Where the wild things are

“He does not see us yet, the wind is in his face,” U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service worker Darren Thomas whispered as the 6-point bull elk trotted up the hill. “Stay still and he will come right under us.”

As the elk approached, the UM Wildlife Society members watching from a ridgeline in the National Bison Range stayed still.  Soon the bull was close enough that we could smell his musky odor, but by then he could smell us, too, so he immediately spun around and disappeared into the woods. 

More than 40 members of the UM Wildlife Society, along with dozens of other volunteers led by federal and tribal employees, counted elk, deer, bighorn sheep and mountain goats in the southern half of the bison range during the annual big game count Saturday.  The bison, in the meantime, were in large pastures on the northern half of the 18,500-acre range 30 miles north of Missoula. They will be rotated into the southern half for the winter after the annual roundup this week. 

During the roundup, the bison herd is culled to numbers that the range can sustain.  The big game count is used to determine how many of the nearly 500 bison to remove based on the numbers of wildlife it shares the range with. Removed animals will either be auctioned to private herds or donated to other federal or tribal herds. 

Bulls and cows are randomly selected for removal except for bulls older than five years because of their instinctual desire to return to the bison range.  Several years ago, a bull sold to a private herd near Hot Springs more than 20 miles away from the bison range broke through a barbed wire fence and swam across the Flathead River to get back to the range, according to Shannon Clairmont, a biologist for the Confederated Salish and Kootenai Tribes.  The roundup is also used to brand and insert identification microchips into yearling calves and do blood tests on selected animals.  While the herd is certified brucellosis-free, biologists check for other diseases like Johne’s disease, a contagious bacterial infection of the small intestine that basically starves its victim.

To participate in the count, volunteers had to pass an identification test showing blurred photos of wildlife.  Then they were split up into seven groups to cover different parts of the range. But before the groups separated, Clairmont warned volunteers of a dead elk near Pauline Creek.  He was not warning them of the rotting carcass’ potent aroma, but rather of the black bear that had been munching on it all week.

As we descended a high ridge reaching into the Jocko Valley, volunteers dropped one-at-a-time into wooded basins and gullies to flush out any hidden critters.  Angela Patrick, a senior in wildlife biology, went down the first gully, flushing out 14 bighorn sheep and two buck mule deer with large antlers.

“I tried to count their points,” Patrick said, “I think they were four-by-fours. They were big.”

Patrick also flushed the big bull towards us, as well as a family of black bears into the next gully over.  There, the bears met freshman Julia McMahon, who was then bushwhacking through the gully.

“I heard them go up a tree, and I looked and at first just saw the two cubs,” McMahon said. “Then I saw their mom coming down, so I got out of there.”

Calmly walked out of there, she added.

The Wildlife Society, which currently has around 60 members ranging from natural resources to sociology majors, has helped with the big game count for nearly 20 years according to its president, Kyle Miller, a senior in wildlife biology.  Along with providing an opportunity for students to gain experience in the biology field, Miller said the count is a rare chance to hike in the bison range.  Visitors are usually prohibited from leaving their cars on the 24 miles of road in the range.

“Most of the time this is all closed,” Miller explained as we waded through a sea of prairie grass. “There are a few short nature trails, but this is one of the few opportunities to get into the back country of the bison range.”

One way the range is able to support such abundant wildlife is its diverse landscape of habitat types, from forests to wetlands to rare swaths of the Palouse Prairie.  This unique grassland is characterized by higher elevation and precipitation than prairies in eastern Montana.  Also, the Palouse Prairies contains mainly bunchgrass species.

“This whole valley [the Mission Valley] used to be this bunchgrass vegetation type, but farming and grazing really play havoc on native grasses,” Clairmont said.  While overgrazing can be a problem requiring bison population control and regulated grazing through a grid of tall, sturdy and, in places, electric fences, Clairmont said there are some ways that grazing helps the ecosystem.  The bison prefer to eat the taller bunchgrasses, allowing more light and moisture to reach lower level forbs, the preferred food of pronghorns.

“They kind of work together,” Clairmont said. “The buffalo take the rougher stuff off the top, opening it up for the forbs that the pronghorns like to eat.”

The wide extent of management, from herd culling to electric fences to wildlife censuses, might seem to lessen the “wildness” of the National Bison Range.  But any of the UM Wildlife Society members who watched the big bull elk trot up the hill, or saw bighorn rams panting under the hot sun and the weight of their own horns or met a family of bears in a ponderosa pine would say there is plenty of “wild” left.