As Denny matured, he witnessed a stark and troubling transformation. The vibrant sagebrush steppe, once teeming with blue, ruffed, sharp-tailed, and greater sage grouse, along with ground squirrels and mule deer, began to fade. Agricultural expansion encroached upon the foothills near the reservation, while increased cattle grazing, exacerbated by drought and intensified wildfires, systematically degraded the delicate balance of the high-desert landscape. This firsthand observation galvanized Denny’s commitment to fish and wildlife biology, leading him to question the prevailing land management practices. He recalled ranchers disturbing sage grouse leks—the open mating grounds where males perform one of North America’s most striking courtship displays, inflating their yellow air sacs with inimitable popping sounds—by driving ATVs onto these sacred spaces and scattering salt licks for their herds. While sharp-tailed grouse persisted, the more sensitive greater sage grouse retreated, prompting Denny to ask, "Why are we letting this happen?" His perspective, rooted in the inherent value of land, plants, and animals, stood in stark contrast to the dominant economic interests. At 46, Denny no longer hunts sage grouse; instead, he pauses to watch whenever he encounters one, a rare and special sight.

The plight of the greater sage grouse, a chicken-sized bird recognized by its thick white chest feathers and sunbeam-shaped tail, symbolizes the broader ecological crisis unfolding across the sagebrush steppe. These birds are considered a keystone species, their health indicative of the entire ecosystem’s vitality. Historically, an estimated 16 million sage grouse inhabited 13 U.S. states and three Canadian provinces before non-Native settlement in the mid-1800s. Today, fewer than 350,000 remain, according to the International Union for Conservation of Nature, marking an 80% population decline since 1965, with the Great Basin region (spanning Nevada, Idaho, Oregon, and Utah) experiencing the most precipitous losses. Half of their original habitat has vanished, consumed by farms, cattle pastures, invasive grasses, mining operations, and oil and gas developments. Decades of conservation efforts, including multiple unsuccessful attempts to list the species under the federal Endangered Species Act, highlight the persistent challenges in protecting this imperiled bird.

The Bureau of Land Management (BLM), the federal agency tasked with overseeing the majority of sage grouse habitat, frequently attributes the species’ decline to habitat loss and degradation from drought, wildfire, and invasive grasses. However, federal officials often downplay or omit the role of livestock grazing, which remains the most extensive commercial land use by acreage in the Western United States. Powerful ranching interests, often concentrated among large corporations such as the multinational conglomerate J.R. Simplot Co., exert significant influence over federal land-management policies. This influence persists despite the fact that cattle grazing on public lands accounts for less than 2% of the nation’s total beef supply. Disturbingly, nearly all remaining sage grouse habitat remains open to grazing.

Tribal members like Denny and Diane Teeman, a Burns Paiute tribal elder and former manager of the tribe’s Culture and Heritage Department, alongside non-Native advocacy groups such as the Western Watersheds Project, argue for a fundamental reevaluation of extensive public-lands grazing. They contend that this practice imperils not only the sage grouse but the entire sagebrush steppe ecosystem and its myriad species, including mule deer and jackrabbits. Teeman starkly labels cows an "invasive species" in this environment, asserting that grazing inflicts "permanent damage to a lot of things here," challenging the settler-colonial narrative that historically framed the sagebrush steppe as primarily "cattle country."

The threat posed by grazing intensified under the previous administration. In July, a BLM policy prioritizing environmental reviews of grazing in critical habitats for at-risk species like sage grouse was rescinded. By October, the U.S. Departments of the Interior and Agriculture unveiled a plan advocating for the expansion of grazing acreage on BLM and Forest Service lands. Subsequent December saw the BLM finalize new sage grouse management plans for Western states, including Idaho, Nevada, and Wyoming, which significantly eased restrictions on oil, gas, and mining, and eliminated a prior requirement for ranchers in Idaho, California, and Nevada to maintain grasses at least seven inches tall to safeguard grouse nests from predators. These policy shifts underscore the ongoing political battle for the soul of the American West, where competing values vie for precedence.

Amidst these federal policy changes, the Shoshone-Bannock and Burns Paiute tribes are actively modeling alternative, more sustainable land management approaches. 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. These tribal initiatives demonstrate promising results, showcasing how restricting cattle can significantly benefit native wildlife, including the sage grouse. However, extending such efforts to public lands necessitates dismantling generations of deeply ingrained beliefs about grazing’s foundational role in the West’s identity. As Denny notes, challenging these practices directly confronts "settler-colonial values" embedded in the region’s fabric.

The sagebrush steppe, often overlooked for its subtle beauty, is a delicate and complex ecosystem. Unlike the towering forests of the Pacific Northwest, its diversity thrives closer to the ground, characterized by fragrant sagebrush, sparse juniper, and an understory rich with wildflowers like yellow hawksbeard and purple sagebrush mariposa lilies. Crucially, microscopic biological soil crusts, composed of lichens, mosses, green algae, and cyanobacteria, form a vital "organic armor" that retains moisture, cycles nutrients, and prevents invasive plant incursions. When these fragile crusts are broken, the entire plant community becomes vulnerable, disrupting the ecosystem’s delicate balance. In a healthy steppe, soil crusts form protective clumps, scattered sagebrush provides cover, and bunchgrasses offer nesting sites for sage grouse, whose chicks rely on abundant wildflowers and insects for food.

However, generations of extensive cattle grazing have irrevocably altered this landscape. Herds compact fragile soils, transforming soft ground into hard, dry surfaces incapable of retaining adequate water, thereby exacerbating drought conditions and fueling more intense wildfire cycles. Oregon State University ecologist Boone Kauffman vividly contrasts the experience of "walking on a parking lot" in a grazed area with "walking on a marshmallow" in an ungrazed one. Cattle also facilitate the spread of invasive cheatgrass, a highly flammable species that outcompetes native grasses and dyes entire hillsides maroon in spring. Sage grouse and most other native wildlife instinctively avoid cheatgrass-infested areas. The invasive grass, which began spreading in the late 1800s, benefits from livestock as seeds cling to hooves and hides, and compacted soils create openings for its germination.

Furthermore, cattle devour native bunchgrasses, stripping away the cover vital for sage grouse nests, leaving them exposed to predators like ravens and coyotes. They congregate near crucial water sources, trampling streambanks and consuming willows, aspens, and wildflowers in riparian areas—natural oases in the desert that support a disproportionate amount of the region’s biodiversity. Roger Rosentreter, a retired BLM Idaho state botanist, laments that "every riparian area in the West has been hammered." Indirect impacts include water troughs designed for cattle, which can trap and drown grouse and other birds, and barbed-wire fences that injure or kill grouse by snaring their wings or severing their heads. Insecticides used to protect forage for cattle also decimate grasshopper and cricket populations, critical food sources for grouse chicks. "Those cumulative effects of grazing," Rosentreter concludes, "are sealing the coffin on so many of our native wildlife."

The historical roots of ranching’s dominance in the West trace back to the mid-1800s, a period marked by federal westward-expansion policies and the forced displacement of Indigenous peoples. Cattle barons established vast ranching operations on tribal lands, with hundreds of thousands of cows grazing the tall bunchgrasses of the sagebrush steppe. This landscape, initially termed "the range" by newcomers and the government, evolved into "rangeland," a term now widely used, though scholars like Nathan Sayre, a geography professor at the University of California, Berkeley, argue it is inherently colonial and "inescapably implicated in the conquest and settlement of North America."

Rangeland science itself developed in close association with the livestock industry. By the early 1900s, rampant overgrazing had decimated native vegetation, prompting ranchers to seek assistance. A 1934 USDA report indicated that only 16% of public rangelands remained in good condition. USDA scientists began researching non-native grasses and forage crops suitable for the high desert, while Western universities established range-management programs to support the struggling livestock industry. This federally backed research significantly shaped the laws and policies still governing Western rangelands today. A key early initiative involved seeding depleted lands with non-native crested wheatgrass, favored by ranchers for its palatability and resilience to heavy grazing. Millions of acres across Idaho, Oregon, Montana, Colorado, Nevada, California, Utah, and Wyoming saw sagebrush eliminated through herbicide spraying, followed by crested wheatgrass seeding, transforming the silver-green landscape into a golden monoculture. This dramatically increased grazing capacity, by 800% in Elko, Nevada, alone, according to a 1954 USDA report.

While contemporary rangeland science has increasingly acknowledged ecological needs, its foundational ties to livestock economics persist. Oregon State University’s rangeland science extension center in Burns, for instance, explicitly states its mission to "maintain a robust and sustainable cattle industry in Oregon." Scientists like Kauffman and Rosentreter report difficulties in securing funding for studies that critically examine grazing’s ecological impacts. Kauffman faced calls for his removal from Oregon State University after publishing studies on grazing degradation, underscoring the "unprecedented pressure" on publicly funded scientists to align with the cattle industry. The industry also directly funds research; a June 2025 report by the U.S. Geological Survey and the University of Idaho’s Rangeland Center, which controversially concluded that livestock grazing on federal land in Idaho did not negatively impact sage grouse nesting success, received substantial in-kind donations from ranching advocacy groups like the Public Lands Council and Idaho Cattle Association. These groups subsequently urged the BLM to incorporate the report’s findings into its sage grouse management plans, which the agency did, despite the BLM’s assertion that it does "not rely solely on any single publication." Kaitlynn Glover, an executive director for both industry groups, publicly claimed the report validated ranchers’ long-held belief that grazing improves landscapes and sustains sage grouse.

Today, over 200 million acres, or 85%, of Western public lands are grazed by livestock, predominantly beef cattle. Industry leaders often argue for the compatibility of ranching with sage grouse conservation, epitomized by the slogan "What’s good for the bird is good for the herd." Some scientists, like Skyler Vold, a sage grouse biologist at the Oregon Department of Fish and Wildlife, and the BLM, echo this sentiment, stating that "well-managed livestock grazing is not considered a threat to greater sage-grouse habitat or survival." However, the definition of "well-managed" remains contentious. Erik Molvar, executive director of the Western Watersheds Project, argues there is "so little well-managed livestock grazing in the American West" that the concept is almost moot.

Land managers classify grazing levels as light, moderate, or heavy based on vegetation consumption, but measuring this accurately across vast federal allotments, some exceeding 250,000 acres, often relies on "ocular assessments"—essentially, educated guesses. While the BLM claims to use "multiple data collection and assessment methods," resource limitations often dictate reliance on less precise techniques. The BLM typically permits cows to consume 50% of native plants and 60% of non-native plants annually. However, a seminal 1999 paper, still considered relevant by many scientists, concluded that a 50% utilization rate, while potentially "moderate" in wetter regions like Southern pine forests, actively degrades semi-arid ecosystems such as the sagebrush steppe. For these dry environments, moderate grazing is defined as 35% to 45% vegetation consumption, and improvement requires even lower rates of 30% to 35%—significantly less than current BLM allowances. The recent University of Idaho study, supported by ranching interests, reported an average consumption of just 22%, a level considered light grazing and rarely practiced on public lands.

Targeted grazing, where cattle are isolated in small, frequently moved pastures to reduce invasive grasses, has shown promise in research from Oregon State University’s extension center in Burns. However, this intensive management is challenging to implement on large public allotments. Austin Smith, natural resources director for the Confederated Tribes of the Warm Springs in central Oregon, explains that while targeted grazing can control invasive species when native grasses are dormant, cattle must then be removed to allow native plants to recover. He notes that on BLM lands, "they just hammer the heck out of it." The science indicates that grazing can both harm and potentially help sage grouse habitat, but its impact hinges entirely on careful management, a responsibility the BLM has often struggled to uphold due to staffing shortages. Data from the nonprofit Public Employees for Environmental Responsibility (PEER) reveals 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 BLM had not conducted environmental reviews for nearly two-thirds of its grazing permits, prompting Teeman to declare, "I think it’s a failed system."

In a hopeful demonstration of ecological recovery, Collin Williams and Matthew Hanneman, wildlife biologists for the Burns Paiute Tribe, conduct dawn tallies of sage grouse on BLM land east of Burns, Oregon. Their observations are part of a collaborative effort with the Oregon Department of Fish and Wildlife to monitor populations. Roughly five miles from these leks lies Jonesboro, a tribally owned property of 6,385 acres, reacquired in 2000 along with the 1,760-acre Logan Valley, both part of unceded ancestral lands. The tribe has diligently worked to restore these properties for wildlife, providing vital access for tribal hunting and gathering. Teeman emphasizes the Paiute approach to ecosystem stewardship: "We don’t just consider the management of things in terms of their value to us… 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 tribal reacquisition, Jonesboro suffered from decades of livestock grazing, leading to weed infestation and juniper encroachment, exacerbated by federal fire-suppression policies. The tribe has actively reversed this colonial legacy, implementing practices that could serve as models for federal lands. Fencing has been removed, junipers cut to create open sagebrush habitat, and native plants like sagebrush, yarrow, rabbitbrush, and buckwheat planted. Weed removal, particularly of cheatgrass and medusahead, involves a multi-pronged strategy of mowing, burning, herbicide application, and targeted grazing. While the tribe subleases its 21,242 acres of BLM allotments and 4,154 acres of state grazing allotments to local ranchers for income, their primary focus remains "wildlife and wildlife conservation," as Williams states. They permit only one-third of the cattle allowed under their BLM permit, using grazing specifically to target weeds and clear thatch during native grass dormancy. Pastures are also regularly rested from cattle, with animals grazing in small, fenced areas for limited periods before removal, a stark contrast to the continuous grazing common on federal lands. Photographs from 2007 to 2018 document Jonesboro’s remarkable transformation: a greener landscape, burgeoning riparian vegetation, and increasing bunchgrasses.

Similarly, the Shoshone-Bannock Tribes, under 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 designated 20,500 acres of reservation rangelands and an additional 33,000 acres of conservation land as off-limits to grazing, and are considering prohibiting cattle from specific sage grouse mating sites. Preston Buckskin, the tribes’ land-use director, navigates the complex balance between traditional conservation values and the economic realities of ranching for some tribal families. The tribes’ Office of Public Affairs emphasizes that "effective conservation outcomes depend on collaboration among producers, land managers, and tribes rather than placing responsibility on any single group." One potential compromise being explored is a program to compensate landowners for relinquishing grazing rights, an approach also advocated by non-Native conservation organizations like the Western Watersheds Project, with recent legislative proposals introduced in Congress. Furthermore, the Shoshone-Bannock Tribes are developing a land-use plan that would reclassify certain "rangeland" areas on the reservation as "wildlands," ensuring their valuation for wildlife and tribal hunting. Denny asserts, "Words shape expectations," explaining that "rangeland" implies livestock use, a meaning imposed by a different way of thinking, while "sagebrush steppe" more accurately reflects the ecosystem’s inherent value.

The success story of Hart Mountain National Antelope Refuge in southern Oregon provides a powerful precedent. In the early 1990s, the refuge was severely overgrazed. When manager Barry Reiswig made the controversial decision to prohibit cattle, he faced intense local opposition. Yet, within 12 years, the landscape, grazed for 120 years, began to heal itself: aspens increased by 64%, wildflowers by 68%, and bare soil decreased by 90% in 23 years, with rushes and willows quadrupling, according to Forest Service and Oregon State University studies. 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 chicks commonly observed. This remarkable recovery led the 2015 study to conclude 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, making it challenging to confront the issue head-on. Denny believes that "We’ve got to get uncomfortable talking about the truth," and that tribes can spearhead this conversation, offering their homelands as models for navigating these complex challenges. However, ultimate progress hinges on the federal government’s willingness to enact meaningful policy reforms. A spring day in Logan Valley, a tribally owned property north of the Malheur River headwaters, illustrates this ongoing struggle. Here, a few sage grouse have found an unexpected summer haven in a portion of the valley that has been largely ungrazed since the tribe reacquired it in 2000. Mountain big sage, the birds’ preferred species, thrives on gentle slopes above a creek, with wildflowers blooming in the meadows. Despite being surrounded by lodgepole and ponderosa pines, a less typical habitat, grouse persist, prompting tribal biologists to seek grants for transmitters to study their movements and conserve migration corridors. The tribe has already hand-cut 60 acres of pines to maintain open sagebrush habitat and hopes to reintroduce cultural burning. While only a 300-acre meadow is grazed to control a non-native grass introduced by settlers, the property’s border with federal land, where the Forest Service permits grazing from June to October, creates persistent challenges. Old fencing allows trespassing cattle, necessitating temporary barriers. On a mid-May site visit, Hanneman discovered a dozen black cows already on tribal land, two weeks ahead of schedule and before temporary fencing could be erected. Despite the tribes’ dedicated efforts, the pervasive issue of uncontrolled grazing on adjacent federal lands continues to undermine their conservation successes, highlighting the deep-seated conflict between traditional ecological stewardship and industrial land use in the Western landscape.