wild, but it’s a step in the right direction.
4. Reintroducing them requires mimicking a habitat that no longer exists.
Mala don’t want just any patch of desert. They’re picky. They evolved in a specific type of habitat—arid spinifex plains with patchy grass cover, minimal tree canopy, and sandy soils for digging. That landscape has largely vanished or been transformed by cattle grazing, invasive grasses, and altered fire regimes.
To make reintroduction work, conservationists have to basically recreate those conditions, according to the Australian Broadcasting Corporation. That means controlling invasive plant species, restoring native grasses, and managing fire with traditional Aboriginal techniques that mimic the natural cycle the mala adapted to. It’s a delicate balance. Too little cover, and they’re exposed to predators and heat. Too much cover, and they struggle to forage or move freely.
Traditional ecological knowledge has played a big role here. Indigenous land management practices, including controlled burning and detailed seasonal monitoring, have helped improve mala habitat restoration. It’s a blend of ancient knowledge and modern science, all working together to bring back a species that once defined the desert landscape.
5. Every population right now is still considered vulnerable.
Even with reintroductions and captive breeding, the mala is still listed as critically endangered by the IUCN. That’s because there is no single self-sustaining wild population that can survive without human help. Every existing group—whether on an island, in a fenced reserve, or in a captive breeding center—requires ongoing intervention to protect it from collapse.
There are also genetic concerns. The remaining populations all descend from a small number of individuals, which increases the risk of inbreeding and limits adaptability. Conservation programs work hard to manage breeding and genetic diversity, but the gene pool remains shallow. One bad wildfire, a fence breach, or a disease outbreak could set everything back by decades.
So even as the mala makes its way back into the wild, no one’s celebrating yet. It’s a quiet recovery, not a triumphant return. The margin for error is razor-thin, and the stakes are painfully high. But as long as people stay invested, there’s still hope this tiny wallaby will get the future it deserves.
6. They only survive today because people physically guard them.
There is no part of the mala’s modern life that doesn’t require human intervention. Every individual that exists in the wild now does so either behind predator-proof fencing or on isolated islands where no fox or cat has ever set foot. In places like Newhaven Wildlife Sanctuary, that protection means miles of fencing, regular patrols, camera traps, and even air drops of supplemental food during droughts.
Reintroductions require months of planning, habitat mapping, and quarantine. Once released, each mala is tracked and monitored using radio collars or ear tags to watch for signs of distress or predation. If something goes wrong, teams mobilize fast. There are backup colonies in zoos and wildlife centers, kept separate to preserve genetic diversity. Some have been hand-reared. Others have traveled hundreds of miles between sanctuaries in climate-controlled containers to start new populations.
It’s not sustainable forever. The hope is to slowly build up enough safe areas that the species can exist without this level of micromanagement. But for now, the entire species is living on borrowed time, supported by a patchwork of fences, cameras, and people who have decided the mala deserves another shot. Every surviving colony is a reminder that extinction isn’t always about vanishing overnight. Sometimes, it’s about holding the line, inch by inch, until nature has room to heal.
7. Even within fenced sanctuaries, survival isn’t guaranteed.
Just because a mala lives in a protected area doesn’t mean it’s in the clear. Inside these sanctuaries, life is still fragile. Parasites, disease, and extreme weather events can undo years of conservation work. Droughts in particular have taken a heavy toll, drying up essential food plants and forcing these small wallabies to travel farther across open terrain, where they’re more vulnerable to heat and exposure.
And then there’s the simple matter of infrastructure failure. If a fence is breached by a flood or storm, even briefly, it can let in a single predator that decimates a population in days. That’s not theoretical. It’s happened before. One fox, one gap in the wire, and decades of reintroduction efforts can collapse into a headline about another failed colony.
Inside these fences, conservationists walk a tightrope. They’re constantly testing soil, adjusting burn cycles, and measuring vegetation to simulate a functioning wild ecosystem. But it’s still artificial. It’s still monitored. The malas are still not free in the way they once were. They’re alive, yes—but their existence is a controlled experiment that requires perfect timing and constant vigilance.
8. Captive breeding saved them but also complicated their wild instincts.
When the last wild populations started disappearing in the 1980s, zoos and wildlife centers scrambled to establish insurance populations. That effort worked. The mala didn’t go extinct. But life behind glass and wire changed them. Malas raised in captivity often lose some of their natural foraging behaviors. They imprint on humans. They don’t learn to fear predators the way they need to. So when they’re released, even in fenced sanctuaries, they don’t always know how to survive.
Breeding programs have since adjusted. Many now raise joeys in large semi-wild enclosures with minimal human contact. Others are paired with more experienced individuals who demonstrate foraging and hiding behaviors. But the challenge remains: how do you teach a wallaby to be wild again when every generation has grown up with water bowls, hand feeding, and scheduled checkups?
The line between saving a species and re-domesticating it is thinner than most people realize. Conservationists are constantly balancing genetic diversity with behavioral integrity. And even though these breeding programs are the reason the mala still exists, they’ve also added layers of complexity to reintroducing animals into truly wild conditions.
9. It’s one of Australia’s best conservation stories, but almost no one knows it.
Ask someone to name an endangered Australian species, and you’ll hear koala, platypus, or maybe Tasmanian devil. The mala barely registers. Despite being one of the country’s most ambitious and long-term conservation projects, this rabbit-sized wallaby hasn’t gotten the public spotlight. It’s not flashy. It’s not marketable. And it doesn’t appear in documentaries nearly as often as its more charismatic cousins.
But the story is remarkable. This animal vanished from 99 percent of its range. It was declared extinct in the wild on the mainland. And still, it hung on—thanks to a handful of dedicated ecologists, traditional landowners, and sanctuary teams who never gave up. They’ve fenced off entire landscapes, burned precisely patterned firebreaks, and recreated plant ecosystems from the dirt up to give this one species another chance.
Now there are several small but stable colonies spread across predator-free islands and sanctuaries in central and western Australia. And every single one of them represents a chapter in a quiet fight against extinction. It’s not a flashy comeback. It’s not complete. But it’s real. The mala is still here. And that, in conservation terms, is a win worth knowing about.