Grizzly bears are doing fine. While the species is still listed as threatened in the Lower 48, we need to have a serious conversation about how to measure griz “recovery.” The Oct. 1 self-defense killing of a grizzly bear near Trego reminds us that our view of successful recovery may depend on how far we live from town.
Grizzlies may never be fully recovered south of Canada. I know delisting is a popular goal for many, and it would certainly loosen the regs guiding griz management, but how big will the population need to be before biologists are convinced it has cleared that bar? Also, how many close encounters in defense of chicken coops will a population that size produce?
The grizzly bear population in the Northern Rockies may be destined to rest forever on a knife’s edge, halfway in and halfway out of endangered status.
Decades ago, long before I moved north, the thought of recovered grizzlies in the U.S. outside Alaska seemed remote. The same goes for wolves. These seemed like forever wars, and in a way they are. It’s just that I assumed the forever war would be about “Will they recover,” rather than “How far should recovery go?”
While the debate rages, wolves seem plenty recovered to me. I’m also pleased that the 1994 reintroductions showed how well reintroduction can go if the predators are set loose in game-rich habitat. Now, the descendants of those reintroduced wolves roam as far south as California.
Grizzly bears pose a bigger reintroduction problem than wolves because of habitat requirements and a slower reproductive rate. But the thing that makes griz recovery especially perilous is that the odds of a human injury or death rise considerably when a naked ape encounters a grizzly bear, as opposed to a wolf.
There are a heck of a lot more humans living in bear country these days, and while some may resent newcomers claiming their own slice of paradise, it’s not the same as the person who builds a home next to a racetrack, then immediately files a noise complaint. The sound of unmuffled exhaust pipes is generally not considered a death-inducing phenomenon, though when I hear them on Main Street, a part of me wishes it had that effect on the driver.
When I first moved to Montana, I wanted to live as far out in the sticks as possible, while remaining close enough to commute into town for work. I eventually learned that as long as a place isn’t too large to get out of easily, I prefer living in town, then visiting the country as often as possible. This insight came to me long ago in the Bitterroot, where the most dangerous animals were Bitterrooters themselves, not the wildlife.
What I can’t imagine is having to grab a firearm whenever I wander out in the yard to make sure the thing that’s captured my barking dog’s attention isn’t something that requires a firearm in the first place.
I suppose I can imagine it, but I’ve accepted it’s not my preferred lifestyle.
As we stumble through the clumsy political process of first having recovered a large, dangerous carnivore, and now transitioning to managing that carnivore in a way that makes living near grizzly bears not quite so hazardous, I think of the Collins family out near Choteau. In June, when the family noticed their dog was agitated by something outside, they checked on what had the pup all worked up and found seven griz in the yard. The next morning Montana Fish, Wildlife and Parks (FWP) came by and found 10 griz off the Collinses’ place, living their best lives before FWP chased off the bears.
It’s nice of that family to put up all those bears on their slice of griz habitat, but considering the circumstances, telling the Collins family, “They were here first,” or “Their species was, at least,” is not a serious response.