One quarter of a century ago, I was working as a field biologist in the Swan Mountains of western
Montana when I came across two grizzlies courting. It was a growly affair with chases and cuffs
at first, but the bears went on to linger side by side, rubbing heads and shoulders. Taking care not
to disturb them, I watched the pair for hours--long, bright hours, for somehow these animals
made time slow down and life seem richer as they moved among melting snowfields and meadows
cleared by avalanches. But when I reflected that the point of the animals´ togetherness was
reproduction, the experience took on a bittersweet quality.
The chances were dwindling that the species--including descendants of the bears I saw that
day--would survive in the United States outside of Alaska. I could see firsthand that bear habitat
was
under siege from road building and logging. Not only that, grizzly hunting was still legal and very
much part of the culture of the West; Montana continued selling an unlimited number of
bear-hunting licenses every year. The last grizzlies in the Selway-Bitterroot region of western
Montana and central Idaho--one of the few populations to survive beyond the early decades of
this century--had only recently vanished.
The same year I watched that mating pair, 1973, the nation´s lawmakers enacted the Endangered
Species Act (ESA), a revolutionary attempt to legally define our obligations to other life-forms.
Two years later, grizzlies were federally listed as threatened in the contiguous 48 states. As a
result, today the bears are holding on fairly well in the American West, most notably in two
chunks of habitat--the Yellowstone National Park area and northern Montana. The U.S. Fish and
Wildlife Service is even considering reintroducing grizzlies to the Selway-Bitterroot region.
Shock waves: Behind those few facts is a remarkable tale. For few animals have
showcased the strengths and weaknesses of the landmark act that saved them quite like the
strong, intelligent competitor with humans for food and space that we call Ursus arctos
horribilis. And few people foresaw the degree to which grizzly conservation would send
shock waves through the West--or how much saving the big mammals would protect an
ecosystem´s worth of other wildlife.
Ursus arctos, the brown bear, is native across the Northern Hemisphere,
from Japan to
Italy. North America is home to two subspecies. Middendorffi includes only the big bears
of Alaska´s Kodiak Island, often referred to as Kodiaks. The rest are horribilis, commonly
called grizzlies, though not all have the characteristic grizzled, or silvertipped, coat. Some are
pure blond and others black, while the coastal ecotype tends to be solid brown.
Before European settlers arrived and began to exterminate grizzlies, 50,000 to 100,000 of the
bears may have existed south of Canada. In this century, state game departments took
responsibility for managing the bears. Before grizzlies were federally listed, that usually meant
destroying problem animals--those that raided livestock and leftover food or simply seemed too
close for comfort--while encouraging sport shooting of others. The general thinking was that as
long as the death toll stayed high, plenty of bears must still be out in the woods.
The reality was altogether different. Development kept eliminating critical habitat. Bear
neighborhoods were overrun by people, garbage and domestic animals. In the backcountry, road
building for logging in national forests and other activities was making formerly remote
populations accessible to hunters and poachers.
Desperate straits: By the 1970s, grizzlies in the West numbered fewer than 1,000,
clinging to barely 2 percent of their former range. The population in Yellowstone numbered just
200 to 300 by some estimates; only about 30 were breeding females. Grizzlies reproduce more
slowly than any other U.S. land mammal, giving birth for the first time at age five or six and
typically waiting three years between successful litters. Cut off from other populations,
Yellowstone´s bears looked about to go the way of the silvertips Lewis and Clark first met on the
Great Plains, or California´s estimated 10,000 golden bears or the grizz of the Selway-Bitterroot
region.
We know grizz can accelerate to 35 miles per hour in a couple of heartbeats and roll aside
boulders with the flick of a paw. Yet perhaps their most amazing feat has been getting bureaucrats
from agencies that once seldom communicated to consider the ecosystem they share. With
individual home ranges as large as 600 square miles, the bears use an array of habitats from peaks
to plains, ignoring the boundary lines so important to humans. "The grizzly is a
landscape-level animal that requires us to go beyond the usual state and federal
jurisdictions," says U.S. Fish and Wildlife biologist Chris Servheen, recovery coordinator
for the species.
For the Yellowstone bears and their managers, that meant defining an area now called the Greater
Yellowstone Ecosystem. Several times the size of the 2.2-million-acre park at its core, it also
includes portions of state lands in Montana, Idaho, and Wyoming; five different national forests;
and various wildlife refuges, Bureau of Land Management districts, private lands and
municipalities.
From property owners to casual visitors, everyone in Yellowstone grizzly country has had to learn
how to control food wastes. Since the bears are also lured into trouble by domestic sheep, the
number allowed to graze on prime bear habitat in Idaho´s Targhee National Forest was reduced
from 20,000 to zero through the 1980s. During the same period, sections of Yellowstone were
closed to visitors so the bears would have some places free of any disturbance.
Farther north lies Glacier National Park; the Bob Marshall/Great Bear/Scapegoat wilderness
complex; and adjoining public, private and tribal lands--all of which managers now treat as the
Northern Continental Divide Ecosystem.
Since the 1975 listing, biologists have been estimating the grizzly population here as numbering
between 300 and 600. Bears are tough to census in the rugged forests, but intensive studies in one
segment clearly found that the bears avoid roads and that their numbers decline where the road
density exceeds one mile per square mile of habitat. To avoid putting the grizzlies further at risk,
which would violate the ESA, the Flathead National Forest has had to scale back timber harvests
and gate off many existing logging roads.
The act has affected private land owners as well. The dense forests of the Flathead region´s Swan
Valley provide wildlife corridors between the core of the Northern Continental Divide Ecosystem
and the outlying Mission Mountains, where 10 to 20 grizzlies still hold on.
To safeguard those links, the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service forged a unique grizzly conservation
compact in 1995. This voluntary agreement limits harmful development on 33,000 privately
owned acres. On another 83,000 acres held by a timber corporation, it also calls for closing or
even obliterating roads, scheduling logging so that it disturbs no more than a fraction of the area
at any one time and leaving streamside zones intact. Nationwide, more than 7 million acres of
private property are now committed to management for the benefit of endangered species. Most
are part of so-called Habitat Conservation Plans. These cooperative efforts allow landowners to
proceed with development projects if they also agree to protect habitat for imperiled wildlife.
Good news for other species: Habitat protection for grizz has been good news for the
other wildlife that shares the same space. It´s no accident that many of the contiguous 48 states´
last harlequin ducks, bull trout, westslope cutthroat trout, lynx, pine martens, wolverines,
mountain caribou and great gray owls are found in the remaining strongholds of grizzlies. Nor is it
surprising that the recent return of the gray wolf to the West has taken place largely in grizzly
country.
And those relatively large creatures are only the most obvious ones to benefit. Look more closely
and you´ll also find wildlife on a smaller scale profiting from the protection of grizzly habitat. The
water howellia, a little-known member of the bluebell family, is just one example. Much of the
plant´s Northwest seasonal pond habitat has been reduced by logging, grazing and the draining of
wetlands. "Grizzly range overlaps with 40 percent of Montana´s vascular plants of special
concern," points out resource specialist Bonnie Heidel of the Montana Natural Heritage
Program. "That´s 148 species, from rare orchids to little-known sedges." Since 147 of
them lack any special protection, their main safeguard is the fact that grizz walk among them.
That was the case for the water howellia until it joined the federal list of threatened species in
1994.
Ecologists recognize the great bear as a keystone species that markedly influences the
environment and the balance of other creatures within it. Formidable predators, grizzlies can kill a
substantial number of hooved animals, especially young ones during the birth season. As expert
scavengers, the bears hasten the release of nutrients from the carcasses they locate. In vegetarian
mode, they spread seeds--as many as 7,000 in each dung pile when a grizzly is feasting on berries.
As diggers of roots and underground prey such as hibernating ground squirrels and marmots, the
bears excavate acres of terrain with their four-inch-long claws, opening the ground for new plants
to colonize. Grizzlies have been identified as the principal movers of soil among the fauna in parts
of Montana´s Glacier National Park.
Numbers up: Once protected, the habitat has in turn been good for the bears.
"Numbers appear to be on the rise, at least in the Greater Yellowstone Ecosystem,"
says recovery coordinator Servheen. "Our counts indicate an absolute minimum of 262
grizzlies there and possibly as many as 500. We intend to start delisting that population within a
year."
Many bear advocates, however, feel that giving Yellowstone´s bears the stamp of good health may
be premature. An overriding concern is that about 90 percent of the grizzly deaths recorded since
1975 have come at the hands of humans--nearly all on private acreage--and the number of people
living around Yellowstone is projected to double within the next 30 years.
As for grizzlies of the Northern Continental Divide Ecosystem, no one can say without more
information just how well they are doing. The outlook is not promising for the three other
remnant groups in the contiguous states. Just a handful have been counted lately in northwestern
Montana´s Cabinet-Yaak region, depite the reintroduction of several bears to augment the group.
The Selkirk Mountains of northern Idaho and northeastern Washington host no more than 30 to
50 grizz. Another half-dozen or so inhabit the North Cascade Range of western Washington.
Sometime in the next year, the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service will decide whether or not to
reintroduce grizzlies to the Selway-Bitterroot ecosystem, where wolves were brought in from
Canada during 1995 and 1996. While some area residents don´t want anything to do with
horribilis, the danger they pose or federal officials, others say the only opinions that should
count are those of biologists who are supposed to determine what is best for the bears.
The middle ground in this ongoing debate has been defined by an unusual coalition led by the
National Wildlife Federation, Defenders of Wildlife and representatives of the timber industry.
Their Citizen Management Alternative calls for reestablishing grizzlies with less strict protection
than usual along with an unprecedented level of local involvement in management. Under a special
provision of the ESA intended to make the act more flexible when controversial species are
returned to a range, the Selway-Bitterroot bears would be designated an "experimental,
nonessential" population.
The primary recovery zone would consist of 4.1 million pristine acres already set aside as the
Selway-Bitterroot Wilderness and adjoining Frank Church River of No Return Wilderness.
Around this area would be an immense, 15.3 million-acre tract of national forest and private lands
termed the "experimental population area." There, grizzlies would not have the same
priority as in areas declared critical habitat under a traditional recovery plan. Instead, a citizen
management committee would try to balance the bears´ needs with those of logging and ranching
operations and other human enterprises in ways that are compatible with a growing grizzly
population.
Attorney Tom France of NWF´s Northern Rockies Field Office in
Missoula, Montana, labels
this alternative "the radical center." He reasons, "Out here, folks are less afraid
of bears than of government regulations and their effects on the local economy. This is a
remarkable opportunity for community involvement in an endangered-species
recovery."
Critics of the plan think the compromise sounds like gambling with grizzly recovery rather than
ensuring it, since some of the richest habitat lies outside the main recovery zone. France and
others insist the crucial point is to get the bears on the ground. Having grizzlies in the
Selway-Bitterroot region could increase the species´ numbers in the West by as much as 30
percent over the next half-century. And the location midway between Yellowstone and grizzly
country to the north would multiply the chances of bears moving from one existing population to
the next, increasing genetic interchange.
Canada connection: After all these changes, what are the great bear´s chances in the
West? "Without links to Canada, I would say about zero over the next century," says
Troy Merrill of the Hornocker Wildlife Institute, a research foundation associated with the
University of Idaho. Americans may imagine their neighbor to be a sprawling north country
standing by to reseed the United States with wildlife if we lose ours, but southern Alberta and
British Columbia are filling up with people and development as rapidly as the U.S. side of the
border.
Once again, Ursus arctos horribilis is asking us to look beyond the usual boundaries. U.S.
bear managers are beginning to regularly meet with their counterparts in Canada. Some
conservation biologists feel that the only Rocky Mountain ecosystem truly viable over the long
term would be a continuous stretch of untamed terrain running from Yellowstone to the Yukon
Territory. There is even a new organization called Y2Y promoting this vision, using grizz range
as a blueprint for what should be saved.
If you´re lucky enough to go there yourself and to see a big, silvertipped bear at home, it will
probably take a while for your pulse to calm down. Once it finally does, you might pause to
reflect on two mammal species with the power to determine how large, varied and full of promise
the natural world of tomorrow will be. One is you. The other is the grizzly, in every sense a living
definition of wildness.
Montana writer Douglas Chadwick has a conservation easement on
his property near Glacier National Park.
Saving Endangered Species: Keeping the Wild
Alive
This December, using the twenty-fifth anniversary of the
Endangered Species Act as a kick-off
point, the National Wildlife Federation is launching a comprehensive two-year campaign to focus
attention on our imperiled wildlife heritage. "Our goal is to build a broad base of enduring
support for endangered species by educating the public and the media about such issues as
biodiversity and the connection between human welfare and
species protection," says Jeff
Flocken, NWF´s endangered species outreach coordinator.
As part of this campaign, the Federation is developing a wide
range of education materials for
nationwide distribution to schools. It is also preparing profiles
of 25 carefully selected threatened and endangered animals and plants--including the grizzly--that
represent a cross section of the different kinds of problems and solutions needed to recover rare
species. These 25 species will also be highlighted in various educational and conservation
components of the campaign.
For more information about this initiative visit the Federation´s
web site: www.nwf.org/keepthewildalive.