Lytle Denny, a member of the Shoshone-Bannock Tribes, developed an early and profound connection to the wildlife inhabiting his ancestral lands in southeastern Idaho. As a child, he learned the intricate habitats of blue, ruffed, sharp-tailed, and greater sage grouse during family hunting trips across the high-desert landscape. While his father pursued deer and elk, Denny found himself drawn to the distinctive grouse, moving silently through the silver-green sagebrush, anticipating the sudden, heavy wingbeats of a startled bird. These group hunts were a communal affair, with family members waiting for the flush of not only grouse but also larger mammals, underscoring the interconnectedness of their traditional practices and the vibrant ecosystem.

However, as Denny matured, he witnessed a stark and troubling transformation. The iconic greater sage grouse, a chicken-sized bird adorned with thick white chest feathers and sunbeam-shaped brown tail feathers, became increasingly rare. This species holds immense cultural significance for the Shoshone-Bannock people, woven into their songs, dances, stories, and serving as a vital food source. Denny also observed declines in other native animals, including ground squirrels and mule deer. Expansive sagebrush habitats near the reservation gave way to a surge in agricultural development and a dramatic increase in cattle grazing. These changes, coupled with escalating droughts and wildfires, painted a clear picture of environmental degradation.

By his late teens, Denny’s observations solidified his resolve to pursue a career in fish and wildlife biology. He delved into the complex conflicts between sage grouse survival and livestock management. Each spring, sage grouse faithfully return to their open mating grounds, known as leks, to perform one of North America’s most captivating courtship rituals. Males inflate two prominent yellow air sacs on their chests, gulping air and strutting, their stiffened chest feathers rustling to create loud swishing sounds before culminating in inimitable popping calls. Yet, Denny documented how widespread livestock grazing disrupted this ancient ritual; in some instances, he saw ranchers driving ATVs onto active leks to scatter salt licks for their herds. While sharp-tailed grouse persisted, the more sensitive sage grouse abandoned these vital breeding grounds. "I started asking questions like, ‘Why are we letting this happen?’" Denny recalled, reflecting his deep commitment to the land, its flora, and fauna, over the commercial interests of livestock. Today, at 46, Denny no longer hunts sage grouse, stopping instead to simply observe whenever he encounters one—a testament to their rarity and his enduring reverence. He now serves as the deputy executive director of the Shoshone-Bannock Tribes’ Natural Resources Division, leading the charge against the ecological impacts of cattle grazing.

Across the vast sagebrush steppe, a unique and irreplaceable high-desert ecosystem spanning much of the American West, Indigenous communities like the Shoshone-Bannock and the Burns Paiute Tribe of southeastern Oregon are at the forefront of confronting the devastating effects of cattle grazing on native plants and animals. This expansive territory represents the ancestral homelands of these tribes, for whom ecological balance is not merely a policy goal but a foundational cultural tenet.

The decline of the greater sage grouse is nothing short of catastrophic. Since 1965, Western populations have plummeted by an estimated 80%, with the most severe losses occurring in the Great Basin, an area encompassing Nevada and parts of Idaho, Oregon, and Utah. Once numbering an estimated 16 million across 13 states and three Canadian provinces before non-Native settlement in the mid-1800s, only about 350,000 sage grouse remain today, according to the International Union for Conservation of Nature. This precipitous drop has led to decades of contentious litigation and land-use disputes, with repeated, yet unsuccessful, attempts to secure federal endangered species protection for the bird. As a keystone species, the sage grouse serves as a biological barometer for the overall health of the sagebrush steppe, signaling broader ecosystem distress. Alarmingly, half of the species’ original habitat has vanished, replaced by agricultural operations, sprawling cattle pastures, invasive grasses, and the expanding footprint of mining and oil and gas extraction.

The Bureau of Land Management (BLM), the federal agency tasked with overseeing the majority of sage grouse habitat, frequently attributes this decline to habitat loss and degradation stemming from drought, wildfire, and invasive grasses. However, federal officials often conspicuously omit livestock grazing—the most pervasive commercial land use by acreage in the West—as a primary underlying factor. Powerful ranching interests, often concentrated among corporate entities like the multinational conglomerate J.R. Simplot Co., which supplies potatoes to McDonald’s, exert significant influence over federal land-management policy. This influence persists despite the fact that cattle grazing on public lands contributes less than 2% of the nation’s total beef supply. Disturbingly, nearly all remaining sage grouse habitat remains open to grazing.

Many tribal members, including Lytle Denny, and independent scientists, alongside non-Native advocacy groups such as the Western Watersheds Project, advocate for a fundamental reevaluation of extensive public-lands grazing. They argue that current practices imperil not only sage grouse but the entire sagebrush steppe ecosystem and its rich diversity of species, including mule deer, jackrabbits, and the sagebrush itself. While settler-colonial narratives have long framed the West as quintessential cattle country, Diane Teeman, a Burns Paiute tribal elder and former manager of the tribe’s Culture and Heritage Department, starkly states, "Cows are an invasive species." She warns that extensive grazing inflicts "permanent damage to a lot of things here."

The threat posed by grazing has intensified under recent administrations. A policy requiring prioritized environmental reviews of grazing in critical areas for at-risk species like the sage grouse was rescinded, and plans were released advocating for expanded grazing acreage on BLM and Forest Service lands. Subsequently, the BLM finalized new sage grouse management plans for several Western states, including Idaho, Nevada, and Wyoming, which significantly ease restrictions on oil, gas, and mining, and eliminate a previous requirement for ranchers in Idaho, California, and Nevada to maintain grasses at least seven inches tall to protect grouse nests from predators. These decisions reflect a continued prioritization of extractive industries and ranching over ecological preservation.

In stark contrast, the Burns Paiute and Shoshone-Bannock tribes are actively demonstrating viable alternatives to conventional grazing. The Burns Paiute Tribe has drastically reduced the number of cattle allowed to graze on its tribal lands, while the Shoshone-Bannock Tribes are reevaluating herd sizes on reservation lands. The initial results of these tribal-led initiatives are highly promising, showcasing how strategic reductions in cattle numbers can profoundly benefit native wildlife, including the imperiled sage grouse. However, extending these successful models to broader public lands would necessitate dismantling generations of deeply entrenched beliefs about grazing’s indispensable role in the Western landscape. As Denny observes, cows are "woven into the very fabric of Western colonial identity," and any challenge to this paradigm "is to go straight against settler-colonial values." He concludes, "That’s the real battle, whose values are getting precedence over whose."

The sagebrush steppe, often perceived as an unassuming landscape without the towering forests of the Pacific Northwest, harbors a delicate and vibrant ecosystem that thrives closer to the ground. Its pastel-green expanses, punctuated by sparse juniper trees offering shade to mule deer, derive their unique character from the fragrant, branching sagebrush, rarely exceeding five feet in height. The true diversity unfolds beneath, where yellow hawksbeard and purple sagebrush mariposa lilies color the understory, interspersed with the crucial biological soil crusts. These minuscule, yet mighty, crusts—comprised of lichens, mosses, green algae, and cyanobacteria—act as the ecosystem’s organic armor, retaining moisture, cycling vital nutrients, and preventing the invasion of non-native plants. When these crusts are fractured, the entire plant community begins to unravel, underscoring the "fragile" and "delicate balance" of the soils, as Teeman explains.

In a healthy high-desert environment, robust soil crusts carpet the ground, scattered sagebrush provides cover, and dense bunchgrasses fill the interstitial spaces. This ideal habitat allows sage grouse to rest beneath the modest canopy and lay their speckled eggs in ground nests, where tall grasses offer camouflage and protection from predators like ravens and coyotes. Abundant wildflowers support a thriving insect population, providing critical food for both adult grouse and their vulnerable chicks.

However, generations of intensive cattle grazing have dramatically altered this vast and intricate landscape. Herds compact the fragile soils, transforming them into hard, dry surfaces incapable of retaining sufficient water. This compaction exacerbates drought conditions and fuels a destructive cycle of wildfires. As Oregon State University ecologist Boone Kauffman vividly describes, "You walk across a grazed area, and it’s like walking on a parking lot," in stark contrast to the "marshmallow" feel of ungrazed terrain.

Cattle also act as vectors for invasive cheatgrass, a highly flammable species that chokes out native grasses and paints entire hillsides maroon in spring. Sage grouse and most other native wildlife instinctively avoid areas heavily infested with cheatgrass, which began its spread across the West in the late 1800s, largely aided by livestock. Cheatgrass seeds adhere to animal hooves and hides, and when these hooves break the delicate soil crusts in already overgrazed areas, they create ideal conditions for the invasive grass to germinate and flourish.

Furthermore, cows indiscriminately devour native bunchgrasses, stripping away the essential cover that protects sage grouse nests from predators. They congregate near vital water sources, trampling streambanks and consuming wildflowers, willows, and aspens. These riparian areas, normally desert oases, are critical for supporting a rich diversity of plant and animal life. Roger Rosentreter, a retired BLM Idaho state botanist, laments, "Every riparian area in the West has been hammered." Beyond direct consumption, water troughs installed for cattle create drowning hazards for grouse and other birds, while barbed-wire fences injure grouse, snagging their wings and sometimes severing their heads. Insecticides applied to protect forage for cattle inadvertently kill grasshoppers and crickets, which are indispensable food sources for grouse chicks. "Those cumulative effects of grazing," Rosentreter concludes, "are sealing the coffin on so many of our native wildlife."

The dominion of ranching over the American West commenced in the mid-1800s, propelled by federal westward-expansion policies and the forcible removal of Indigenous peoples, which enabled cattle barons to establish vast ranching empires on tribal lands. Hundreds of thousands of cattle grazed the tall bunchgrasses of the sagebrush steppe, a landscape newcomers and government officials initially termed "the range," a descriptor that evolved into "rangeland" and is now widely used. While some rangeland scientists consider it an ecological term, others, like University of California, Berkeley geography professor Nathan Sayre, argue that "Rangelands are inescapably implicated in the conquest and settlement of North America," highlighting its colonial origins.

The discipline of rangeland science developed in close alignment with the livestock industry. By the early 1900s, rampant livestock herds had decimated native vegetation across the West, prompting ranchers to seek assistance. A 1934 U.S. Department of Agriculture report revealed that only 16% of public rangeland remained in good condition. USDA scientists began researching non-native grasses and forage crops suited for the high desert, while universities across the West established range-management programs to support the struggling livestock industry. This research, heavily backed by the federal government, formed the foundation for many of the laws and policies that continue to govern Western rangelands.

A significant early component of these government programs involved seeding depleted lands with non-native crested wheatgrass, a species favored by ranchers for its palatability to livestock and its resilience to heavy grazing. Federal agencies also undertook extensive sagebrush eradication efforts, spraying millions of acres in states like Idaho, Oregon, Montana, and Wyoming with herbicides, then reseeding with crested wheatgrass, effectively transforming silver-green native landscapes into golden monocultures. This intervention dramatically boosted grazing capacity, reportedly by 800% in Elko, Nevada, alone, according to a 1954 USDA report.

While contemporary rangeland science has increasingly incorporated ecological considerations, its core focus often remains rooted in livestock economics. For instance, Oregon State University’s rangeland science extension center in Burns openly states its mission to "maintain a robust and sustainable cattle industry in Oregon." Both Rosentreter and Kauffman confirm the persistent difficulty in securing funding for studies that critically examine grazing’s ecological impacts. Kauffman himself faced calls for his removal from Oregon State University in 2022 after publishing research that documented grazing-induced degradation on public lands, illustrating the "unprecedented pressure" on publicly funded scientists to avoid challenging the cattle industry.

The livestock industry actively funds and influences rangeland science. A June 2025 report by the U.S. Geological Survey and the University of Idaho’s Rangeland Center concluded that livestock grazing on federal land in Idaho did not negatively impact sage grouse nesting success. Notably, major funders of this report included ranching advocacy groups like the Public Lands Council and Idaho Cattle Association, which provided significant in-kind donations of equipment. Even before its publication, these groups urged the BLM to incorporate the report’s findings into its sage grouse management plans, a request the agency subsequently fulfilled in its December plans. While BLM press secretary Brian Hires stated the agency "does not rely solely on any single publication," he declined to comment on whether industry pressure influenced the report’s inclusion. Kaitlynn Glover, an executive director for both industry groups, claimed on RFD-TV that the report scientifically validated ranchers’ long-held belief that grazing enhances landscapes and sustains sage grouse populations.

Today, over 200 million acres—a staggering 85%—of Western public lands are grazed by livestock, predominantly beef cattle. Industry leaders frequently assert that ranchers are crucial for sage grouse conservation, arguing that cows, like grouse, require open land for foraging. Tom Sharp, a prominent Oregon rancher, popularized the tagline, "What’s good for the bird is good for the herd," a sentiment echoed by some scientists like Skyler Vold, a sage grouse biologist at the Oregon Department of Fish and Wildlife, who states, "Generally, we think of livestock grazing as being very compatible with sage grouse conservation."

Some rangeland scientists and the BLM contend that modern grazing practices have advanced to a point where they no longer degrade the landscape. BLM press secretary Brian Hires affirmed, "Well-managed livestock grazing is not considered a threat to greater sage-grouse habitat or survival." However, the definition of "well-managed" remains highly contentious. Erik Molvar, executive director of the Western Watersheds Project, a nonprofit dedicated to analyzing grazing’s ecological impact on public lands, asserts, "There is so little well-managed livestock grazing in the American West, I don’t even know why we’re talking about it."

Land managers and scientists typically categorize grazing levels as light, moderate, or heavy based on the percentage of vegetation consumed by livestock annually on a BLM grazing allotment. Yet, accurately measuring this consumption across vast allotments, some exceeding 250,000 acres, presents a significant challenge. The BLM often relies on "ocular assessments," which Molvar derides as "a wild guess." (The BLM maintains it employs "multiple data collection and assessment methods," varying based on available resources.) Critically, the BLM permits cattle to consume 50% of native plants annually on most federal allotments, and up to 60% of non-native species like crested wheatgrass. An influential 1999 paper, still considered relevant by scientists like Rosentreter, concluded that a 50% utilization rate might be deemed "moderate" and sustainable in areas with higher precipitation, such as Georgia’s Southern pine forests. However, in semi-arid ecosystems like the sagebrush steppe, this level of consumption demonstrably degrades the land. The study defined moderate grazing in dry regions as 35% to 45% of vegetation, implying that to improve rangeland conditions in these environments, cattle would need to consume even less—just 30% to 35%, approximately 40% less than currently permitted by the BLM. The recent University of Idaho study, championed by ranching interests, which concluded no harm to sage grouse from grazing, reported an average plant consumption of only 22%, a level considered light grazing and rarely practiced on public lands.

Research from Oregon State University’s extension center in Burns suggests that targeted grazing can effectively reduce invasive grasses. However, this method demands intensive management, requiring ranchers to isolate cattle in small, fenced pastures and move them frequently—a practice common on private land but exceedingly difficult to implement across vast public allotments. Mark Salvo, program director for the Oregon Natural Desert Association, notes that "sometimes the research is pointing to or identifying tools that are, under our current system, almost impossible to implement." Austin Smith, natural resources director for the Confederated Tribes of the Warm Springs in central Oregon, concurs, explaining that while his tribe leases some land for targeted grazing of invasive grasses in early spring, animals are then promptly removed "with enough time for these other plants to come in and grow." On BLM lands, he adds, "they just hammer the heck out of it."

While scientific consensus acknowledges that grazing can both harm and potentially help sage grouse habitat, the critical factor lies in its management, according to Nada Wolff Culver, former BLM principal deputy director during the Biden administration. However, for decades, the BLM has been chronically understaffed to adequately manage its extensive grazing allotments. Data obtained by the nonprofit watchdog Public Employees for Environmental Responsibility (PEER) revealed that from 1997 to 2023, 56.7 million acres—approximately 37%—of federal grazing allotments failed to meet BLM land-health standards, primarily due to livestock grazing. A 2023 federal lawsuit by PEER and the Western Watersheds Project alleged that the agency had failed to conduct environmental reviews for nearly two-thirds of its grazing permits. "I think it’s a failed system," concludes Diane Teeman.

The Burns Paiute Tribe offers a compelling model for ecosystem restoration. On a dawn patrol in April on BLM land east of Burns, Oregon, non-Native wildlife biologists Collin Williams and Matthew Hanneman, who work for the tribe, observed approximately 60 male sage grouse performing their mating dance. These leks are just five miles from Jonesboro, a 6,385-acre tribally owned property reacquired in 2000, along with the 1,760-acre Logan Valley, both representing unceded ancestral lands. The tribe has diligently worked to restore these properties for wildlife, providing tribal members access for hunting and gathering. "We don’t just consider the management of things in terms of their value to us," Teeman explains, highlighting the Paiute approach. "The management is really about how to give everything its due rights and personhood, as opposed to how BLM or any of the other Western-oriented management systems work where everything is a resource."

Before the tribe purchased Jonesboro, the land had been grazed for decades, resulting in weed-choked native vegetation and an expansion of juniper trees due to federal fire-suppression policies and overgrazing. Since reacquiring the property, the tribe has actively reversed this colonial legacy, demonstrating strategies applicable to federal lands. They removed fencing, cut junipers to create open space for grouse, and planted native species like sagebrush, yarrow, rabbitbrush, and buckwheat. Weed removal, particularly of cheatgrass and medusahead, has been intensive, involving mowing, burning, herbicide application, and carefully managed grazing.

While the Jonesboro site included 21,242 acres of BLM allotments and 4,154 acres of state grazing allotments, which the tribe subleases to local ranchers for income, beef production is not the priority. "Our focus is definitely wildlife and wildlife conservation," Williams states. Grazing is strategically employed to target weeds and clear thatch when native grasses are dormant, but the tribe permits only one-third of the cattle allowed under its BLM permit. Furthermore, the tribe implements regular rest periods for the Jonesboro pastures, with cows typically grazing for only 10 days in small, fenced 40- to 60-acre areas on tribal land, compared to the one to two months allowed on larger federal pastures subleased to ranchers. Photographs from 2007 to 2018 vividly illustrate the success of these efforts, showing a greener landscape, increased riparian vegetation, and more abundant bunchgrasses.

Similarly, in southeastern Idaho, the Shoshone-Bannock Tribes, under Lytle Denny’s leadership, are reassessing cattle numbers across 320,000 acres of rangeland on the Fort Hall Indian Reservation. While much of the reservation is grazed, only a third of the cattle are tribally owned. The tribes have already designated about 20,500 acres of rangelands as off-limits to grazing, along with another 33,000 acres of conservation land where grazing is prohibited. They are also considering barring cattle from sensitive sage grouse mating sites. Preston Buckskin, the tribes’ land-use director, acknowledges the ongoing challenge of balancing traditional tribal conservation values with the economic realities of ranching for some families. The tribes’ Office of Public Affairs emphasized the importance of collaboration among producers, land managers, and tribes for effective conservation outcomes, rather than placing sole responsibility on any single group.

As a potential compromise, the tribal land-use department is exploring a program to compensate landowners who voluntarily cease grazing. This approach mirrors long-standing efforts by non-Native conservation organizations like the Western Watersheds Project on federal lands, and recent legislative proposals allowing ranchers to relinquish grazing privileges for buyouts. Additionally, the Shoshone-Bannock Tribes are developing a land-use plan that would reclassify some reservation areas currently zoned as "rangelands" to "wildlands," thereby affirming their primary value for wildlife and tribal hunting. "Words shape expectations," Denny explains, arguing that "rangeland" imposes a meaning from a different worldview. "I prefer the term ‘sagebrush steppe.’"

The Hart Mountain National Antelope Refuge in southern Oregon provides a powerful real-world demonstration of ecological recovery. In the early 1990s, the refuge was severely overgrazed. When then-manager Barry Reiswig made the controversial decision to prohibit cattle, he faced intense local opposition. Yet, the landscape, grazed for 120 years, began to repair itself with remarkable speed. Within 12 years, aspen cover increased by 64% and wildflowers by 68%. A 2015 study by Forest Service and Oregon State University researchers documented a 90% decrease in bare soil and a quadrupling of rushes and willows within 23 years. Today, Hart Mountain stands as one of the largest ungrazed areas in the Great Basin and a crucial sage grouse breeding ground, with females and their chicks frequently observed. The study concluded that "Simply removing cattle from areas may be all that is required to restore many degraded riparian areas in the American West."

The highly politicized nature of grazing often silences open discussion among scientists and agency officials, Denny laments. "We’ve got to get uncomfortable talking about the truth." He believes tribes can lead this essential conversation and offer practical solutions. "We can use our homelands as, like, ‘This is the model for how you navigate this.’" However, widespread progress ultimately hinges on the federal government’s willingness to fundamentally reform its policies.

A spring day in Logan Valley, now tribal land, illustrates both the promise and the persistent challenges. North of the Malheur River headwaters, sage grouse have found an unexpected summer home in a reforested portion of the valley. Their preferred mountain big sage grows on gentle slopes above a creek, with bluebells and yellow groundsels blooming in the mountain meadow. The birds’ presence, despite the surrounding lodgepole and ponderosa pines and the nearest known lek being 10 miles away, remains a mystery, suggesting a resilient, if precarious, migration. To understand these movements, the tribe secured a grant for transmitters to track grouse, informing conservation efforts for their migration corridor. The tribe has also hand-cut 60 acres of pines to maintain open sagebrush habitat and plans to reintroduce traditional cultural burning practices, prohibited for over a century, to restore ecological balance.

Most of the 1,760-acre Logan Valley property has been ungrazed since its reacquisition in 2000, with cattle permitted only on a 300-acre meadow to control a non-native hay and forage grass introduced by settlers. Yet, the tribal property forms a "Y" shape, bordering federal land owned by the Forest Service, which permits grazing from June to October. Trespassing cattle have become a chronic issue due to old fencing. Despite the tribe’s efforts to erect temporary fences by late May to keep cattle off their land, an early arrival of a dozen black cows in mid-May demonstrated the ongoing struggle against external pressures, underscoring the profound clash of values and the urgent need for federal policy reform to protect the West’s most iconic and imperiled species.