Lytle Denny, a member of the Shoshone-Bannock Tribes, developed a profound connection to the high-desert landscape of southeastern Idaho during childhood hunting expeditions, meticulously learning the habitats of blue, ruffed, sharp-tailed, and greater sage grouse across his ancestral homelands. While his father pursued larger game like deer and elk, Denny found himself drawn to the elusive grouse, moving silently through the silver-green sagebrush, anticipating the sudden flush of wings that signaled a bird’s presence. These family hunts were communal, a shared experience where the quiet pursuit of grouse often led to sightings of other mammals, reinforcing the interconnectedness of the ecosystem in his young mind.

However, as Denny matured, he witnessed a stark and troubling decline in sage grouse populations. These distinctive, chicken-sized birds, revered by the Shoshone-Bannock for their cultural significance as sources of song, dance, stories, and sustenance, became increasingly rare. Denny also observed a parallel decrease in other native species, including ground squirrels and mule deer. He noted the encroachment of agricultural developments, replacing vast stretches of vital sagebrush habitat near the reservation, while increasing numbers of cattle grazed the area. This intensification of land use coincided with escalating droughts and more frequent, devastating wildfires, further altering the delicate ecological balance.

By his late teens, Denny’s observations solidified his resolve to pursue a career in fish and wildlife biology. He delved into understanding the complex conflicts between sage grouse and cattle. The birds’ iconic spring mating rituals, performed on traditional open grounds known as leks, are a marvel of the natural world: males inflate bright yellow air sacs on their chests, producing inimitable popping sounds and rhythmic wing beats in a captivating display. Yet, Denny saw firsthand how livestock grazing disrupted these ancient traditions, with ranchers sometimes driving ATVs onto leks to distribute salt licks for cows, driving the sensitive sage grouse away while their sharp-tailed cousins persisted. "Why are we letting this happen?" Denny questioned, realizing his inherent value lay not in livestock but in the health of the land, its plants, and its native animals. Today, at 46, Denny holds a pivotal role as the deputy executive director of the Shoshone-Bannock Tribes’ Natural Resources Division, where his personal history fuels the ongoing efforts to protect the sagebrush steppe. He no longer hunts sage grouse, instead pausing to observe whenever he encounters one, a rare and cherished sight.

The plight of the greater sage grouse epitomizes a larger ecological crisis unfolding across the high-desert sagebrush steppe of the American West, a vast expanse stretching across Nevada, Idaho, Oregon, and Utah. This critical ecosystem, ancestral territory to the Shoshone-Bannock and Burns Paiute Tribes, has seen an alarming 80% decline in sage grouse populations since 1965, with the Great Basin experiencing the most severe losses. Once numbering an estimated 16 million birds across 13 U.S. states and three Canadian provinces before the arrival of non-Native settlers in the mid-1800s, only about 350,000 remain today, according to the International Union for Conservation of Nature. This precipitous drop underscores the species’ precarious status as a keystone indicator of ecosystem health. Half of their original habitat has vanished, fragmented and degraded by agricultural expansion, cattle pastures, invasive grasses, mining operations, and oil and gas development. Despite decades of advocacy and repeated, unsuccessful attempts to secure federal endangered species listing, the sage grouse remains at the center of contentious land-use debates and legal battles.

The Bureau of Land Management (BLM), the federal agency tasked with overseeing the majority of remaining sage grouse habitat, frequently attributes the species’ decline to habitat loss and degradation stemming from drought, wildfire, and invasive grasses. However, federal officials often omit a crucial underlying factor: livestock grazing, which represents 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 contributes less than 2% of the nation’s total beef supply. Disturbingly, nearly all of the remaining sage grouse habitat remains open to grazing, perpetuating the very pressures that threaten their survival.

Indigenous tribal members and dedicated scientists, including Lytle Denny, along with non-Native advocacy organizations like the Western Watersheds Project, are increasingly demanding a critical 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 biodiversity, which supports mule deer, jackrabbits, and the sagebrush itself. Diane Teeman, a Burns Paiute tribal elder and former manager of the tribe’s Culture and Heritage Department, poignantly states that "cows are an invasive species" in this environment. She contends that pervasive grazing inflicts "permanent damage to a lot of things here," challenging the deeply ingrained settler-colonial narrative that frames the West as inherently "cattle country."

The threat posed by grazing intensified under the previous administration, which in July rescinded a BLM policy prioritizing environmental reviews of grazing in critical at-risk species habitats. Further, an October plan from the U.S. departments of Interior and Agriculture called for expanding grazing acreage on BLM and Forest Service lands. By December, the BLM finalized new sage grouse management plans for key Western states, including Idaho, Nevada, and Wyoming, which significantly ease restrictions on oil, gas, and mining development. These plans also eliminated a prior requirement for ranchers in Idaho, California, and Nevada to maintain grasses at least seven inches tall, a crucial protective measure for grouse nests against predators. These policy shifts reflect a broader trend of prioritizing commercial interests over ecological safeguards, raising alarm among conservationists.

In stark contrast to federal policies, the Burns Paiute and Shoshone-Bannock Tribes are actively developing and implementing alternative land management models designed to mitigate grazing impacts on native flora and fauna, including the sage grouse. The Burns Paiute Tribe has substantially reduced the number of cattle permitted to graze on tribal lands, demonstrating immediate positive ecological responses. Similarly, the Shoshone-Bannock Tribes are undertaking a comprehensive reevaluation of herd sizes on reservation lands. The promising results from these tribal initiatives underscore the potential for significant benefits to native wildlife when cattle numbers are restricted. However, extending such efforts to broader public lands would necessitate dismantling generations of entrenched beliefs about the role of grazing in the Western landscape. As Denny observes, cows are inextricably woven into the fabric of Western colonial identity, and challenging their presence "is to go straight against settler-colonial values." He frames the ongoing conflict as a fundamental "battle…whose values are getting precedence over whose."

The sagebrush steppe, often overlooked for its subtle beauty, is not characterized by the towering forests of the Pacific Northwest but by its intricate diversity closer to the ground. This pastel-green landscape, sparsely dotted with juniper trees, thrives on an understory rich with yellow hawksbeard, purple sagebrush mariposa lilies, and the vital biological soil crusts. These minuscule crusts, a living mosaic of lichens, mosses, green algae, and cyanobacteria, act as the ecosystem’s organic armor, crucial for retaining moisture, cycling nutrients, and preventing invasive plant species. Their fragility means that when these crusts are disturbed, the entire plant community suffers. As Diane Teeman emphasizes, "There is a delicate balance" in these "fragile" soils.

In a healthy, undisturbed high-desert environment, soil crusts carpet the ground in vibrant clumps, with sagebrush growing scattered among thriving bunchgrasses. Under this modest canopy, sage grouse find refuge, laying their speckled eggs in ground nests concealed by tall grasses, which offer essential protection from predators like ravens and coyotes. Abundant wildflowers support a rich insect population, providing critical food for both adult grouse and their vulnerable chicks. However, generations of intensive cattle grazing have dramatically altered this vast landscape. Large herds compact the fragile soils, transforming soft, permeable ground into hard, dry surfaces that can no longer absorb and retain moisture effectively. This exacerbates drought conditions and intensifies the wildfire cycle. Oregon State University ecologist Boone Kauffman vividly describes the contrast: "You walk across a grazed area, and it’s like walking on a parking lot. In an ungrazed area…it’s like walking on a marshmallow."

Cattle also play a significant role in spreading invasive cheatgrass, an annual grass that outcompetes native species, turning entire hillsides a distinctive maroon in spring. Sage grouse and most other native wildlife actively avoid areas heavily infested with cheatgrass. This invasive species began its widespread colonization of the West in the late 1800s, partly facilitated by livestock: its seeds cling to animals’ hooves and hides, and their trampling breaks down protective soil crusts, creating ideal conditions for cheatgrass germination in areas already depleted of native grasses. Furthermore, cows voraciously consume native bunchgrasses, removing the vital cover that protects sage grouse nests from predators. They congregate near water sources, trampling streambanks and devouring wildflowers, willows, and aspens—plants essential to riparian areas that typically serve as critical desert oases, supporting a wealth of plant and animal life. Roger Rosentreter, a retired BLM Idaho state botanist, laments that "Every riparian area in the West has been hammered."

The direct impacts extend to infrastructure as well: water troughs built for cattle can become death traps where sage grouse and other birds drown. Barbed-wire fences pose a constant hazard, snagging wings and sometimes decapitating grouse. Even insecticides, applied to protect forage for cattle, inadvertently decimate grasshoppers and crickets, which are crucial food sources for grouse chicks. "Those cumulative effects of grazing," Rosentreter concludes, "are sealing the coffin on so many of our native wildlife."

Ranching’s dominance over the American West began in the mid-1800s, a period marked by the federal government’s aggressive westward expansion policies and the forced removal of Indigenous peoples from their ancestral lands. This era enabled cattle barons to establish vast ranching empires. Hundreds of thousands of cows grazed the tall bunchgrasses of the sagebrush steppe, a landscape that newcomers and government officials rebranded as "the range," a term that evolved into "rangeland" and is now widely used. While some rangeland scientists, like Karen Launchbaugh of the University of Idaho, consider it an ecological term, other scholars argue its origins are inherently colonial. Nathan Sayre, a geography professor at the University of California, Berkeley, asserts in his 2023 book on rangeland history that "Rangelands are inescapably implicated in the conquest and settlement of North America."

The field of rangeland science itself developed in close association with the livestock industry. By the early 1900s, unchecked livestock herds had severely denuded 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. In response, USDA scientists began researching non-native grasses and forage crops suitable for the high desert, and universities throughout the West established range-management programs to support the struggling livestock industry. This research, heavily backed by federal funding, laid the foundation for many of the laws and policies that continue to govern Western rangelands today.

A cornerstone of these early government range-management programs involved extensively 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 embarked on widespread sagebrush eradication efforts, spraying herbicides over millions of acres in states like Idaho, Oregon, Montana, Colorado, Nevada, California, Utah, and Wyoming. These areas were then reseeded with crested wheatgrass, transforming the native silver-green landscape into monocultures of gold. As a direct consequence, grazing capacity skyrocketed across the region; a 1954 USDA report indicated an astounding 800% increase in Elko, Nevada, alone.

Although contemporary rangeland science has begun to incorporate a greater understanding of ecological needs, its foundational emphasis often remains tethered to livestock economics. For instance, Oregon State University’s rangeland science extension center in Burns explicitly states on its webpage that it "helps maintain a robust and sustainable cattle industry in Oregon." Both Rosentreter and Kauffman confirm the difficulty of securing funding for studies that critically investigate the ecological impacts of grazing. Kauffman recounted that after publishing two studies in 2022 that found grazing degraded public land, local cattle industry leaders called for his dismissal from Oregon State University, highlighting "unprecedented pressure…on state and federally funded scientists to not go against the cattle industry."

The livestock industry has not only influenced policy but also directly funded scientific research. A June 2025 report by the U.S. Geological Survey and the University of Idaho’s Rangeland Center, which concluded that livestock grazing on federal land in Idaho did not negatively affect sage grouse nesting success, received significant in-kind donations of equipment—including trucks, ATVs, and laptops—from ranching advocacy groups like the Public Lands Council and Idaho Cattle Association, according to a co-author. Notably, in March 2024, prior to the report’s official publication, these same industry groups issued a statement urging the BLM to integrate its findings into new sage grouse management plans, which the agency subsequently did in its December finalized plans. While BLM press secretary Brian Hires stated the agency "does not rely solely on any single publication" for habitat management decisions, he declined to comment on whether industry pressure influenced the report’s inclusion. Kaitlynn Glover, an executive director of government affairs for both industry groups, asserted in an RFD-TV interview that the report scientifically validated ranchers’ long-held belief that grazing improves landscapes and sustains sage grouse populations.

Today, livestock, primarily beef cattle, graze over 200 million acres—an estimated 85%—of Western public lands. Industry leaders often promote the idea that ranchers are integral to sage grouse conservation, citing the shared need for open land. Tom Sharp, a prominent Oregon rancher, coined the popular tagline: "What’s good for the bird is good for the herd," a sentiment echoed by some scientists, including Skyler Vold, a sage grouse biologist at the Oregon Department of Fish and Wildlife, who generally considers livestock grazing "very compatible with sage grouse conservation."

Some rangeland scientists and the BLM maintain that modern grazing practices have advanced to a point where they no longer degrade the landscape. BLM press secretary Brian Hires affirmed that "Well-managed livestock grazing is not considered a threat to greater sage-grouse habitat or survival." However, the definition of "well-managed" grazing remains highly contested. Erik Molvar, executive director of the Western Watersheds Project, a nonprofit focusing on 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 on a BLM grazing allotment annually. However, accurately measuring this consumption across vast federal allotments, some spanning over 250,000 acres, presents a significant challenge. The BLM often relies on "ocular assessments," essentially visually estimating plant consumption, which Molvar critically labels a "wild guess." The BLM, for its part, states it "employs multiple data collection and assessment methods," acknowledging that the method used depends on factors including "the resources available to collect the information."

Current BLM permits often allow cows to consume 50% of native plants and 60% of non-native plants like crested wheatgrass annually. 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 the Southern pine forests of Georgia. However, in arid and semi-arid ecosystems like the sagebrush steppe, this level of consumption demonstrably degrades the land. The study defined moderate grazing in dry areas as 35% to 45% of vegetation. To genuinely improve rangeland conditions in these fragile environments, cattle would need to consume even less—a mere 30% to 35% of the vegetation, roughly 40% less than currently permitted by the BLM. The recent University of Idaho study, which concluded that grazing did not harm sage grouse (the report favored by ranching interests), based its findings on an average consumption rate of just 22% of plants, a level considered light grazing and rarely practiced by ranchers on public lands.

Research from Oregon State University’s extension center in Burns has explored targeted grazing as a method to reduce invasive grasses. This approach, however, demands ranchers to confine cattle to small, fenced pastures and rotate them frequently, a practice more feasible on private lands than on the sprawling, often unmonitored public allotments. Mark Salvo, program director for the Oregon Natural Desert Association, acknowledges 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, whose tribe leases some land for targeted grazing, emphasizes that successful management means allowing cows to consume invasive grasses in early spring, but then promptly removing them to allow native plants to recover and grow. On BLM lands, he notes, "they just hammer the heck out of it."

While science indicates that grazing can both harm and, under very specific, tightly controlled conditions, potentially aid sage grouse habitat, the critical determinant is "how it’s managed," according to Nada Wolff Culver, former principal deputy director of the BLM during the Biden administration. Yet, for decades, the BLM has been severely understaffed, rendering it incapable of adequately managing its vast grazing allotments. Data obtained by the nonprofit watchdog Public Employees for Environmental Responsibility (PEER) reveals that from 1997 through 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 brought by PEER and the Western Watersheds Project further alleged that the agency had failed to conduct environmental reviews for nearly two-thirds of its grazing permits. For Diane Teeman, the Burns Paiute tribal elder, this represents a "failed system."

In a forest clearing below the snowy Strawberry Mountains, near the headwaters of the Malheur River, Collin Williams, a non-Native wildlife biologist for the Burns Paiute Tribe, stepped out of his truck one April dawn, noting the surprisingly dry ground. Recent heavy snowmelt had caused flooding on the tribe’s reservation, but the above-average snowpack brought a welcome promise of more wildflowers and insects for sage grouse and their chicks. With his colleague, Matthew Hanneman, the tribe’s wildlife program manager, Williams scanned the area’s leks with binoculars. Approximately 60 male sage grouse performed their striking mating dances in the near-freezing air, their spherical forms and prominent white and brown feathers a stark contrast against the beige bunchgrasses.

Burns Paiute Tribe biologists have monitored sage grouse in this region since the early 2000s, collaborating with the Oregon Department of Fish and Wildlife. These leks are about five miles from Jonesboro, a 6,385-acre tribally owned property—part of their unceded ancestral lands reacquired in 2000, along with the 1,760-acre Logan Valley property. Tribal officials have diligently worked to restore both sites for wildlife, including grouse, mule deer, and elk, ensuring tribal members retain access for 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 the tribe’s acquisition, the Jonesboro site had endured decades of intensive livestock grazing, resulting in native vegetation being choked out by weeds. Federal fire-suppression policies combined with overgrazing had also led to an expansion of juniper trees. Since reacquiring the property, the tribe has systematically worked to reverse this colonial legacy, implementing restoration methods that offer a compelling model for federal lands. In the early 2000s, some fencing was removed. Tribal staff, including Williams and Hanneman, have overseen projects to cut junipers, creating crucial open spaces for grouse, which instinctively avoid forested areas. They have also undertaken extensive plantings of native sagebrush, yarrow, rabbitbrush, and buckwheat. However, weed removal, particularly targeting invasive cheatgrass and medusahead, has required the most intensive effort, employing mowing, controlled burns, herbicide application, and carefully managed grazing.

The Jonesboro site also came with 21,242 acres of BLM allotments and 4,154 acres of state grazing allotments. The tribe subleases these permits to local ranchers, generating some income, but their primary focus is not beef production. "Our focus is definitely wildlife and wildlife conservation," Williams asserts. 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. Williams explains that only certain areas are suitable for grazing, typically those near streams or springs—habitats critical for sage grouse and other wildlife. By reducing cattle numbers, native animals have access to more plants. The tribe also implements regular rest periods for Jonesboro pastures, with cows grazing for about 10 days in small, 40- to 60-acre fenced areas before being removed. On larger federal pastures subleased to local ranchers, the tribe mandates removal after one to two months. These concerted efforts are gradually transforming the property; photographs taken by tribal biologists between 2007 and 2018 show a visibly greener landscape, with riparian vegetation reclaiming abandoned roads and an increase in native bunchgrasses.

In southeastern Idaho, the Shoshone-Bannock Tribes, under Lytle Denny’s leadership, are similarly evaluating strategies to reduce grazing’s impact. Their Natural Resources Division is currently studying 320,000 acres of rangeland on the Fort Hall Indian Reservation to reassess optimal cattle numbers. While much of the reservation is grazed, only a third of the animals are owned by tribal members, some of whom come from ranching families. Approximately 20,500 acres of the reservation’s rangelands are currently off-limits to grazing, and the tribes also own an additional 33,000 acres of conservation land where grazing is prohibited. They have also considered barring cattle from specific 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, which sustains some families. The tribes’ Office of Public Affairs emphasized in a statement that while grazing’s impact on sage grouse habitat is significant, "effective conservation outcomes depend on collaboration among producers, land managers, and tribes rather than placing responsibility on any single group."

As a potential compromise, the tribal land-use department is exploring a program that would compensate landowners for ceasing grazing. This approach mirrors long-standing efforts by non-Native conservation organizations like the Western Watersheds Project on federal lands. Most recently, Democratic Representatives Adam Smith, Jared Huffman, and Eleanor Holmes Norton reintroduced legislation in October that would allow ranchers to voluntarily relinquish their grazing privileges in exchange for buyouts funded by private individuals or groups. Additionally, the Shoshone-Bannock Tribes are developing a land-use plan to reclassify certain areas on the reservation currently zoned as "rangelands" to "wildlands." This reclassification aims to formally acknowledge and elevate the land’s intrinsic value for wildlife and tribal hunting. As Denny points out, "Words shape expectations." The term "rangeland" inherently implies the land’s primary purpose is for livestock, carrying "a meaning imposed by a different way of thinking." He prefers the more ecologically descriptive term "sagebrush steppe."

The dramatic recovery of Hart Mountain National Antelope Refuge in southern Oregon provides a compelling precedent. In the early 1990s, the refuge was severely overgrazed. When then-manager Barry Reiswig made the controversial decision to prohibit cattle grazing on the property, he faced intense local opposition, characterized by some as the "epitome of evil," as chronicled in the 2019 documentary Rewilding a Mountain. Reiswig recalled being under "a lot of pressure to compromise, to kind of look the other way" regarding grazing’s impacts. Yet, within just 12 years, a landscape that had been grazed for 120 years began to repair itself with astonishing speed. Aspen stands increased by 64%, and wildflowers multiplied by 68%. A 2015 study by Forest Service and Oregon State University researchers documented a 90% decrease in bare soil over 23 years, with rushes and willows quadrupling. Today, Hart Mountain stands as one of the largest ungrazed areas in the Great Basin and a vital breeding ground for sage grouse in the West, where female grouse and their chicks are now common sights foraging in wet meadows. The 2015 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 prevents scientists and state and federal agency officials from even discussing the topic openly, Denny observes. He stresses the urgent need to "get uncomfortable talking about the truth." Indigenous tribes, he believes, are uniquely positioned to lead this conversation and demonstrate viable solutions. "We can use our homelands as, like, ‘This is the model for how you navigate this,’" Denny asserts. However, true progress ultimately hinges on the federal government’s willingness to fundamentally reform its deeply entrenched policies.

A spring day in Logan Valley on Burns Paiute land vividly illustrates this ongoing challenge. Just north of the Malheur River’s headwaters, a small population of sage grouse has found an unexpected summer home in a portion of the valley that has returned to tribal ownership. Here, their preferred mountain big sage thrives on a gentle slope above a creek, and by mid-May, bluebells and yellow groundsels—wildflowers favored by grouse—begin to bloom. The presence of these grouse remains somewhat of a mystery to Hanneman, as the open valley is surrounded by lodgepole and ponderosa pines, posing risks from predators like Cooper’s hawks and goshawks, and the closest known lek is 10 miles away. To understand their movements and inform conservation efforts for their migration corridor, the tribe secured a grant to place transmitters on grouse this summer. Recognizing that federal fire-suppression policies over the past century have allowed trees to encroach on the area, the tribe has hand-cut 60 acres of pines to maintain open sagebrush habitat and hopes to reintroduce cultural burning to the meadows.

Most of the 1,760-acre Logan Valley property has been ungrazed since the tribe reacquired it in 2000, with cattle only permitted on a 300-acre meadow to control a non-native grass introduced by settlers for hay and forage. However, the tribal property forms a "Y" shape, following creeks that merge to form the Malheur River, and it directly borders federal land managed by the Forest Service, which allows cows to graze from June to October. Trespassing cattle have been a persistent problem for years due to old fencing. The tribe erects a temporary fence in late May to deter cattle once they return to the neighboring federal property in June. On a site visit in mid-May, Hanneman unexpectedly encountered a dozen black cows on tribal land. "I did not know they put cattle out already," he remarked, realizing the animals had arrived two weeks early, breaching the as-yet-unerected temporary fence. Despite the tribe’s diligent efforts, the pervasive influence of federal grazing policies on adjacent lands continues to pose a formidable challenge to their conservation goals.