Montana: Chapter 4
Post by Montana Summer Program Student Sarah Stewart
After three weeks in Montana, I feel much wiser and more jaded – much like the prairie itself. Though this may sound hyperbolic to some, it forced me to face some difficult topics surrounding the conservation and cultivation of the prairie, as well as who I want to be as a wildlife biologist. The predominant theme of the trip was this: nothing is black and white. Everything about the plains is complicated and convoluted, and no one seems to win in the end. This is the simple truth of life in Montana. You must work hard and stand your ground to make a life for yourself, whether you are a pronghorn mother protecting your twins or a cattle rancher fighting to stay on your land. It is overarching. On my first day of the trip, I was still naïve. I still believed that there was a dichotomy between wildlife and agriculture, that one could not coexist with the other. I still believed that conserving the natural landscape and species was inherently good, while raising cattle and grazing the prairie was inherently bad. I still believed it was that simple. But oh, was I wrong. There are some things that you cannot truly learn and understand in a classroom setting, which is why I feel so privileged to have spent the time in Montana that I did. I heard the perspectives of conservationists, ranchers, private consultants, and public lands managers, instead of just one person. I experienced the land first hand, and I was bitten by the same mosquitoes and burned by the same sun as the locals. Not many outsiders have the opportunity to get to know the prairie on such an intimate level, yet I did. I refuse to take it for granted.
The last few days of the trip were the most eye-opening of the trip for me. Most of these final days were dedicated to learning about private land management, specifically how it pertains to wildlife. In those 3 days, we journeyed to the Wyoming/Montana border to Pryor Mountain Wild Mustang Center, Fort Belknap Indian Reservation, and finally to our own backyard, a wildlife refuge in Roundup, MT. It was incredibly interesting to see how differently some organizations manage wildlife compared to others. While on the wild horse reserve, our group was shocked at how un-wild the horses actually were. Every one of them, down to the youngest colt, was named and had their genetics traced back almost 15 years. To keep populations down, much experimentation has been done on giving mares contraceptives. However, like most things pertaining to wildlife management, there is controversy surrounding it. Not only may sterilizing females affect the group dynamic of harem, some mares are even nonresponsive to contraception. While I understand the desire to preserve these horses and their unique heritage, at what point during management are they no longer wild? At what point are they just another horse? This question weighed on me, even the next day when we went to Fort Belknap to meet with reservation biologists, Michael Kinsey and Bronc Speak Thunder. The work both of them do on the reservation is so encouraging. Michael is managing a small black-footed ferret population on an expansive 2,500 square acre prairie dog town, and Bronc oversees their bison herd. I believe our whole group was very impressed and inspired by both of their outlooks on wildlife management, despite it being an incredibly difficult job. Undoubtedly, these were the kind of people that an aspiring wildlife biologist like myself looks up to. Their passion and drive was clear, which made Fort Belknap my favorite field trip of the course.
Our last outing of the trip was to Roundup, where we met with John Carlson, a field biologist for Montana’s BLM department, and several range scientists studying sage grouse. Sage grouse are yet another controversial species that have very specific habitat requirements; these habitat requirements are what this team from Montana Fish, Wildlife, and Parks are in the process of determining. For only the second time of the course, we had the opportunity to actually get our hands dirty and participate in some field work. Unfortunately, it was less than thrilling for me. It was definitely hard to realize that working in the field isn’t exactly my cup of tea. While everyone seemed excited to be doing it, I was left with doubts and fears about my future. What kind of wildlife biologist doesn’t like field work? Am I doing the right thing by being here? Will I be able to embrace it in the future? As I am writing this, I still don’t know. It seems as if being on the prairie has opened up more questions about my future than it has answered. It’s easy to say you know exactly what you’re doing in the classroom, but when you actually get outside and do what a real biologist does, it can turn your expectations upside down. In no way is this comfortable. In no way is this welcome at the time. But I know that soon everything will make sense, and I am thankful that I am no longer able to hide behind my own naivety. I am thankful to the prairie for giving me that.
Never will I look at the great plains the same way again. What I once considered in my mind a homogeneous landscape with nothing to offer is gone forever. That version of the prairie only exists in the minds of people who never get the chance to experience it for themselves. Those who truthfully know the prairie know this: it is wild and varied, with countless pressures and opinions determining its fate. “The Plains” is by its very definition plural; there is no singular, unchanging landscape. There is private land owned by ranchers who raise their cattle there. There are vast wildlife refuges where bison and elk one day hope to roam free again. There is public land, both in small amounts and in large, that must be managed to maintain the land’s natural rhythm. One cannot look at just one aspect of this great American landscape to find understanding. It is not just cattle or wildlife or government management. It is all, constantly ebbing and flowing as time passes and generations succeed each other. There is nothing comparable to it, and there never will be. Welcome to the prairie.
After three weeks in Montana, I feel much wiser and more jaded – much like the prairie itself. Though this may sound hyperbolic to some, it forced me to face some difficult topics surrounding the conservation and cultivation of the prairie, as well as who I want to be as a wildlife biologist. The predominant theme of the trip was this: nothing is black and white. Everything about the plains is complicated and convoluted, and no one seems to win in the end. This is the simple truth of life in Montana. You must work hard and stand your ground to make a life for yourself, whether you are a pronghorn mother protecting your twins or a cattle rancher fighting to stay on your land. It is overarching. On my first day of the trip, I was still naïve. I still believed that there was a dichotomy between wildlife and agriculture, that one could not coexist with the other. I still believed that conserving the natural landscape and species was inherently good, while raising cattle and grazing the prairie was inherently bad. I still believed it was that simple. But oh, was I wrong. There are some things that you cannot truly learn and understand in a classroom setting, which is why I feel so privileged to have spent the time in Montana that I did. I heard the perspectives of conservationists, ranchers, private consultants, and public lands managers, instead of just one person. I experienced the land first hand, and I was bitten by the same mosquitoes and burned by the same sun as the locals. Not many outsiders have the opportunity to get to know the prairie on such an intimate level, yet I did. I refuse to take it for granted.
The last few days of the trip were the most eye-opening of the trip for me. Most of these final days were dedicated to learning about private land management, specifically how it pertains to wildlife. In those 3 days, we journeyed to the Wyoming/Montana border to Pryor Mountain Wild Mustang Center, Fort Belknap Indian Reservation, and finally to our own backyard, a wildlife refuge in Roundup, MT. It was incredibly interesting to see how differently some organizations manage wildlife compared to others. While on the wild horse reserve, our group was shocked at how un-wild the horses actually were. Every one of them, down to the youngest colt, was named and had their genetics traced back almost 15 years. To keep populations down, much experimentation has been done on giving mares contraceptives. However, like most things pertaining to wildlife management, there is controversy surrounding it. Not only may sterilizing females affect the group dynamic of harem, some mares are even nonresponsive to contraception. While I understand the desire to preserve these horses and their unique heritage, at what point during management are they no longer wild? At what point are they just another horse? This question weighed on me, even the next day when we went to Fort Belknap to meet with reservation biologists, Michael Kinsey and Bronc Speak Thunder. The work both of them do on the reservation is so encouraging. Michael is managing a small black-footed ferret population on an expansive 2,500 square acre prairie dog town, and Bronc oversees their bison herd. I believe our whole group was very impressed and inspired by both of their outlooks on wildlife management, despite it being an incredibly difficult job. Undoubtedly, these were the kind of people that an aspiring wildlife biologist like myself looks up to. Their passion and drive was clear, which made Fort Belknap my favorite field trip of the course.
Our last outing of the trip was to Roundup, where we met with John Carlson, a field biologist for Montana’s BLM department, and several range scientists studying sage grouse. Sage grouse are yet another controversial species that have very specific habitat requirements; these habitat requirements are what this team from Montana Fish, Wildlife, and Parks are in the process of determining. For only the second time of the course, we had the opportunity to actually get our hands dirty and participate in some field work. Unfortunately, it was less than thrilling for me. It was definitely hard to realize that working in the field isn’t exactly my cup of tea. While everyone seemed excited to be doing it, I was left with doubts and fears about my future. What kind of wildlife biologist doesn’t like field work? Am I doing the right thing by being here? Will I be able to embrace it in the future? As I am writing this, I still don’t know. It seems as if being on the prairie has opened up more questions about my future than it has answered. It’s easy to say you know exactly what you’re doing in the classroom, but when you actually get outside and do what a real biologist does, it can turn your expectations upside down. In no way is this comfortable. In no way is this welcome at the time. But I know that soon everything will make sense, and I am thankful that I am no longer able to hide behind my own naivety. I am thankful to the prairie for giving me that.
Never will I look at the great plains the same way again. What I once considered in my mind a homogeneous landscape with nothing to offer is gone forever. That version of the prairie only exists in the minds of people who never get the chance to experience it for themselves. Those who truthfully know the prairie know this: it is wild and varied, with countless pressures and opinions determining its fate. “The Plains” is by its very definition plural; there is no singular, unchanging landscape. There is private land owned by ranchers who raise their cattle there. There are vast wildlife refuges where bison and elk one day hope to roam free again. There is public land, both in small amounts and in large, that must be managed to maintain the land’s natural rhythm. One cannot look at just one aspect of this great American landscape to find understanding. It is not just cattle or wildlife or government management. It is all, constantly ebbing and flowing as time passes and generations succeed each other. There is nothing comparable to it, and there never will be. Welcome to the prairie.
