Deep Time

Aspen clones are considered by some to be the earth's longest-lived, individual organism.

Last summer while leading a workshop on traditional plant uses, the group & I stopped at a rock which had been flipped on end by a bear. This is classic sign of these beasts; evidence of "grubbing" which bears spend much of their time doing. This particular rock had probably been upended last spring. I crouched down to talk about bear behavior when Annette, a guest and participant in the workshop, bent over and picked up a 2.5 centimeter long, perfectly preserved chert arrowhead immediately next to the rock I'd stopped by a hundred times.

Our jaws collectively dropped as the synchronous nature of the moment sunk in. We'd been spending the week learning about Native people and their subsistence life way by gathering wild foods and crafting with local plant species. Now here we stood, beneath Indian Head Rock, with a nearly 1000-year old, Blackfeet projectile point staring us in the face. The intactness of the piece was truly remarkable; a tiny bit had broken off at its base, but it was otherwise as sharp and usable as the day it was created.

I tried to imagine a scenario to explain how this beautiful artifact might have come to rest atop Alice Ridge so long ago. Perhaps a Blackfeet hunter was trailing Bighorn Sheep or buffalo, sat down to lunch on jerky and the point fell out of a buckskin bag of spares. Or perhaps he nocked an arrow, preparing for a shot at a large animal bedded down behind a limber pine, that turned out to be a grizzly. Tables turned, he drops his equipment and runs. However it happened, I've been thinking about that arrowhead a lot lately, because it represents a different timescale; the Blackfeet have existed as a cultural group in Montana for approximately 5000 years; much longer than our current civilization has been around. And the brief tenure of Pine Butte Guest Ranch along the South Fork Teton, is likewise trivial by comparison. That long-ago hunter lived in a wild landscape teaming with large numbers of animals like bison. But, it was also a place that had radically changed, biologically speaking, thousands of years before he ever set foot on Alice Ridge.

The idea of Deep Time can be useful for us to understand the "big picture", but it can be confusing and frequently disconcerting. Imagine a Montana landscape not with the massive bison herds of 200 years ago, but rather 15,000 years back with its camels, mammoths, mastodons, sloths, dire wolves, American lions, hyenas, llamas, horses and many, many others. Most of the species present here today coexisted with the 35 or so genera of mammals that disappeared around the time when significant pulses of human migration into North America occurred. New research, while not decisively proving that bipeds were solely responsible, has ruled out some long-held beliefs about the great Megafaunal extinctions in North America. A legitimate question might now be raised; which landscape is more Natural? Pre-mass-extinction, or post?

And there were other great die-offs around these parts. A drive down the Bellview Road east toward Choteau, will bring one to Egg Mountain, an important paleontological site in the Willow Creek Anticline. It's a short walk up to the exposed nesting sites of the Maiasaura, which are still visible. These duck-billed dinosaurs shared the Late Cretaceous landscape 75 million years ago with a pantheon of long-gone beasts such as Gorgosaurus and Euoplocephalus to name only two. An inland seaway lapped at the feet of the Rocky Mountains then, which would have appeared significantly taller had any human been around to notice. The flora and fauna at this time would have been completely alien to us today. It puts an interesting spin on the idea of land conservation, which tries to conserve ecosystems and populations over time. But on what scale? Why do we engage in this work, knowing the ultimate fate of species? Looking west from Egg Mountain, the peaks and reefs of the Front stare back. And their genesis began at still another timescale; about 500 million years ago on the bottom of an ancient ocean. There are Proterozoic rocks in Glacier Park to the north which are about 1.4 billion years old.

Human symbols, like language and mathematical systems are useful tools for understanding the cosmos, but are inherently limited and flawed. Since we cannot truly grasp a sense of time beyond our own lives, you have to ask yourself what knowing that some geologic formation is over a billion years old really means. In truth, we have no way to comprehend a Deep Time perspective. Some folks have even tried to dismiss conservation work by suggesting that the Earth itself will continue to exist in some form, with or without us, and that we should find solace in this fact. But in reality, the planet in addition to our solar system and Universe, has a cataclysmic fate in store. The question now becomes, what do we do with this understanding? Do we take from it a depressing, Ultimate Meaninglessness?

Turning back to the human timescale, I'm reminded of the Blackfeet hunter, who was also confronted by these fundamental questions of being. We'll never know what he was thinking the day he wandered Alice Ridge. But like him, we cannot live in the deep past or future for very long before being pulled back to the present. Yet the question remains; how are we to live, knowing our time here is finite? Though life can be cruel and appear futile at times, our mortal task seems to involve finding meaning and creating a compassionate world while we're here. And for many of us, an affection for and kinship with Nature is a big part of that equation. The hunter would have understood and accepted the harsh realities of life and the often heartbreaking beauty of this world as two sides of the same coin. And we should do likewise.

Our work today is to hang on to the living systems of the Front (and elsewhere) for as long as we can, while realizing they will inevitably change over time. When I walk that country again, I'll be thinking about chert arrowheads and the infinite number of hidden stories this place mostly keeps to itself. Swallowed whole, by a landscape of memory.

My Left Foot: Bipedalism Revisited

The aftermath of PTTD Surgery: 8 titanium screws and a titanium wedge and bone graft. My calf muscle also had to be lengthened to accomodate the newly created arch in the foot.

I haven't written much in a while and it hasn't been for lack of time. Over the past two years, I've had a pretty serious problem just getting around on two feet; anything more than a mile or so of walking produced a jabbing pain around the inside of my left foot. It was getting to the point by last fall that I began to wonder if now, at 40, my days of strolling over hill and dale were coming to a close. It was then that I finally gave in to the idea of having PTTD surgery to correct the problem.

Walking on two feet, or bipedalism, arose in hominids between 4-6 million years ago. It was an enormous change in the evolution of ape-like creatures. The freeing up of the hands allowed for more efficient food gathering, tool development and a host of other evolutionary benefits. While many of our chimp & ape ancestors can stand or walk bipedally for brief periods, it was a path that only our kind has run with.

In the natural world, every adaptation is a trade off; in this case, our early predecessors gave up a great deal of speed by hanging on to upright locomotion. But what was gained by the walking biped was endurance. The earliest means of bringing down a large animal, before sophisticated projectile weapons, was persistence hunting, a method still practiced by the San people in Africa. (Clicking on the link will bring you to a short film from the BBC's Planet Earth of a San kudu hunt; a remarkable piece.)

In certain environments, (think savannah and prairie) this kind of hunting would have enabled humans to track and run down any fleet footed quadraped. Bodies of four footed animals more efficiently absorb heat via the earth but lose it less well by convection. Also, an upright human absorbs less radiant energy from the sun (less surface area) simply by being vertical. This translates into a better ability to thermoregulate for us while quadrapedal mammals will tend to overheat if pressed over distance. Next time you see an elk take off across the prairie during hunting season, think to yourself, "go ahead and run...".

Our finely tuned manual dexterity was likely a result of walking on two feet; now that all propulsion was confined to the legs, our hands could begin to realize (for better or for worse) the visions in our minds. Tools, craft and symbols could be projected externally and in many ways our lives became easier.

The feet, of course, are the foundation of this beautiful, "controlled falling"-type of movement which is such a large part of what makes us human. Having been on crutches for 7 weeks, I've thought quite a bit about what it means to get around on two feet, and how debilitating it is to be thus limited. The screws in my foot are supposed to correct the flattened arch and allow me (in another few months time) to walk many miles. But the experience of surgery and the physical discomfort associated with it has given me pause.

I'd never known that such unrelenting, merciless pain was possible and how much more profound it must be for those suffering afflictions far worse than mine. The heavy drugs that messed with my head and GI tract was the thin veil that stood between agony and an ability to cope. And the helplessness of not being able to perform simple tasks; not being able to drive, to do dishes, not being able to do much of anything but sit there while family tended to my basic needs, was humbling. I find myself thinking more about those less fortunate as well as what old age may have in store. The whole experience has given me a new perspective on the fragility of the body and forced a consideration what suffering is and ultimately, what compassion could be.

The metal will be in my foot for the rest of my life and strangely, this fact speaks to impermanence. When my son, after a long bipedal climb, spreads my ashes on the summit of Aerie Mountain, he may hear the sound of titanium screws striking limestone, before they and mortal remains, like our mountains, are blown eastward to the prairie. I wonder what he'll be thinking then.

The Island of Knowledge

Pine Butte in the Evening. Photo by Simon Williams

Sitting atop Guthrie Ridge, staring at Pine Butte over a mile away leaves one with the unambiguous feeling that the sandstone object rising from the ocean of prairie is an island. A blanket of Limber Pine that shrouds its top adds to the effect. The pines owe their existence to the higher elevation of the butte, which translates into more annual moisture than on the grass below...which enables the place to support tree growth. In fact, it is one of the few such formations along the Front that hosts a robust population of pines. The classic definition of an island is a body of land completely surrounded by water. There are however, other kinds to consider; islands of habitat for example. In this case, the butte is an island of Savannah habitat in a sea of Intermountain Grassland. For conservationists, this idea is discussed in terms of human disturbance; the "sea" is human-degraded land and the "island" is relatively healthy habitat. The science known as Island Biogeography was developed in the 1960's by ecologists E.O. Wilson and Robert MacArthur. It along with the study of Conservation Biology, is the basis for how many lands are conserved and managed today.

From this perspective, the healthiest habitats are usually those that are unfragmented and "linked" by corridors to other habitats. When these islands shrink and become isolated, ecological integrity often declines and species disappear. Habitat islands can be viewed on many scales; Manhattan's Central Park is on one end of the spectrum. The 10 million-acre Crown of the Continent ecosystem, of which the Rocky Mountain Front is a part, is on another and Antarctica is another still. The creation of these habitat islands on Earth is a relatively new phenomenon; it really wasn't very long ago when the reverse was true, that is, civilizations were islands in "oceans" of relatively wild landscapes. Of course, many people today tend to value these habitat islands not only for their biological attributes, but also as refuges for our sanity.

In human culture, islands of one sort or another have been viewed as joyful paradises of recreation like Hawaii, or remote, isolated places unfit for people. Some have been considered sacred; Patmos Island in Greece, is home to the Monastery of St. John the Divine, where the disciple reportedly experienced revelation in the Cave of the Apocalypse. For Northwest Coast tribes, some islands hold special meaning as vision quest sites or burial grounds. In modern civilization, places like Alcatraz or Three Mile Island bring different images to mind.

Pine Butte's isolation on the grassland is as striking as it is haunting. It is the mantelpiece of the surrounding 18,000-acre Preserve, an area with remarkable biological and aesthetic values, one which has special significance to me. I've walked up that butte hundreds of times and have experienced just about every one of its moods; beautiful and calm, rain, snow, howling wind. And it has never ceased to surprise me by the appearance of an unusual plant species, a strange rock formation, an improbable bit of animal sign. The comprehensive study of Natural History and ecology here is a Sisyphean task: even continual, sustained field time and book-learning of flora, fauna, geology, all of it, can sometimes leave one with a feeling of great inadequacy. In fact, there seems to be a proportional relationship going on. That is, the more this place is studied, the more elusive it becomes.

Albert Einstein is quoted as saying, "As our circle of knowledge expands, so does the circumference of darkness surrounding it." And this brings us to yet another island. What Einstein was implying is not only the realization that as knowledge is accumulated, there is a corresponding realization of an infinite unknown, but also that one should draw from this a profound sense of humility. It is a concise statement about not confusing knowledge with wisdom. And it seems to say, "In all things, proceed with caution."

For a few years now, I've been giving our visitors at the guest ranch a slightly different version of this idea: "The larger the island of knowledge, the longer the shoreline of ignorance". It's a great line, very handy for those teachable moments in the field. Unfortunately, I've been mis-quoting it; the actual words, by American geographer Ralph W. Stockman are slightly different. "The larger the island of knowledge," he says, "the longer the shoreline of wonder." I think that pretty much nails it.

This post can also be viewed on the Pine Butte Blog

The Ecology of Wind

The movement of air, born of Earth's perpetual cycles of heating and cooling, is what we know and experience as Wind. This invisible force of Nature is globally present and its effects on our planet are both subtle and profound. On the largest scale, wind directly affects climate and weather; the Gulf Stream, that Atlantic "river" of warm water flowing from the Caribbean to northern Europe, is set into motion by wind action. One of the results of this is that climate patterns on much of the Continent (the Mediterranean, British Isles, etc.) are ridiculously mild, especially given their northern latitudes. Powerful Trade Winds that scour the great deserts of Africa send enormous quantities of particulate westward, across the Atlantic which can block insolation from the sun, sometimes cooling areas in North America.

Recent studies strongly suggest that bacteria, which are transported into the atmosphere by Earth's winds, serve as the bulk of nucleation (condensation) sites for precipitation; that is, about 80% of the material that must be present for it to rain or snow anywhere on the planet is biological, and this stuff can only get where it needs to be by the grace of wind. On the Rocky Mountain Front, the effects of wind are always at hand. It, along with fire and precipitation, is the most influential force of change on the landscape. For much of the year, as air masses move from west to east, over the mountains and toward the prairie, they are funneled through our canyons. When a gas or liquid is forced through a constriction, it rapidly accelerates. This is called the Venturi effect and it is pronounced along the Front.

Where it is not anchored by grasses or other vegetation, wind will move significant quantities of soil across the land. A particle will travel until it finds a protected area such as a gully or the lee side of a hill and come to rest. The same thing happens with snow; the rare winter visitor will notice that a uniform blanket of snowfall doesn't stick around for very long on the prairie. (And this is a major boon for grazing animals who need exposed grasslands to survive.) Once wind becomes sustained, the white stuff will blow about and form very large drifts, often in the same locations where soil accumulates. These soil and snow deposition zones are important ecologically, since deeper soils and extra water over time translates in to more lush vegetation and therefore greater species diversity.

Plants and animals that live here must adapt to our frequent and often intense winds. A windy environment is very hard on native flora. The desiccating effects of wind can create near-desert conditions and cause outright physical damage to plants. Probably the most iconic example of a wind-adapted species on the Front is the Limber Pine (Pinus flexilis), for which the Pine Butte Swamp Preserve is named. This tree pumps a great deal of resin into its extremities, which gives it exceptional pliability. Since the needle-bearing limbs are the photosynthetic engine of the organism, it is critical that they be able to bend (and not break) when the gusts come. We should also note that it is the persistent, invisible hand of the wind that sculpts Limber Pine into the lovely, Bonsai-form it takes in these parts. While wind can be a hindrance to plant growth, it can also assure the continuity of many species. There may be hundreds of plants in the Northern Rockies which have adapted their pollen and seed dispersal strategies with the wind; an incalculable vector for genetic exchange and dissemination for sure.

The effects of high wind on fauna is noticeable; typically we are not able to observe much wildlife on a windy day, probably because it negatively affects the senses of hearing and smell which animals rely upon far more than we do. Usually the larger creatures (bears, elk, moose, deer) stay bedded down or otherwise remain close to cover on windy days. People too, have a general disdain for wind past a certain threshold. For the hunter, wind can camouflage the sounds one might make crawling through brush, but it can also make it impossible to hear the object of one's pursuit. Wind has played a significant role in human culture and civilization; it has affected the outcome of wars, powered mills, driven wildland fires and enabled the exploration of the world by sea. Today, Montana is witnessing a huge push to develop our wind resources for energy. While wind power will play an important role in the shift away from dependence on fossil fuels, if done improperly, it could have significant ecological impacts to grasslands, rare birds and bats.

Traditional Blackfeet, who have a unique, deep-time relationship with Miistakis, (The Backbone of the World-aka: The Rocky Mountain Front) consider it the dwelling place of Wind Maker. And if you've ever spent any time here outside of summer, you understand why. It was a fundamental force of Nature that constantly shaped the land and its people. Of course, it still is. Many of us who live here consider the wind to be something of a guardian of this place; an omnipresent factor that keeps the human population sustainably low. We can physically feel this ethereal force that seems both real and elusive. Depending on the context, it can be perceived as destructively "bad" (as in a major storm) or mercifully "good" (a cool breeze on a hot day). In this way and by the fact that wind possesses both a predictable and unpredictable nature, it does seem to be somehow alive. People have understood wind to be a harbinger of change, to represent freedom or provoke madness, and as embodying a sense of impermanence. I think it is no accident that in the past Wind, in the form of breath, was universally considered as the basic animating principal of Life itself; remember, the term for "breath" in Latin translates literally as spirit.

This post can also be viewed on the Pine Butte Blog

Hunting For Meaning

Snow now blankets the higher peaks of the Front and will likely remain there until early summer. Our local wildlife has several ways of dealing with the onset of colder Rocky Mountain weather. An organism can up and leave (think sandhill crane migration), store food (the lowly but adorable Pika), adapt and work hard (elk, deer, moose) or make a major physiological change: hibernation (bears, ground squirrles). The bears of the Front are still out and about trying to pack on as many calories as possible before the long sleep of winter. Their bodies are currently in a state called "hyperphagia" and the bruins may actively search for food up to 20 hours per day before packing it in to the den.

The human strategy for dealing with winter mostly falls into the food-storage catagory. Thus, as the seasonal change progresses, many Montanans are engaging in the yearly ritual of hunting big game, particularly deer and elk. Our state has the highest per-capita number of hunters of any, including Alaska. To a rural community like Choteau, this translates into some very real economic impacts; outfitters, sporting goods stores, game processors, motels and others, directly benefit from the influx of hunters.

Men and women choose to hunt for many reasons. Some are as basic as putting healthy, organic meat in the freezer to feed the family for another year. The simple joy of being out in the autumn landscape with friends and loved ones is often cited as one of the greatest pleasures in life for Montana hunters. Others may find active participation in the Food Web to be important, since we are mostly uninvolved with the production or harvest of our sustenance in modern society. For many, the act of killing an animal to sustain their own body is a deeply humbling, spiritual task that vividly reminds us of life's preciousness...and of our own mortality.

For this hunter, all of the above reasons are what motivate me to partake in the chase. Whatever our ancestry, if we go back far enough, we find that humans are a species that has hunted to live, and lived to hunt. Most of our evolutionary time on planet earth (about 98% of it) has been in pursuit of game. While some are uncomfortable with the idea of killing animals for any reason in today's world, hunting does represent an unbroken chain of connectivity with our ancestors and fellow hunters such as bears, lions and wolves to name a few. For me, the pursuit forces me to examine my ethics in the most real way. How and why I do this is critical and I constantly reexamine the reasons. In traditional hunting cultures for example, it is recognized that no pleasure is ever taken in ending an animal's life and sincere thanks must be given for the profound gift that the hunter recieves. It is a moral code worth following.

While most people don't hunt in the modern world as we did in the past, the impulse to seek, that is, to hunt, is irrepressible. The endless pursuit of knowledge, success, love, wisdom and meaning is universal among our kind. And speaking for myself, actually being out there hunting, (which in Montana means the possibility of also being hunted by fellow carnivores) is the most tactile, visceral way to engage in the Great Round of Life.

When early November comes, I'll be out on the Pine Butte Preserve stalking whitetails and thinking many thoughts. And I'll do my best to be there with pure intentions, in a good way.

This post can also be viewed on the Pine Butte Blog

Sacred Geography

The busy summer season has ended and, save the sounds of autumn, the Guest Ranch is silent. This is a time of ecological transition along the Front; days are shortening and the flora and fauna are responding to less sunlight and cooler tempratures. Our trees are sliding into their "hardening phase"; a type of dormancy that allows them to resist cell damage from freezing. Aspen and cottonwoods are putting on tremendous color shows, birds are staging in flocks to leave the country or are already gone.

There are transitions going on in the human community too. Ranchers have been shipping cattle to distant markets and hunters have begun to comb the landscape for game. Of course, children have returned to school. Fall is a prelude to the deeply introspective winter season, which is just around the corner. If you have visited the Guest Ranch before, you know it sits within a bigger landscape that is overwhelmingly beautiful and wild. The Northern Prairies abruptly collide with the Rocky Mountains here, with spectacular ecological and aesthetic results.

I've watched this place, the Rocky Mountain Front, bring people to tears many times. All cultures have in their religious traditions a concept of "Sacred Geography"; that is, places that are especially potent in a spiritual sense. In our deep past, we recognized particular caverns, mountains, springs and other natural features which spoke of "something else"; places which seemed to unify heaven and earth, where a sense of divinity is tangible. We know that there are many such places for Blackfeet people in the area; Ear Mountain is but one in a landscape overflowing with these spots.

The function of sacred places is to re-center the self, to find purpose to find meaning and to heal. In my short time as Naturalist at Pine Butte, I have noticed a near universal recognition of the Front as a Sacred Geography by our guests and others. Places like this, nearly complete ecologically and which invoke the divine for many, are rare in our world today. As important as conserving species and ecosystem processes is, we should also recognize the tremendous value this landscape has to the human spirit.

Pine Butte Guest Ranch is cradled in the canyon of the South Fork Teton and has acted as a gateway for visitors to the Front since 1930. People come from great distances to visit, and many return again and again . Now I think I know why.

This post can also be found on the Pine Butte Blog.

Wolves in Montana: The need for the hunt

Photo courtesy Montana FWP

The upcoming wolf hunting season in Montana, which begins in the backcountry on September 15th, will be the first ever "Fair Chase", regulated season on this important carnivore in our state's history. A quota of 75 animals has been set by the Montana Department of Fish Wildlife & Parks.

There has been a great deal of emotion flying around the decision to allow a hunt, following the de-listing of the wolf from the Endangered Species act this past May. There are essentially two sides to the argument; the "preserve the wolf at all costs" side, often populated by anti-hunting and animal-rights organizations who feel that a hunt equals extinction. Then there is the far-right position which says that wolves are a "cruel killer", annihilating all big game species and should be greatly depopulated. Both of these sides are essentially wrong.

The truth about living with Canis lupus in the modern West lies closer to the center.

Throughout the brief history of agriculture-based societies, the animal was maligned as a killer of livestock and a direct threat to human safety and progress. They were heavily persecuted by North American colonists from the earliest days of settlement. By the 1920's, the animal was largely extirpated from the contiguous 48 states. Earlier, pre-agricultural societies apparently did not view the animal in such sweepingly negative terms. The wolf in many traditional cultures was venerated as a keen and social hunter and as such, something of a kindred spirit. Early peoples may have learned hunting strategies directly from wolf societies as well as a great deal about animal behavior. And these same cultures occasionally stalked and killed the wolf, probably for the animal's hide and skull, with which they would hope to share some of its potent, mystical power.

The removal of the grey wolf from America has bankrupted the landscape ecologically and spiritually. Deer and other ungulate populations in many areas have exploded to unnaturally high levels in the wolves' absence. More people are likely injured by deer-car collisions each year than by any other wildlife encounter. Some populations of deer and elk have outstripped the carrying capacity of habitats, grazing vegetation down to nothing, and suffering from starvation and disease because of their high numbers and density.

It now appears that the presence of recovered wolf populations have directly benefitted many species from Aspen and beaver to songbirds. This is known as a "Trophic Cascade" by ecologists. Removal of top predators can have dramatic effects throughout the food web, which we are only beginning to understand. These and other legal arguments have been put forward by several environmental organizations in an effort to stop the upcoming wolf season here in Montana. The recovery goal set by the federal government for the state is 100 animals in 10 breeding pairs. The current population is estimated at about 500 individuals in 84 packs. The total number in the Northern Rockies (combined animals in Idaho, Wyoming & Montana) is about 1,600 critters.

My two cents on this contentious issue is that the best thing for the species is to allow sensible, regulated hunting at this point in time. There are a few reasons for this. First, the available habitat to sustain viable wolf populations into the future is dwindling. We're almost at the point in Montana where wolves inhabit nearly everywhere we're going to let them live. This is a wide ranging, top predator that hunts socially. The more livestock and pet depredations that occur, particularly close to communities, the less tolerance people will have for the wolf. And when tolerance wears thin, more wolves will be illegally killed. In time, there could also be human safety concerns.

While it is true that healthy wolves rarely attack humans, it is also true that there have been attacks in North America. Still, it is critical to understand that attacks are currently so rare, its almost not worth talking about. Far more people have negative and dangerous encounters with deer, bear and other animals. Still, I believe that it is necessary to remind wolves that humans should be avoided. The most practical way to accomplish this is a regulated hunting season, in addition to reasonable "predator control" actions where necessary.

The most difficult moral issue for me personally is the idea of killing such a beautiful animal and not eating it. While I might chow on canid flesh if I were in a life or death situation, it certainly isn't my first choice of wild game for the freezer. However, as part of a management strategy for the health and longevity of the population, conservationists should actively support the hunt.

This animal is a survivor, highly intelligent and can disperse incredible distances. There are now populations of wolves in Oregon and Washington state; direct descendants from the 1995-96 re-introductions to Yellowstone and Idaho. We must recognize the importance the wolf plays ecologically and socially for humans. But we must also understand that living with such an animal in the rural West is not without costs. It is not inconceivable that ranching families who are unable to run a profitable business because of excessive predation might be more likely to sell land to a developer for subdivision; and this is a far, far greater social and ecological loss than a few wolves.

Living in a ranching community, I recognize the symbolic importance of the hunt, which cannot be overstated. It says that the state of Montana will sustainably manage the wolf, just like every other large animal under their purview. In time, we will also create a constituency of wolf hunter-advocates; imagine in a decade or so, the Rocky Mountain Wolf Foundation. Who knows?

Finally, to those who consider wolves a "cruel" animal; please refrain from putting your simplistic human judgement on one of God's finest creations. While it may be unpleasant from a human perspective to see wolves grasp on to their prey (frequently by the anus) and begin to consume it while it is still living, it is a method and system that works well for this creature. Canids lack sharp, curved claws like cats to grasp animals for a "clean", spine-breaking kill. Also, it is important to remember that humans continue to be more consistently cruel and destructive toward nature and each other than any big bad wolf will ever be.

Wolves are here to stay and the population is significantly recovered. The hunt is part of an overall management strategy that will allow the species to thrive in the Northern Rockies into the future.