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Published:
New York Times
VANDO, Mont. - Greg Neudecker stopped his truck on a wooden bridge over
Monture Creek and stretched out his arm toward the wilderness lands to the
north, and
"This is the interstate," he said without irony, gesturing to the
little stream, maybe 15 feet across. "Everything connects here, from the
wild country down into this valley."
A corridor of the wild through the high country of
But in places like this, on a patchwork of public and private lands, and
through a tangle of human motivations that often have little to do with saving
the planet, the wild road north along the spine of the northern
Conservation and government groups say most of the 150 miles or so from here
to the Canadian border, called the Crown of the Continent, is now largely
protected through land buying and conservation agreements with private owners.
In December the Nature Conservancy of Canada is expected to lock in the northern
anchor - 98,000 acres just over the border in
A result will be the creation of a sheltered land bridge where the animal
societies of
"Spanning the international border means getting the cooperation and
understanding of how natural systems work irrespective of boundaries, and that
is a big deal and very, very hopeful one," said Steven J. McCormick, the
president and chief executive of the Nature Conservancy in the United States.,
which has invested more than $45 million to preserve land along the corridor in
recent years, an amount matched by the Nature Conservancy of Canada. The
centerpiece of the project is a better understanding of how animals really move
around. Knowing, for instance, that elk travel to their wintering grounds here
in the
Monture Creek, for example, and its equally humble counterpart to the west
called Dunham Creek, are divided by a local landmark called Center Ridge. By a
quirk of the glacial age, the three pieces of that triangle - upland and two
waterways - wend their way directly back into the Bob Marshall Wilderness that
begins north of Ovando. From there, animals connect with the river and ridge
systems in
A better understanding of animal mass transit has in turn allowed a
downsizing of ambition about the Crown of the Continent project. The goal is not
to create new wilderness or new public parks, say conservationists and wildlife
experts like Mr. Neudecker, who works for the United States Fish and Wildlife
Service, but rather to allow movement of animals through the landscape with the
least possible human conflict.
Somewhat paradoxically, that has meant in some cases building more fences,
not fewer. Here in Ovando, for instance, the owners of the Two Creeks Ranch had
three miles of new electrified grizzly bear fence built and installed this
summer, without charge to them, by a team of conservation workers. The $13,000
project sealed off the ranch's calving area, where the baby animals most
vulnerable to hungry bears spend their first few days of life. The idea is that
bears without easy food sources will keep on moving and not become a nuisance or
a threat.
Much of the money spent by groups like the Nature Conservancy has gone into
the bank accounts of ranchers like Karl Rappold, who has agreed to sell the
development rights to most of his land near the town of Dupuyer, about 50 miles
from the border. Those contracts mean that Mr. Rappold and his family can
continue ranching, but it also means - a crucial point for the wildlife corridor
- that the ranch can never be subdivided or developed.
That arrangement has been repeated across roughly 170,000 acres of private
land on both sides of the border. Mr. Rappold, whose grandfather started the
ranch in the 1880's, said that selling the development rights had given him
peace of mind.
"I want my grandson, and his children, to be able to saddle up and ride
across this ranch," he said. And he said he had come to understand that the
wild creatures are a big part of what makes the land work. "Without them,
it wouldn't be the wild country that it is," he said.
Other ranchers have come to embrace the idea of a wildlife corridor for
equally specific and personal reasons. Dusty Crary, who raises cattle south of
the Rappold place and has also sold his development rights, said that his views
about the land and nature changed suddenly, eight years ago, when his father was
killed in a ranch accident.
"It made me stop and think, none of us are going to live forever, and
how do I want this to be when I'm gone," Mr. Crary said. "It was a
little transition for me, a realization that we have to pass things on."
Motivations like that also reinforce what conservationists and wildlife
experts say is so unusual about the Crown of the Continent project. No one
person is really building it. People are thinking locally and personally, and
the resulting combined quilt of their contributions is what creates the
corridor.
Other scientists and ranchers say the real question raised by the project is
whether any of it is remotely natural. Mr. Rappold, for instance, is so fond of
the grizzlies - and so convinced that a grizzly with a full belly will not
bother his cattle - that he has begun feeding them. He puts out barrels of
molasses for his cows, and then a few more, he says, for the bears. In spring,
when bears are emerging from hibernation, he salts the high plateau with winter
kills so that by the time the bears come down into his valley, they are no
longer famished.
Some wildlife experts cringe at the idea of feeding wild animals, saying it
trains them to look to people for food. Others say that keeping bears from
becoming marauders is the priority, because the health of the corridor will
depend on relationships across the human-animal border.
Others describe a sort of race between two evolving, interconnected forces -
more animals, especially grizzlies, moving up and down the corridor, even as
environmentalists work to minimize the impact.
Concern about humans crossing the border here - especially terrorists or
other unauthorized travelers - is playing only a small role in the project
planning, participants say, mainly because the Crown region, far from major
population centers, is so remote and rugged.
"We're doing all these things to avoid conflicts, but maybe that just
means the animals move on to the places where people aren't doing those good
practices," said Geof Foote, a biologist and landowner here in Ovando.
That was apparently the outcome this year on the corridor's eastern edge. A late-spring storm devastated the wild chokecherry crop that grizzlies depend on, and so many of them simply strayed east, in some cases 35 to 40 miles from the mountains, farther from their regular grounds than most local residents had ever seen. One storm affecting one type of wild berry altered the animals' path, and for all the grand designs of man, the bears went where they needed to go.
Source: The New York Times - http://www.nytimes.com/2004/12/02/national/02border.html?oref=regi
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