Lytle Denny, a member of the Shoshone-Bannock Tribes, developed a profound connection to the high-desert landscape of southeastern Idaho during childhood hunting trips, learning the precise habitats of various grouse species from his ancestral homelands. While his father pursued larger game like deer and elk, Denny found himself drawn to the distinctive grouse, moving silently through the silver-green sagebrush, anticipating the sudden flush of startled birds that often heralded the presence of other wildlife. This holistic approach to hunting, where the family observed for both birds and mammals, underscored an inherent understanding of the interconnectedness of the ecosystem.

However, as Denny matured, a concerning trend emerged: a noticeable decline in greater sage grouse populations. These remarkable, chicken-sized birds, adorned with thick white chest feathers and distinctive brown, sunbeam-shaped tail feathers, hold deep cultural significance for the Shoshone-Bannock people, woven into their songs, dances, stories, and serving as a traditional food source. The observed reduction extended beyond sage grouse, encompassing other vital species such as ground squirrels and mule deer. Denny witnessed the steady encroachment of agricultural expansion, replacing critical sagebrush habitat, and an alarming increase in cattle grazing, which coincided with escalating drought conditions and a rise in devastating wildfires.

This firsthand experience fueled Denny’s determination to pursue a career in fish and wildlife biology. He delved into the complex conflicts between sage grouse conservation and the pervasive practice of cattle grazing. Each spring, sage grouse males return faithfully to their traditional open mating grounds, known as leks, to perform one of North America’s most captivating courtship rituals. Here, they inflate large yellow air sacs on their chests, gulping air and producing a series of loud swishes and inimitable popping sounds, a display designed to attract mates. Yet, Denny observed how livestock grazing disrupted this ancient ritual; in some instances, ranchers drove ATVs directly onto active leks, scattering salt licks for their herds. While sharp-tailed grouse persisted in their mating dances, the sensitive sage grouse abandoned these disturbed areas. "I started asking questions like, ‘Why are we letting this happen?’" Denny recalled, emphasizing his intrinsic value for the land’s native plants and animals over livestock interests. Today, at 46, Denny no longer hunts sage grouse, stopping to observe whenever he encounters one, a testament to their increasingly rare presence. He now serves as the deputy executive director of the Shoshone-Bannock Tribes’ Natural Resources Division, spearheading efforts to confront the ecological impact of cattle grazing. Both the Shoshone-Bannock and the Burns Paiute Tribe of southeastern Oregon are actively addressing these challenges within the expansive high-desert sagebrush steppe, the ancestral territory of the Shoshone-Bannock, a confederation of the Eastern and Western bands of the Northern Shoshone and the Bannock tribes, or Northern Paiute.

Since 1965, sage grouse populations across the American West have plummeted by a staggering 80%, with the most severe declines recorded in the Great Basin region, which spans Nevada and parts of Idaho, Oregon, and Utah. These birds are recognized as a keystone species, meaning their health serves as a critical indicator of the overall ecological vitality of their sagebrush ecosystem. For decades, their plight has ignited intense litigation and land-use disputes, prompting repeated, though unsuccessful, attempts to secure federal endangered species protection. Historical estimates suggest that as many as 16 million sage grouse may have inhabited 13 U.S. states and three Canadian provinces before the arrival of non-Native settlers in the mid-1800s. Currently, only about 350,000 remain, according to the International Union for Conservation of Nature. Compounding this crisis, roughly half of the species’ original habitat has vanished, transformed into agricultural land, cattle pastures, invasive grass monocultures, mining operations, and oil and gas fields.

The Bureau of Land Management (BLM), the federal agency tasked with overseeing the vast majority of remaining sage grouse habitat, primarily attributes these declines to habitat loss and degradation exacerbated by drought, wildfire, and invasive grasses. However, federal officials frequently omit livestock grazing – the most widespread commercial land use in the West by acreage – as a significant underlying factor. Powerful ranching interests, often concentrated among large corporations such as the multinational conglomerate J.R. Simplot Co., a major potato supplier, wield considerable influence over federal land-management policy. This influence persists despite the fact that cattle grazing on public lands contributes less than 2% to the nation’s total beef supply. Disturbingly, nearly all of the remaining critical sage grouse habitat remains open to grazing.

Many tribal members and scientists, including Lytle Denny, alongside non-Native advocacy organizations like 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 biodiversity, including sagebrush itself, mule deer, and jackrabbits. While settler-colonial narratives have long portrayed the West’s sagebrush steppe as quintessential "cattle country," Diane Teeman, a Burns Paiute tribal elder and former manager of the tribe’s Culture and Heritage Department, starkly asserts that "cows are an invasive species." Teeman contends that grazing inflicts "permanent damage to a lot of things here."

The threat posed by grazing intensified significantly 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 proposing the expansion of acreage open to grazing on BLM and Forest Service lands. Subsequently, in December, the BLM finalized new sage grouse management plans for several Western states, including Idaho, Nevada, and Wyoming, which eased restrictions on oil, gas, and mining activities and eliminated a prior requirement for ranchers in Idaho, California, and Nevada to maintain grasses at least seven inches tall to protect grouse nests from predators.

In stark contrast, the Burns Paiute and Shoshone-Bannock tribes are actively demonstrating alternative models for reducing grazing impact on the landscape. The Burns Paiute Tribe has drastically curtailed the number of cattle permitted to graze on tribal lands, while the Shoshone-Bannock Tribes are undertaking a comprehensive reevaluation of herd sizes on their reservation lands. The initial results of these tribal initiatives are highly encouraging, illustrating the tangible benefits that restricting cattle can bring to native wildlife, including the imperiled sage grouse. However, extending such efforts to broader public lands would necessitate dismantling generations of deeply entrenched beliefs about grazing’s indispensable role in the Western identity. As Denny observes, cattle are fundamentally interwoven into the very fabric of Western colonial identity, and challenging their presence "is to go straight against settler-colonial values." He succinctly frames the core of the conflict: "That’s the real battle, whose values are getting precedence over whose."

The sagebrush steppe, often misunderstood and overlooked, is not a dramatic landscape characterized by towering forests like the Pacific Northwest’s coastal regions. Instead, it presents as a subtly vibrant, pastel-green expanse, frequently observed as a blurred backdrop from two-lane highways. Sparse juniper trees offer occasional shade for resting mule deer, while the defining feature, sagebrush – a branching, aromatic shrub with narrow, lobed leaves – rarely exceeds five feet in height. The true ecological richness and diversity of this ecosystem thrive closer to the ground, where the understory bursts with the blossoms of yellow hawksbeard and purple sagebrush mariposa lilies, interspersed with the intricate, multi-colored flecks of biological soil crusts.

These minuscule, yet vital, biological soil crusts – complex communities of lichens, mosses, green algae, and cyanobacteria – are paramount to the ecosystem’s health. Functioning as a living organic armor, these crusts play a crucial role in retaining moisture, facilitating nutrient cycling, and actively preventing the invasion of non-native plant species. When these delicate crusts are fragmented and destroyed, the entire native plant community begins to unravel. Diane Teeman, the Burns Paiute tribal elder, emphasized this fragility, stating, "There is a delicate balance."

In a thriving high-desert ecosystem, biological soil crusts form cohesive clumps across the ground. Sagebrush grows in scattered formations, with native bunchgrasses filling the spaces between. Under the modest canopy of sagebrush, sage grouse find shelter and lay their speckled eggs in ground nests, carefully concealed by tall grasses that provide vital protection against predators like ravens and coyotes. An abundance of wildflowers supports diverse insect populations, both of which serve as crucial food sources for sage grouse and their chicks.

However, over generations, extensive cattle grazing has profoundly altered this expansive landscape. Large herds compact the fragile soils, transforming the ground into a hard, arid surface. This compaction severely diminishes the land’s capacity to absorb and retain water, thereby exacerbating drought conditions and fueling a destructive cycle of more frequent and intense wildfires. Boone Kauffman, an Oregon State University ecologist, vividly contrasts the effect: "You walk across a grazed area, and it’s like walking on a parking lot," he explains, while an ungrazed area feels like "walking on a marshmallow."

Cattle also act as vectors for the spread of invasive cheatgrass, which aggressively outcompetes native grasses and dyes entire hillsides a distinctive maroon in spring. Sage grouse and most other native wildlife instinctively avoid areas heavily infested with cheatgrass. This invasive species began its rapid expansion across the West in the late 1800s, partly facilitated by livestock: its seeds readily cling to animals’ hooves and hides, and when those hooves break the delicate soil crusts in areas already weakened by overgrazing and depleted native grasses, it creates ideal conditions for cheatgrass germination.

Beyond spreading invasives, cows indiscriminately devour native bunchgrasses, removing essential cover and exposing vulnerable sage grouse nests to predators. They congregate near vital water sources, trampling streambanks and consuming wildflowers, willows, and aspens. These riparian areas, which naturally serve as critical oases in the arid desert, are normally teeming with diverse plant and animal life, providing essential food, water, and shade. Roger Rosentreter, a retired BLM Idaho state botanist, laments, "Every riparian area in the West has been hammered." Furthermore, water troughs constructed for cattle pose drowning hazards for sage grouse and other birds. Barbed-wire fences injure grouse, snagging their wings and sometimes even severing their heads. Insecticides, often applied to protect forage for cattle, inadvertently kill the grasshoppers and crickets that are an indispensable food source 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 Western landscape commenced in the mid-1800s. Empowered by federal government policies promoting westward expansion and the forcible displacement of Indigenous peoples, cattle barons established vast ranching empires on what were previously tribal lands. Hundreds of thousands of cattle subsequently grazed the tall bunchgrasses of the sagebrush steppe, a region newcomers and the government began referring to as "the range," a term that later evolved into "rangeland" and is now widely used to describe this unique ecosystem. While rangeland scientists like Karen Launchbaugh, a professor at the University of Idaho, consider it an ecological term, other scholars argue its inherently colonial nature. Nathan Sayre, a geography professor at the University of California, Berkeley, articulated this perspective in a 2023 book on rangeland history, stating that "Rangelands are inescapably implicated in the conquest and settlement of North America."

The discipline of rangeland science developed in close alignment with the burgeoning livestock industry. By the early 1900s, unchecked livestock herds had decimated native vegetation across the West, prompting ranchers to seek assistance. A 1934 report by the U.S. Department of Agriculture 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 high-desert environments, and universities throughout the West established range-management programs specifically designed to support the 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 today.

A cornerstone of early government range-management 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 herbicides across several million acres in Idaho, Oregon, Montana, Colorado, Nevada, California, Utah, and Wyoming, then reseeding these areas with crested wheatgrass. This transformation from silver-green native sagebrush to golden non-native grasses dramatically increased grazing capacity across the region – by an astonishing 800% in Elko, Nevada, alone, according to a 1954 USDA report.

While contemporary rangeland science has evolved to incorporate a greater awareness of ecological needs, the field largely remains anchored in livestock economics. For instance, Oregon State University’s rangeland science extension center in Burns openly states on its website that it "helps maintain a robust and sustainable cattle industry in Oregon." Both Rosentreter and Kauffman confirm the difficulty in securing funding for studies that rigorously investigate the ecological impacts of grazing. Kauffman recounted that after publishing two studies in 2022 that highlighted grazing’s degradation of public land, local cattle industry leaders called for his dismissal from Oregon State University. He noted, "There’s a real pressure, and probably unprecedented pressure at the moment, on state and federally funded scientists to not go against the cattle industry."

The livestock industry also actively funds 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 affect sage grouse nesting success. However, two prominent ranching advocacy groups, the Public Lands Council and Idaho Cattle Association, were among the report’s primary funders, providing substantial in-kind donations including trucks, ATVs, camper trailers, and laptops, as confirmed by Courtney Conway, a USGS wildlife biologist and co-author. In March 2024, prior to the report’s official publication, these industry groups released a statement urging the BLM to integrate its findings into their sage grouse management plans, which the agency subsequently did in the plans finalized in December. 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. On a rural community network, Kaitlynn Glover, an executive director of government affairs for both industry groups, asserted that the report validated ranchers’ long-held belief that grazing enhances landscape health and sustains sage grouse populations. "But we needed the science to prove it," she added.

Today, over 200 million acres – approximately 85% – of Western public lands are grazed by livestock, predominantly beef cattle. Leaders within the livestock industry have consistently argued that ranchers are integral to sage grouse conservation, positing that cows, like sage grouse, require open land for foraging. Prominent Oregon rancher Tom Sharp coined the widely adopted tagline, "What’s good for the bird is good for the herd," a sentiment echoed by some scientists. Skyler Vold, a sage grouse biologist at the Oregon Department of Fish and Wildlife, stated, "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. Brian Hires of the BLM asserted in an emailed statement 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 contentious. Erik Molvar, executive director of the Western Watersheds Project, a nonprofit focused on grazing’s ecological impact on public lands, expressed skepticism: "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 classify grazing levels as light, moderate, or heavy, based on the proportion of vegetation consumed by livestock annually on a given BLM grazing allotment. Accurately measuring this across vast areas, with some federal allotments spanning 250,000 acres or more, presents a significant challenge. The BLM often relies on "ocular assessments," essentially visually estimating plant consumption, a method Molvar dismisses as "a wild guess" in scientific terms. The BLM, however, maintains that it "employs multiple data collection and assessment methods," with the specific approach dependent on factors including "the resources available to collect the information."

The BLM currently permits cows to consume 50% of native plants annually on the majority of federal allotments, and 60% of non-native species like crested wheatgrass. A frequently cited 1999 paper, which scientists like Rosentreter still deem relevant, concluded that a 50% utilization rate might be classified as "moderate" – meaning it sustains landscape conditions – in areas with higher precipitation, such as the Southern pine forests of Georgia. However, in semi-arid ecosystems like the sagebrush steppe, this level of consumption demonstrably degrades the land. The study defined moderate grazing in dry areas as consuming only 35% to 45% of the vegetation. To actively improve rangeland conditions in these environments, cows would need to consume even less – a mere 30% to 35% – roughly 40% less than the BLM currently permits. Notably, in the recent University of Idaho study, which concluded that grazing did not harm sage grouse and received industry support, cows consumed, on average, just 22% of plants, a level considered light grazing and rarely practiced by ranchers on public land.

Research from Oregon State University’s extension center in Burns has indicated that targeted grazing can effectively reduce invasive grasses. This method, however, demands that ranchers confine cattle to small, fenced pastures and move them frequently, a practice common on private land but exceedingly difficult to implement on expansive public allotments. Mark Salvo, program director for the Oregon Natural Desert Association, a conservation nonprofit, remarked, "Sometimes the research is pointing to or identifying tools that are, under our current system, almost impossible to implement." Austin Smith, natural resources director and a member of the Confederated Tribes of the Warm Springs in central Oregon, elaborated that for grazing to genuinely mitigate invasive grasses, it must be meticulously managed. The Confederated Tribes of the Warm Springs lease some of their land to local ranchers in the John Day Valley, strategically allowing cows to graze invasive grasses in early spring. "But then you get them off the landscape and with enough time for these other plants to come in and grow," Smith explained, contrasting this with the often indiscriminate grazing on BLM lands, where "they just hammer the heck out of it."

Science presents a nuanced picture, suggesting that grazing can both harm and potentially aid sage grouse habitat, contingent on its management. Nada Wolff Culver, former principal deputy director of the BLM during the Biden administration, emphasized that "it’s a question of how it’s managed." Yet, for decades, the BLM has been severely understaffed, rendering it incapable of adequately managing its vast grazing allotments. Data from the nonprofit watchdog Public Employees for Environmental Responsibility (PEER) revealed that between 1997 and 2023, 56.7 million acres – approximately 37% – of federal grazing allotments failed to meet BLM land-health standards, primarily due to livestock grazing. In a 2023 federal lawsuit against the BLM, 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," declared Diane Teeman, the Burns Paiute tribal elder.

One spring dawn in April, Collin Williams, a non-Native wildlife biologist for the Burns Paiute Tribe, stepped out of his truck on BLM land east of Burns, Oregon, surprised by the dry ground. Earlier in March, heavy snowmelt from the Strawberry Mountains had flooded parts of the tribe’s reservation, but this above-average snowpack brought welcome news for sage grouse, promising an abundance of wildflowers and insects. With clipboard in hand, Williams and his colleague, Matthew Hanneman, the tribe’s wildlife program manager, quietly moved to a vantage point. As the horizon glowed orange with the first hint of sunrise, they scanned several leks with binoculars, counting approximately 60 male sage grouse performing their distinctive mating dances. From a distance, they appeared spherical, their white and brown feathers prominent against the beige bunchgrasses in the near-freezing air.

Biologists with the Burns Paiute Tribe have diligently monitored sage grouse populations in this area since the early 2000s, collaborating with the Oregon Department of Fish and Wildlife. These leks are situated roughly five miles from Jonesboro, a tribally owned property that was formerly a ranch where some sage grouse spend their summers. In 2000, the tribe reacquired these 6,385 acres of unceded ancestral lands, along with an additional 1,760-acre property known as Logan Valley. Tribal officials have since committed to restoring both properties to benefit native wildlife, including grouse, mule deer, and elk, while also ensuring tribal members retain access for traditional hunting and gathering. Teeman articulated 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 been grazed by livestock for decades, 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 regaining ownership, the tribe has actively worked to reverse this colonial legacy, implementing practices that offer a replicable model for federal lands. In the early 2000s, the tribe removed some fencing at Jonesboro. Tribal staff, including Williams and Hanneman, have overseen projects to cut junipers, clearing space for grouse, which avoid forested areas. They have also undertaken planting initiatives, introducing native sagebrush, yarrow, rabbitbrush, and buckwheat. However, weed removal, particularly of cheatgrass and medusahead, has required the most intensive efforts, utilizing a combination of mowing, burning, herbicide application, and carefully managed grazing.

The Jonesboro site also included 21,242 acres of BLM allotments and 4,154 acres of state grazing allotments overseen by the Oregon Department of State Lands. The tribe subleases these grazing permits to local ranchers, generating some income, but their primary focus remains wildlife and conservation, not beef production. Williams explained that grazing is strategically employed to target weeds and clear thatch during periods when native grasses are dormant. Crucially, the tribe permits only one-third of the cattle allowed under its BLM permit. He noted that only specific areas are suitable for grazing, typically those near streams or springs, which are critical habitats for sage grouse and other wildlife. With fewer cows, native animals have access to more plants. The tribe also ensures regular rest periods for the Jonesboro pastures, with cows typically grazing for 10 days in small, 40- to 60-acre fenced pastures on tribal land before being moved. On larger federal pastures, spanning 3,000 to 13,000 acres and subleased to local ranchers, the tribe mandates the removal of animals after one to two months. These concerted efforts are slowly transforming the property. Photographs taken by tribal biologists between 2007 and 2018, documenting restoration progress, visibly depict a greener landscape, with riparian vegetation reclaiming an abandoned road 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 ecological footprint. Their Natural Resources Division is currently studying 320,000 acres of rangeland on the Fort Hall Indian Reservation to reassess the permissible number of cattle. 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 entirely off-limits to grazing, and the tribes own an additional 33,000 acres of conservation land where grazing is prohibited, according to Preston Buckskin, the tribes’ land-use director. They are also considering barring cattle from certain sage grouse mating sites. Buckskin has navigated the inherent tension between traditional tribal values that prioritize conservation and the economic realities of ranching, which supports some tribal families. Tribal cattlemen have historically influenced land-management decisions on the reservation. The tribes’ Office of Public Affairs emphasized in a written statement that while acknowledging grazing’s impact on sage grouse habitat, "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. Non-Native conservation organizations like the Western Watersheds Project have advocated for a similar approach on federal lands for years. More recently, in October, Democratic Representatives Adam Smith, Jared Huffman, and Eleanor Holmes Norton reintroduced legislation that would enable ranchers to voluntarily relinquish their grazing privileges in exchange for buyouts from private individuals or groups. Additionally, the Shoshone-Bannock Tribes are developing a land-use plan that would reclassify some areas currently zoned as "rangelands" on the reservation as "wildlands" instead. This reclassification aims to ensure the land is valued for its wildlife and tribal hunting opportunities. "Words shape expectations," Denny observed. "’Rangeland’ implies that the land is for livestock. It carries a meaning imposed by a different way of thinking. I prefer the term ‘sagebrush steppe.’"

In the early 1990s, the Hart Mountain National Antelope Refuge in southern Oregon suffered from severe overgrazing. When then-manager Barry Reiswig made the contentious decision to prohibit cattle on the property, some local residents labeled him the "epitome of evil," as depicted in Rewilding a Mountain, a 2019 documentary about the project. Reiswig recalled the immense pressure to "compromise, to kind of look the other way" regarding grazing’s impact. Yet, remarkably, a landscape that had endured 120 years of grazing began to recover rapidly. Within 12 years, aspen cover increased by 64%, and wildflower populations multiplied by 68%. A 2015 study by Forest Service and Oregon State University researchers found that bare soil decreased by 90% in 23 years, while rushes and willows quadrupled. Today, the refuge stands as one of the largest ungrazed areas in the Great Basin and one of the most significant sage grouse breeding grounds in the West. Female grouse are commonly observed with their chicks, scurrying across gravel roads and foraging in the wet meadows. The 2015 study concluded, "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 makes it exceedingly difficult for scientists and state and federal agency officials to even broach the subject, Denny noted. "We’ve got to get uncomfortable talking about the truth." He believes that tribes can lead this crucial conversation and provide tangible examples. "We can use our homelands as, like, ‘This is the model for how you navigate this.’" However, ultimate progress hinges on the federal government’s willingness to reform its deeply entrenched policies, as a recent spring day on Burns Paiute land vividly illustrated.

Just north of the headwaters of the Malheur River, nestled in a forest clearing beneath the snowy Strawberry Mountains, a small population of sage grouse has unexpectedly established a summer home in a portion of Logan Valley now belonging to the tribe. The birds’ preferred species of sage, mountain big sage, thrives on a gentle slope overlooking a nearby creek. Last year, by mid-May, bluebells and yellow groundsels – wildflowers favored by grouse – had begun to bloom across the mountain meadow. The origin of these grouse remains a mystery to biologists, as the open valley is encircled by lodgepole and ponderosa pines, creating a hazardous environment for birds like sage grouse, which are vulnerable to forest predators such as Cooper’s hawks and goshawks. The nearest known lek is a full 10 miles away. To unravel the birds’ movements, the tribe secured a grant from the Oregon Wildlife Foundation to acquire transmitters for placement on grouse this summer. The data collected will provide crucial insights into their travel patterns, informing conservation efforts for their migration corridor. The tribe has already hand-cut 60 acres of pines to maintain open sagebrush habitat for grouse and other wildlife, a necessary intervention given that cultural burning, a traditional Indigenous practice, was prohibited by the federal government more than a century ago, leading to extensive tree encroachment. They also hope to reintroduce fire to the meadows.

Most of the 1,760-acre Logan Valley property has remained ungrazed since the tribe reacquired it in 2000. Officials permit cattle only on a 300-acre meadow, specifically to control a non-native grass introduced by settlers as hay and forage. However, the tribe’s property directly borders federal land, forming a "Y" shape that follows creeks