A PUBLICATION FOR FRIENDS OF AMERICAN PRAIRIE RESERVE | SUMMER 2020
Our mission is to create the largest nature reserve in the continental United States, a refuge for people and wildlife preserved forever as part of America’s heritage.
STAFF CONTRIBUTORS
Becky Lonardo, Editor and Creative Director
Travis Campbell, Graphic Designer
Ellen Anderson
Lars Anderson
Katy Beattie
Alison Fox
Christina Gauron
Trevor Gordon
Betty Holder
Mike Quist Kautz
Daniel Kinka
David Nolt
Ellie Oakley
Dan Stevenson
NATIONAL BOARD OF DIRECTORS
George E. Matelich, Chair
Gib Myers, Vice Chair
Keith Anderson, Treasurer
Jay Abbe
Alan Airth
Clyde Aspevig
David A. Coulter
Steven N. Cousins
Alison Fox
Sean Gerrity
Liliane A. Haub
Tim Kelly
Jacqueline B. Mars
Susan Matelich
Karen Petersen Mehra
Nancy S. Mueller
Susan Myers
Roland Parrish
Will Price
Jeffrey Talpins
Mara Talpins
COVER PHOTO by Dennis Lingohr and inside photo by Gordon Wiltsie
we bring you this issue of The Sentinel with two intentions: to express our gratitude for your support and to provide you with an escape to the prairie through the images and words in these pages.
2020 has been an unprecedented year. It has been confusing, uncomfortable, and necessary. But challenges force change. And through discomfort comes growth. Nature is resilient. As individuals and as a species, we are resilient. We will grow together. When we do, our wanderlust will be stronger than ever. Our appreciation for nature and commitment to endangered ecosystems, I hope, will be deeper too.
My personal mantra over the past two months has been to look for silver linings. One of the most significant for me has been the gift of time to connect and reconnect with those I love most. My first and second grade sons are certainly benefiting from my presence, as I am from theirs, and the increased virtual presence of friends, family, and colleagues in my life has been not only a silver lining but a blessing.
This issue highlights the commitment to place that comes from pursuing one’s wanderlust, and it puts a spotlight on the ways in which relationships between people are strengthened by exploring nature together. In this time of slowing down and focusing on the relationships that are important in our lives, it brings me great pleasure to highlight people whose passion
for this mission propel it forward and with whom my own relationships have grown through the pursuit of wanderlust.
I’ve spent countless days on the Reserve with both Gib Myers and Dennis Lingohr. I’ve accompanied Gib many times in his relentless search for the perfect shot of our bison. Dennis has introduced me to the complexities of the prairie with his quintessential humor and gift for storytelling. I recall one early morning outing when Dennis got out of the truck to perform a memorable impression of a dancing sharp-tailed grouse, likening it to a toddler in a shopping mall who has been denied his favorite toy. If you know grouse, you can picture it. The memory makes me smile to this day.
I’m grateful for the adventures I’ve had on the prairie. I’m grateful for the people who have opened my eyes even wider to its beauty. I’m grateful for Gib, Dennis, Christina, Mike, Trevor, Betty, Katy, Lars, Ellen, and so many others for the roles they all play in advancing this mission.
In addition to sparking your passion for adventure, I hope these stories and images help you understand American Prairie better by understanding its beating heart – the people who make this place and mission what it is. May we explore together again soon.
Alison Fox, CEO
by Reid Morth.
Photo
by
Photo
Reid Morth.
By David Nolt, Communications Manager
Photos by Gib Myers
Gib Myers’ first trip to American Prairie Reserve was not quite what he pictured. It was September 2002, and autumn came early as the weather turned cold and wet.
“We got rained out,” he remembers. “We couldn’t get anywhere we wanted to go because of the mud. It was miserable, and yet everybody loved it. We got the vision for the Reserve, we believed in it and knew right away we wanted to be involved.”
He and his wife Susan knew American Prairie Reserve Founder Sean Gerrity when he was working in California, but it was their daughter Sarah who first encouraged them to explore the prairie. She had a summer job at American Prairie and urged her parents to visit, which they did that memorable fall. The Myers have been loyal supporters ever since. Gib served as Chair of the American Prairie National Board of Directors from 2003 to 2013, and he and Susan continue to serve as board members today. They make the journey to visit the prairie from their California home several times a year, although Gib wishes they could visit more often.
In addition to his philanthropic giving, Gib brought his passion for photography to the prairie. It’s difficult to overstate the impact of his photographic contributions; they have been nothing short of essential to sharing with the world the beauty and importance of this ecosystem. His work can be seen throughout our website, across our social media channels, in magazine articles about American Prairie, and adorning the walls of our offices and visitor facilities across the Reserve.
Looking at his photos, a viewer might think they were created effortlessly. The reality, Gib explains, was not so easy.
“It was very frustrating at first,” he remembers with a wry laugh. “In a way, you don’t know where to start on the prairie, plus I was only up there for a few days at a time. I struggled for sure.”
None of that struggle is evident in his work. Gib’s images evoke the absolute vastness of the prairie, the unique character of the landscape, and the mercurial moods of the endlessly changing sky. With meticulous attention to color, he captures the prairie’s vibrant hues, and he
— Gib Myers “ ”
The prairie is something that grows on you. If you’re rushing it, you’re missing it. Much of what I like about the prairie is that you have to slow down to appreciate it and it will come to you.
also invites the viewer to take the time to look closer and explore subtleties and simple details.
“You just can’t approach it too quickly,” he says with precise and earnest sincerity. “You have to slow down and let the landscape and environment talk to you and show you where the pictures are.”
The prairie has shown him a lot in his years with American Prairie. He has donated more than 5,000 images to the organization and even researched and installed a new computer system to help our team organize and archive tens of thousands of images.
His passion for the prairie is evident in every conversation about American Prairie. That same passion is apparent in his conspicuous absence from camp every time the golden hour once again lures him onto the landscape in search of the next great image.
“I always miss breakfast and cocktail hour,” he jokes.
Before he visited in 2002, Gib had little experience with the prairie. Now, almost 20 years later, he says the prairie continues to reveal the beauty and tranquility he and Susan discovered on that first rainy visit.
“The prairie is something that grows on you. If you’re rushing it, you’re missing it. Much of what I like about the prairie is that you have to slow down to appreciate it and it will come to you. Many of the great photos come to you. The best shots will reveal themselves.”
His meditative approach to photography overlaps precisely with his love of the land and his commitment to lifelong learning. For Gib, there is always something new to discover and share with the world. And fortunately for us, those passions continue to call him back to the prairie.
VIEW MORE OF GIB’S PHOTOGRAPHY:
americanprairie.org/news-blog/ prairie-revealed
WILD VIEW
Dennis Lingohr reflects on 40 years of photographing prairie wildlife
By David Nolt, Communications Manager
For all the beauty of the prairie landscape, wildlife bring the entire ecosystem to life. A rolling grassland and awe-inspiring sky are sights to behold, but when you add the call of songbirds, the grunts of grazing bison, or a herd of passing elk, the world seems whole.
Few people are able to witness the prairie and its inhabitants like photographer Dennis Lingohr does. Fortunately for us, Dennis has been dedicated to sharing images of these animals with the world for the better part of 40 years.
Born and raised in North Dakota, Dennis moved to Wenatchee, Washington and joined the Marine Corps in 1967, serving
four years active duty and four years as a reserve. He was sent to Vietnam just days after his 20th birthday and bought his first 35mm camera in Da Nang.
When he returned stateside, he earned a bachelor’s degree in range management from Washington State University. Soon after graduation, his first permanent job landed him in Malta, Montana as a range management specialist with the Bureau of Land Management (BLM).
After a 30-year career with the BLM, Dennis retired in 2007 and began working with American Prairie Reserve as a Reserve Technician – what he described as “an absolute dream job.”
Photos by Dennis Lingohr
“I don’t think I ever finished a day’s work with American Prairie Reserve when I couldn’t turn around and see what the heck I’d done,” he remembers. “I was helping to make the country open like it used to be.”
He brought his camera with him wherever he went, traversing huge expanses of prairie in a workday as he learned more and more about the land and wildlife. His experience at the BLM and his time with American Prairie gave him a unique knowledge of the landscape, which he proudly still remembers.
“I could get around even in the dark to this day, navigating the back roads and two tracks,” he asserts. “And I could still get stuck if I tried hard enough.”
That knowledge — combined with his passion for wildlife, his stoic patience, and his unique photographic vision — helped to produce a prolific catalog of prairie wildlife photography. From bison, elk, and bighorn sheep to songbirds, waterfowl,
grouse, insects, and reptiles, Dennis captures the diversity of prairie wildlife in photographs that give us an intimate view of this special world. Even if that means he ends up in a precarious position to get the shot.
“In all those years, I think there was only a couple times I was worried about being charged by a bison, which is a credit to them,” he remembers with reverence that seamlessly leads
I’m always asking myself when I’m laying on my stomach face-to-face with a rattlesnake, ‘Did I remember to take the wide angle lens off and put the zoom on?
”
— Dennis Lingohr
to his characteristic sense of humor. “I love to get down on the ground and see the world from an animal’s viewpoint. I’ve taken a lot of photos of reptiles, and I’m always asking myself when I’m laying on my stomach faceto-face with a rattlesnake, ‘Did I remember to take the wide angle lens off and put the zoom on?’”
Dennis’ love of the prairie is contagious, and he takes equal joy in sharing it with American Prairie visitors.
“I really enjoy seeing and hearing their enthusiasm for what they’re looking at,” he says of guests.
“You can see and hear and smell
the changes of the season when you’re on the ground, and you can see people feel that.”
When asked why this work is so important, why anyone should care about the species he has dedicated so much time to capturing in photos, he answers without hesitation.
“Because we’ve lost so much and altered this ecosystem so much. We need to live and let live. My wish is that through the work I do, someday my grandkids and their kids will be able to visit the prairie and see the animals old man Lingohr cared so much about.”
VIEW MORE OF DENNIS’ PHOTOGRAPHY:
americanprairie.org/news-blog/ wild-view
By Mike Quist Kautz, Director of Public Access & Recreation
Last July, on America’s 243rd birthday, my brother and I pushed our loaded canoe off the bank of the Missouri River near Judith Landing. We planned to follow the river by canoe and mountain bike for four days, covering about 150 miles on land and water as we traversed American Prairie Reserve from the PN huts to Buffalo Camp Campground. As American Prairie Reserve’s Director of Public Access
& Recreation, my job has focused on building huts and campgrounds to support trips like ours, and I was curious to use them as a visitor might. Our parents were also on a summer road trip, and we planned to camp with them at the Reserve’s newest campground, Antelope Creek.
Our route followed the Missouri River, the thoroughfare of the Great Plains. The Missouri is America’s frontier river, and it runs through the heart of American
Prairie Reserve. For thousands of years it was this continent’s Silk Road, a trade route flowing with people and the items their cultures considered most valuable. Native Americans moved buffalo hides and obsidian blades, fur trappers shipped beaver pelts and wolf skins, and prospectors boarded steamboats loaded with gold. In our era, most river travelers come for the rarities of unscheduled days, dark skies, and deep quiet.
We spent the first night in the shell of the new Lewis and Clark Hut, which was under construction and
“ Wild river areas – Those rivers or sections of rivers that are free of impoundments and generally inaccessible except by trail, with watersheds or shorelines essentially primitive and waters unpolluted. These represent vestiges of primitive America.”
— The Wild and Scenic Rivers Act, 1968
Photos by Mike Quist Kautz
offered a roof but no doors or windows.
We were happy to have shelter as a heavy summer rain fell. I brought along a copy of the Lewis and Clark journals, and over dinner I read to my brother their descriptions of the expedition’s passage through this same section of river in May 1805. On that leg of their journey, not far from the current hut, a one-ton bull bison swam across the river in the middle of the night, thrashed onto the bank and into their boat, trampled out of the boat and among the men sleeping on the ground before finally being chased out of camp by the expedition’s dog. They also recorded the first observation of bighorn sheep by European Americans, and Lewis saw the Rocky Mountains for the first time from hills near the PN.
In the morning there were heavy clouds over the river and a cold headwind. We applied ourselves to our paddles and hoped the rain would hold off. The 150 miles of river running from Fort Benton, Montana, to the Fort Peck Reservoir are protected as a Wild and Scenic River. The section makes the Missouri unique among America’s big rivers; the landscape along its banks looks much as it would have 200 years ago to the Lewis and Clark Expedition or 500 years ago to a gathering of Plains tribes. Neither the Mississippi, the Colorado, the Hudson, or the Columbia have stretches of comparable length that are as unaltered by human development. Before Congress passed the Wild and Scenic Rivers Act in 1968, there were plans for as many as five dams along this section of the Missouri. John and
Frank Craighead (the Reserve’s Craighead Hut is named for John and his wife Margaret) helped write the Act, which was informed in part by a trip the Craighead brothers took on the Upper Missouri.
By dinner we had covered about 35 windy miles, past pelicans paddling upriver, bald eagles roosting in cottonwoods, old homesteads, and a group of bighorn sheep on a nearly vertical cliff face. We set camp on the Reserve’s Cow Island property, a place whose past includes the Kipp family cattle ranch, a freight depot for steamboats, and more than 6,000 years as a river ford on a Native American trail. The river is less than waist deep here except during spring runoff.
As we cooked dinner and read the journals, we noted all that we did not see. Lewis and Clark described bison, elk, antelope, deer, grizzlies, and wolves along the same section of river. Lewis described buffalo so numerous “that the men frequently throw sticks and stones at them in order to drive them out of the way.” The landscape here looks much the same as in 1805, thanks to the last century of conservationists. The work of restoring a measure of the wildlife is a task for this century.
After dinner, the sun came out for the first time all day. The hills and the river flushed with color. As the sun set, we watched and listened to nighthawks darting
and diving over the river. As the males accelerate in a dive, the turbulence over their wing feathers creates a loud and startling sound like truck tires crossing a highway rumble strip.
As it grew dark, the wind calmed and the surface of the river smoothed. I woke in the middle of the night and walked out to the edge of the water. There was no moon and the Milky Way shimmered on the river. On dark nights the prairie stars are so dense that the sky feels close instead of infinite, like the high ceiling of a great hall stretching down the river.
In the morning we put sore shoulders into paddling again, hoping to beat the heat of the day, to the James Kipp Recreation Area. We assembled our bikes, stashed the canoe, and began the biking portion of our trip. The 1000-ft. climb out of the river valley with loaded bikes was a reminder that the prairie is rarely flat. A towering thunderstorm behind
us provided motivation. We were pushing to stay ahead of the storm when my brother’s bike broke for the first time. A metal tab holding the derailleur snapped, and we had to get out the tool kit. With some work we converted his 24-speed to a single-speed. Many steep hills lay ahead, and his bike was now only geared for flat ground.
Any illusions of a rugged adventure were gone as we soon rendezvoused with our parents at the Antelope Creek Campground (pictured above); their car had a cooler filled with cook-out supplies and we ate Fourth of July staples unknown to Lewis or Clark. Though we were hungry, we were not able to match the nine pounds of meat per man, per day their expedition averaged. We took hot showers and rolled out our sleeping bags on memory-foam mattresses in the camping cabins. That evening we watched
from the picnic table as a massive thunderstorm rumbled in from the northwest. The campground remained in the sun, while just a mile away a black wall rumbled past with thunder, lightning, hail, and heavy rain. As a finale, the storm produced a horizon-tohorizon rainbow.
My brother and I left early the next morning. We had two days and 80 miles of riding in front of us, and the forecast called for more severe afternoon storms. Riding on the empty highway through
Photo by Gib Myers.
rolling sage, we were surrounded by sky. We had covered 30 miles by midmorning and were soon back along the river.
Though it was not yet noon, storm clouds began building in the west and we began hitting mud from the previous evening’s storm. The “gumbo” mud in this part of Montana is infamous. A mix between axle grease, heavy clay, and construction adhesive, it makes wheeled travel impossible and even foot travel difficult. Many campers, hunters, and hikers have ended up marooned down impassable roads for days after storms waiting for the gumbo to dry. My brother and I were discussing how many days of macaroni and cheese we had left when we came to the sudden end of our trip.
A creek crossing that is normally dry, or at most a small trickle, was flowing with eight feet of swift water. Storms in the north the night before had dumped several inches of rain in the drainage and washed the road away. With several similar crossings further along our route, there was nothing to do but turn around.
A mile or two into our retreat, my brother’s bike made a metallic snap and he coasted to a stop. The bolts holding the front gears had sheared off from the strain of riding as a single-speed on washboard gravel. The trip was doubly-finished. We had 20 miles back to the pavement and he alternated foot-paddling his bike and walking. Mosquitos and deer flies swarmed us along the river and we put on pants and jackets despite the heat. We alternated
between sweating profusely in our rain gear or being bitten incessantly in shorts and t-shirts. The Lewis and Clark journals contain the phrase “mosquitos very troublesome” nearly daily, and Clark had 19 different spellings for the pests including “mesquestor,” “misquitoes,” “missquetors,” and “muskeetor.” We used all of the spellings and more by the time we coasted back into the campground.
We had dreamed of this trip for months and were disappointed to turn back early. At the same time, we were glad to know places like the prairie exist – places indifferent to human plans – where even 21st century travelers can get lost, broken down, stopped in
their tracks, and sent home. The old order that Lewis and Clark documented is disappearing as the world becomes tamed with roads, dams, fences, and bright lights. Wild landscapes like Montana’s prairies are among the last places where visits are still made on terms not of our choosing and where the outcome is uncertain. These are the ingredients of adventures, and the grasslands remain a place to find them.
VIEW MORE OF MIKE’S PHOTOGRAPHY:
americanprairie.org/ news-blog/down-river
Photo by Gib Myers.
Photo by Gib Myers.
WALKING to meet the day
By Christina Gauron, Strategic Partnerships Manager
The prairie encourages me to align. Instead of being motivated by screens, news, or culture, I feel myself looking inward and relying on the more primitive. My body wants to rise with the morning sun, and it feels at peace and ready for sleep as the sun sets. The switch happens so fast out here. I look forward to the peace my mind finds on the prairie. The absolute calm and sense of perspective that is inevitable when you spend time walking the landscape. Each morning, I love to wake in the pre-dawn light and walk to meet the sunrise with a warm drink in hand. Second by second, the sun spreads across the prairie, skimming over the fresh footprints from an overnight four-legged visitor and illuminating the sagebrush wrapped in frostcovered crystals. Returning to camp with the warm sun at my back, it feels like I am truly awake and aware in a way I don’t feel in civilization.
Photo by Christina Gauron
A SINGULAR MOMENT
One hunter’s journey through the lens of prairie conservation
By Trevor Gordon, Senior Accounting Manager
THURSDAY, NOVEMBER 14, 2019
Three buddies and I plan our semiannual hunting trip on American Prairie Reserve. The trip comes on the coattails of a long budget season. I liken the budget season to an extended hunting season; you prepare for months in anticipation of the season’s start. During this time, you experiment with new technology, grasping for an advantage. Before you are ready, the season begins, disrupting your daily routine. You now beat the sun up every day, consume food best suited for astronauts, and slip into wild dreams of anticipation at night. You’d like goals met, milestones reached, and successes achieved
to last forever, yet the whole cycle restarts shortly thereafter.
I wrap up meetings in the office. My buddies and I head east with our sights set on the Reserve. Seat belts restrain our excitement as we discuss the coming days. We share dreams of a neverending horizon lined with deer, each presenting glistening antlers during a wilderness show-andtell. Hours pass by with every mile marker. Just as a crisp northerly wind marks the end to long summer nights, a left turn onto the ranch road marks the end of our journey and the beginning of the wild exploration of days to come. The first crunch of snow under new
tires sends a frigid shiver down my spine. The forecast for the next few days brings warm weather, and every passing puddle on the road foreshadows a probable hindrance to our exit strategy. But for now, our departure feels years away. We set up camp quickly and slide into our sleeping bags with whispers of sizzling sap from the stove filling the void left from our fleeting conversation.
FRIDAY, NOVEMBER 15, 2019
Jack Frost startles me awake. The stove went out during the night and internal temperatures plummeted. We frantically throw on layers, click on head lamps, and exit the
Photos by Ivan Agerton, NGS Storytelling, and Reid Morth.
tent. A metaphorical gun explodes and we race the sun to our glassing knob – our vantage point where we plan to scan the grasses, pines, and shadows for deer. We arrive victorious and slip undetected into the vast wilderness around us. With every passing minute, another welcomed ray of sunshine warms our faces. As we look out across the landscape, it’s clear we are not the only creatures on the prairie seeking warmth. Mule deer move out onto the many golden benches to feed on wild prairie grasses. The timing of this hunt is not happenstance; the mule deer rut is in full swing and bucks trail does in heat with the intent to breed. Every fold and ripple in the landscape can hide a mature buck.
The Missouri Breaks landscape demands an intrinsic acceptance of this unknown to maintain your sanity. We spend the morning straining eyes through binoculars, cultivating a relationship with the land and the deer that inhabit it. As quickly as the morning excitement begins, the deer move to favored bedding areas and ridges become stagnant. The sun painting across an unencumbered blue sky chronicles the remaining hours as we watch the sea of prairie grass oscillate in the breeze. My hunting partner and I agree on the finality of the situation. We decide to make the trek back to camp and share stories over Rocky Mountain lagers and rehydrated noodles.
SATURDAY, NOVEMBER 16, 2019
I wake up to the pitter patter of rain. I roll over and close my eyes. If you spend time on the prairie, you know that bentonite clay and rain mix to create a substance called gumbo. I liken the substance to the paper mache I used to build a volcano during my third-grade science fair. The hellacious mud makes even the simplest chore arduous. Eventually I rise and make coffee, my friends already off on their hunts. I see no need to slide around in the mud, so I set up a spotting scope from camp. I inspect each nook and cranny on the hillside across the drainage. Before my coffee cools enough to drink, I spot two bucks jostling for position over a doe. I become an active spectator,
alternating between observing the deer and brewing coffee. As the deer feed across the hillside, they continuously come in and out of my life. Anxiety consumes me each time the deer disappear into another fold.
Have they followed a ravine up and over the ridge?
Have they bedded for the day never to be seen again?
Eventually I watch them bed down on a shaded bench before vanishing behind a tuft of sage brush. I wash down my excitement with the remaining coffee. I grab my pack and rifle, and begin a three-mile pursuit to the deer’s position, which is at least an hour’s walk away. In the hunting community, this pursuit is
commonly referred to as a stalk. The anxiety-filled hour comes and goes, and I eventually army crawl my way up a small bluff, concealed by sporadic sage brush. I spend hours inspecting each sage brush for an elusive antler tine. The gumbo forming under my prone body conquers my remaining discipline. I conclude that the deer have left my life for the last time.
I hike up and over the ridge, find a vantage point, and enjoy a late lunch. Not long after finishing, I find another deer feeding in a distant meadow. I again pick out a finger ridge to shoot from and resume the stalk. On the way to the ridge, my presence alerts two does in heat with a buck hot on their trail. They crest the ridge. Surely they spooked the deer I am stalking,
but experience has taught me to never write off an opportunity. I crest the ridge slowly and see the deer warily feeding together now. I calculate my distance from the buck with my rangefinder, silently calibrate my rifle scope, and ever so slightly squeeze the trigger. Or at least that is how I remember the scenes playing out. Memory has a peculiar way of distorting reality in favor of the beholder.
With pressure on the trigger, the hammer fires with a “BANG.” The deer kicks, runs, and tips over in a matter of seconds. A familiar moment of silence follows the moment of chaos, barring a highpitched ringing in my ears.
This moment marks a transition in the role I play in the ecosystem. Up until now, I lurked in the shadows
Photos by Gib Myers.
“ We share dreams of a never-ending horizon lined with deer, each presenting glistening antlers during a wilderness show-and-tell.”
— Trevor Gordon
of coulees cut into the prairie. I was a wildlife viewer, observing cagey mule deer move across the landscape avoiding predators with intentions similar to mine. My role changes in an instant. With the decision to apply pressure to a cold trigger, death occurs. That decision is one that never gets easier, and for that I am grateful. I process the emotions and gather myself. Darkness is fast approaching and I just created a night’s worth of work for myself. I meticulously lay out game bags, knives, and adequate water for the job at hand.
An hour into quartering the deer, a lone coyote lets out a cry of joy a few hundred yards from my location. It is a tune that reminds me I am not the only predator present, but in this moment I am relieved it isn’t the grizzly usually on my mind. The chain reaction of yelps that follows lifts the veil of safety surrounding my current situation, and I am bounded by coyotes looking for a cheap meal. When breaking down an animal into pieces readily packable for miles, I usually become militant, focused only on the mission at hand. But for some reason my new carnivorous friends pull me out of
this mindset tonight. I sit down to simply take in their excitement. I look up and notice the Milky Way. It illuminates a path over the ridge I will take hours from now, presenting a welldefined trail along a celestial topographical map. A shooting star shocks me into a moment of reflection.
In this moment, I am experiencing the tangible manifestation of an 18-year-old vision. This vision, ahead of its time, was dreamt up in an era of conservation projects that positioned nature as a spectacle and man as the observer. But the American Prairie Reserve vision created a new model of rewilding, where humans stand at eye level with the pronghorn, bison, prairie dog, and all other critters that call the prairie home. We participate in this prairie ecosystem, traveling a landscape void of scars left by the scalpel of man. Unrestricted by a prescribed course, only desire defines my route. Tonight I leave a mark on this landscape; a mark soon erased by the fastapproaching coyote pack. But the mark this landscape leaves on me will exist in perpetuity. I am a predator taking part in the cycle of life and death. I am also one of the lucky people who has, does, and will continue to contribute to the American Prairie vision. In a singular moment, I recognize the efforts of an entire hunting season, and revitalize a passion for this project to propel me through the end of the budget season.
An impatient coyote yelp reminds me of the task at hand. I finish and load my pack with meat. I spend two hours following spindly finger ridges through darkness back to camp. No dinner for me. Instead I engage with an icy cold beer and join my friends in conversation around the campfire. Exhaustion from the day overcomes the adrenaline of success as consciousness slips between my fingers and I drift to sleep.
SUNDAY, NOVEMBER 17, 2019
Sunday brings another eight-mile round trip to pack out my second load of meat. The trip leaves me tired, but also provides me with an immense sense of accomplishment. No one mentions the road conditions as we pack the truck. There is no need. There is no need. The gumbo stuck to our boots is more articulate than we could ever be.
I hit the gas with intention, but our tracks resemble the path taken by a stumbling reveler late on the Fourth of July. The gumbo taunts us with our fate barring one mistake as we swerve back and forth. Our course is four miles as the crow flies, but we do not embody the flying crow. Our safety stays intact at the cost of time. The prairie inevitably fades into the darkness in the rearview mirror. Our conversations quiet as our experience matures into memories that will remain vibrant in our minds for years to come.
Favorite
Moments
Betty Holder - Senior Land Acquisition Manager
My best memories of the prairie are a collection of unexpected and once-in-a-lifetime moments that took my breath away and made me feel so small yet part of something so big:
• Standing beneath an evening sky so wide and pink that it felt like another world.
• A late evening drive home from town when the air was suddenly filled with dragonflies and I was completely surrounded by them flitting around.
• Finding primrose and prickly pear blossoms with their vivid flashes of color and sweet fragrances.
• Hearing, then finding rattlesnakes.
• The jungle-like sound of songbirds in the spring filling the air in the cottonwood trees.
• Waking up to a bright orange Bullock's oriole looking into my bedroom window.
• Seeing snowy owls, curlews, godwits, pelicans, and countless other birds for the first time.
• The first bison calf each year.
• Exploring a new place and finding hidden cracks, crevices, and canyons.
• Looking out across the landscape, listening to nature, and just loving where I was.
Photos by Gib Myers, Dennis Lingohr, Reid Morth, and Diane Hargreaves.
Photos by Andrea Miller, and Elaine Kennedy.
ellen anderson - reserve project Manager
I love living on the prairie where we can experience the natural rhythms and patterns of nature. Watching the geese return to the pond by our house is an annual tradition. They always arrive in late February to nest on the island in the middle of a nearby pond, and every year I wonder if they regret coming back that early to fight for nesting spots because, inevitably, winter returns. If you haven’t watched geese fighting on ice, I highly recommend it. The slipsliding and face-planting is well worth braving the cold weather.
Then there’s being woken up by a bull bison bellowing outside your bedroom window, which is heartpounding to say the least.
One of my favorite times working on the prairie was helping staff at the Charles M. Russell National Wildlife Refuge with a blackfooted ferret release in the spring of 2014. I had never been close to a black-footed ferret and was unprepared for their ferocious attitudes. I leaned down to look in one of the pet carriers and jumped back after the ferret hissed and attacked the cage door. Once
they were released, we helped with spotlighting the ferrets for a population count. At one point, my husband Lars was working on top of a prairie dog mound. My job was to hold the spotlight on the mound and keep an eye out for a ferret. Before Lars could get set up, the ferret ran out of the hole and over to the next prairie dog mound. Lars ended up chasing the ferret around and I eventually lost her in the spotlight, mostly because I was laughing so hard. Lars was not a happy camper, but I’ll never forget him scrambling around in the dark for that little ferret.
lars anderson - Reserve project Manager
As winter turns to spring, we have a number of birds migrating back through. It is amazing to me the productivity of the prairie for the short time it is awake and growing. Grassland birds, waterfowl, and raptors all nest and raise their young here. Upland birds and mammals stick it out all year and rely on the production of previous seasons while the prairie is dormant. All these animals turn plants into their own growth and reproduction. The plants only have half the year to convert sunlight into plant material — more than half of which goes into the ground as roots — yet they sustain animals as big as bison. Pretty cool.
Photos by Betty Holder, Dnnis Lingohr, and Gib Myers.
Photos by Katy Beattie, and Dennis Lingohr.
When conditions are just right and sunlight breaks through the morning fog, a fogbow can occur. I witnessed the phenomenon for the first time a couple summers ago while doing early morning bird counts. They are less common than rainbows but form in a similar way with the right combination of sunlight and moisture. They are also referred to as White Rainbows or Ghost Rainbows. I thought it was the neatest thing and yet another magical surprise you can find hidden on the prairie.
katy beattie - wild sky Specialist
Photos
fuel your wanderlust
If you can’t make it to the Reserve in person, here are a few ways you can join us in spirit:
The team at American Prairie has pulled together a collection of our favorite photos, videos, books, podcasts, and more. Become lost in nature from the comfort of your home by visiting americanprairie.org/wanderlust .
Our friends at National Geographic and Smithsonian’s National Zoo are also sharing amazing learning resources that will take you around the globe. Here are some that we love:
THE NATIONAL GEOGRAPHIC SOCIETY (NGS) remains committed to supporting learners, educators, families and caregivers around the world. NGS has developed a collection of online resources and activities to teach, connect, explore, and inspire K-12 learners anywhere, anytime.
NatGeo@Home: This website has you covered with quizzes, videos, science experiments, and even athome classroom resources.
Photo of the Day Archive: The entire archive of National Geographic’s Photo of the Day is a feast for the eyes.
THE SMITHSONIAN’S NATIONAL ZOO is committed to supporting teachers, students, and families around the globe as they face unprecedented new learning challenges.
Educational Activities You Can Do At Home: The Smithsonian’s National Zoo is actively developing new online materials to engage learners in grades pre-K to 12 with science, the natural world, wildlife, and conservation.
The Smithsonian Learning Lab: The Smithsonian Learning Lab includes pre-packaged collections containing lessons, activities, and recommended resources made by Smithsonian museum educators as well as thousands of classroom teachers across the country.
Find links to these great resources at americanprairie.org/wanderlust.
BOOK:
Montana Women Homesteaders: A Field of One’s Own
by Sarah Carter
“This is a fascinating book about early homesteading life in Montana, especially through the eyes of women who lived that dream, with all its challenges and rewards. Many of the stories take place within the local area of the Reserve. Very well written and I couldn’t put it down.”
— Dan Stevenson, Safety Manager
PODCAST:
Threshold - Season 1
“Bison are our national mammal and arguably the species that best represents North America, both historically and ecologically, and yet wild, free-roaming bison are almost nowhere to be found. Season 1 of Threshold explores the history of bison in North America and the prospect of restoring bison to Montana.”
— Daniel Kinka, Wildlife Restoration Manager
FEATURED PARTNER: HIGH WEST DISTILLERY
High West Distillery supports American Prairie Reserve because we are passionate about the American West. The West is our home and we are looking to do our part to help conserve this amazing land, its creatures, and its beauty. That’s why we believe American Prairie is one of the most fantastic projects of our time, and we are proud to help raise awareness of this amazing effort with our product, American Prairie Bourbon.
GET INVOLVED:
SUPPORT our work by making a gift today. americanprairie.org/give
FILM:
Last Wild Places: American Prairie Reserve
“This short film I find to be worth a little time... I find it inspiring, educational, and you get to spend a little time with people you may not know. A good story about hopes and dreams, building bridges, and an effort to make things right.”
— George Horse Capture, Jr. Director, Aaniiih Nakoda Tours
americanprairie.org/lastwildplaces
We are so thankful to our friends and supporters for their help in accomplishing this mission.
When you become a supporter of American Prairie Reserve, you are protecting the American prairie ecosystem now and for future generations of wildlife and people.
Photo by Reid Morth.
BACKYARD BIRDING
TIPS FROM THE MONTANA OUTDOOR SCIENCE SCHOOL
If you have a yard or local park, you may be surprised by how many birds call it home. To get an idea, sit still, close your eyes, and listen. How many different bird sounds do you hear? How many individual birds? Try this when birds are most vocal, around dawn on a clear, sunny day.
A bird feeder will give you a great chance to learn something about the social relationships between your local birds. When a bird of one species is already on the feeder, can other species force it to
AMERICAN ROBIN
leave? Or does it stand its ground? Dominant birds will displace subordinate birds at a feeder but not be ousted themselves. This occurs even within species. Pay attention to who pushes who around, and you’ll gain a much deeper appreciation for the social dynamics in the life of a bird.
If you’ve seen birds carrying around things like sticks, grass, leaves, or other materials, they are likely building nests. If you see a bird picking up sticks, note how much time is spent selecting just
Song is rapid and flute-like, broken up into several quick phrases: “cheer-up, cheer-up, cheerily, cheerio.”
Cool Fact: Robins are one of the first species to sing in the morning and one of the last to sing at night. Listen for their song especially at dawn and dusk.
the right stick. When a bird leaves with nest material, try to follow it. Watching birds build their nests provides a wonderful, intimate glimpse into their lives.
Here are some common species and their songs. These birds will often frequent backyards or city parks, so keep an eye (and ear) out.
Happy birding!
BONUS!
Visit americanprairie.org/ prairie-sounds to hear audio of birdsongs recorded at American Prairie Reserve.
BLACK-CAPPED CHICKADEE
The black-capped chickadees’ most prominent call is a series of rapid “chicka” notes followed by several nasal “dee” sounds: “chick-a-dee-dee-dee.” This call is often used to warn other birds of danger, such as a hawk or owl nearby; the more “dee” notes, the higher the threat!
SONG SPARROW
The song consists of two or three clear, whistled notes, the first higher than the second, “fee-bee” or “cheese-burger.”
Song Sparrow
Song starts with several short whistles or toots, followed by a series of short musical notes, trills, and somewhat harsher clicking of “chip” sounds, all produced together in a continuous phrase “maid, maid, maid put on the teeeaaaaa kettle -ettle -ettle.”
Cool Fact: Chickadees, like most singing birds, use their song to negotiate territorial disagreements; if you hear two chickadees taking turns singing, this is likely what is happening. They are having an argument. Typically, neighboring chickadees will sing their songs at different pitches (e.g., one bird singing higher, the other lower), but if one exactly matches a neighbor’s song, this is an escalation. If one sings the same song as a neighbor while interrupting the neighbor’s song, this intensifies the situation even further!
RED-BREASTED NUTHATCH
Song is mostly a series of short, nasal honking sounds. Their songs and louder calls all sound fairly similar and are given in a series of evenly-spaced notes, sometimes for quite a long time: “yank yank yank yank...”
Cool Fact: Red-breasted Nuthatches will apply conifer resin around the entrance of their nest cavity –sometimes using a piece of bark to apply the resin. This is thought to deter predators or competitors from entering. Nuthatches avoid the resin by diving straight through the hole rather than perching on its edge.
