Stalking the Grand Canyon Buffalo
One man's experiment becomes one state's legacy, and one park's nightmare
November/December by L. Bell
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"Why don't you get back in the truck," I tell my friend surfing on the back bumper.
"Yeah, good idea!" She too is eyeing the buffalo, who is eyeing us.
Although no buffalo have gored anyone at the Grand Canyon, sightings are rare and the beasts are unaccustomed to human contact. As her door slams shut, I glance in her direction quickly. When I look up, the buffalo is gone.
Buffalo may be able to run 30 miles an hour and jump 6-foot fences without touching them, but this total and sudden disappearance is still astounding. We are on a two-track road through Swamp Ridge, in open woodland, on the North Rim of the Grand Canyon. We can see all around us, and into both drainages. I ease the truck to the top of the hill - nothing.
"We both saw it, right?" I ask, suddenly uncertain. She nods.
Thus began my minor obsession with stalking the elusive buffalo of Grand Canyon National Park.
Depending on who you talk to, the 2,000-pound (plus!) beasts that roam the Kaibab forest on the North Rim are either buffalo or cattalo. The first is a generic term for the American bison, while the second is the name coined by ranchers "Buffalo" Jones and "Uncle Jimmy" Owens, who set up shop on the North Rim of the Grand Canyon in the early 1900s. Their goal was to cross buffalo with cattle to create an animal that produced the hide of a buffalo, the meat of a cow, and had the stamina to withstand harsh winters.
In 1906, 13 years before Grand Canyon National Park was established, and with the blessing of Teddy Roosevelt, a stock herd of buffalo arrived on the Kaibab Plateau. Shipped to Lund, Utah via train, Jones and Owens then led the herd some 175 miles to the ranch, mostly at night to avoid the heat.
Despite overcoming many setbacks, the venture ultimately failed, and Jones and Owens abandoned the experiment. Investors hauled off the cows, and Owens ended up with the buffalo. The herd, then living in House Rock Valley, wandered aimlessly until 1926 when the State of Arizona bought them from Owen, officially making the buffalo wards of the state.
Today, the state of Arizona considers the buffalo to be wild animals, and as such, the Department of Fish and Game makes no effort to limit their movements. That was fine when the buffalo kept to themselves down in House Rock Valley . . . . However, in recent years, drought conditions and fires have shifted the buffalo back onto the Kaibab plateau in search of forage and water. From there, the buffalo venture into Grand Canyon National Park, arguably causing extensive resource damage.
In 2005, the park hired a buffalo wrangler to round up the herd. Planes tried to spot the animals from the air, and seven riders on horseback combed the park for eight days. Apparently, the only thing more difficult than keeping the buffalo out of the park, is finding them once they make it in. The wranglers abandoned the effort empty handed, and the unwanted buffalo continue to roam, increasing their swath of destruction.
Perhaps the largest obstacle to keeping buffalo out of the park is the fact that not everyone agrees that they do not belong there. The Arizona Department of Game and Fish (AZDFG) maintains that the buffalo traditionally resided on the Kaibab plateau, and often ventured into the area of Grand Canyon long before it was a park.
"Historically, the area was a game preserve before it was a park," said Ron Sieg, the regional director of AZDFG when I spoke with him in his office in Flagstaff. "There is congressional language indicating the North Kaibab would be ideal for grazing buffalo, dated March 9, 1906 . . . on November 28, 1906, Teddy Roosevelt signed Grand Canyon Game Preserve into law." The buffalo arrived shortly thereafter. Grand Canyon did not become a national park until 1919. "The buffalo were here well before the park inherited them."
According to Sieg, AZGFD would ideally like to see the herd's number stabilized at around 100 animals. He guesses there are roughly 325. To bring the numbers closer to management goals, AZGFD allows deer hunters on the Kaibab to add a buffalo tag to their license for a small fee. Any hunter who drew a deer tag for this fall's hunt can purchase the buffalo tag directly from AZGFD.
As for resource damage caused by the buffalo in the park, Sieg said, "There is very little evidence that they are causing ecological damage, and the Park has never provided any data showing ecological damage."
"These meadows are definitely impacted," says Kyle Christie, one independent botanist contracted to map the vegetation of the entire park. Today, we are surveying Kanabownitz Canyon, a major drainage running across the north end of the park.
During the last several months, I have helped Christie and the other botanists survey dozens of meadows similar to the ones found in this drainage. Ostensibly, we were gathering data, but personally, I was stalking the buffalo.
Here the vegetation is noticeably shorter, less dense and less diverse than we have seen elsewhere. The scent of buffalo is unmistakable on the air, fresh dung litters the area, and large sandy wallows dot the landscape. However, Christie, the consummate scientist, is careful to point out that this snapshot in time is not enough to link the buffalo directly to the vegetation damage. "All our data show is that the vegetation here is different."
Scientifically, the question of what is affecting the vegetation may be undocumented, but from where we stand, it is obvious. We have seen tracks and dung from buffalo in various places across the North Rim, but here they are concentrated, turning watering holes like Coffee Lake into muddy quagmires splattered with scat.
Granted, part of the impact could be from cattle that wander in from the grazing allotments on the neighboring forest, but even they owe their presence to the buffalo, which have a habit of walking through the barbed-wire fence that theoretically borders the northern end of the park. A survey of the fence this summer found that less than five percent of it is intact.
All guesswork aside, however, the best evidence that the impact is buffalo-caused comes from our brief and startling encounter with them here only a few days before. On our hike back to the truck that evening, eight or so woolly beasts suddenly thundered out of the forest and ran across the meadow less than 200 feet in front of us. My heart raced - Finally! We found them! - as I fumbled with the camera, waiting for it to warm up. I took aim, pressed the button, and . . . nothing. The buffalo raced toward the trees as I mashed the button again. The camera hesitated . . . click!
I captured a grainy, blurry picture of a buffalo rump disappearing into the trees. Or was it Sasquatch . . . .
RV Ward, the Grand Canyon Wildlife Program manager, agrees with our assessment of impact. "The anecdotal evidence is there," he told me over the phone, "but we do not have the right evidence? That would take a study that installs transects measured regularly over a period of time that show a change in vegetation. The park does not have unlimited resources . . ." A case in point: Ward is the only permanently funded biologist for the entire park.
According to Ward, keeping the buffalo out of the park would require a stout, 6-foot fence along the entire border. Unfortunately, such a fence would be problematic for migrating deer - therefore, he would never recommend taking that step.
Shooting the buffalo is another, albeit more drastic, option. Traditionally, federal agencies manage the land, while the state manages the animals on that land. However, the federal government can take matters into its own hands if necessary to protect the resource. Although a shooting solution would take thousands of dollars, extensive research, and an Environmental Analysis study to make it happen. Moreover, Ward points out, such a scenario would be politically impossible.
The simplest solution would be to keep the buffalo in House Rock Valley. The buffalo were content there for many years before they learned they could make it to the park. Some believe that we could relocate the current herd, and replace it with naïve buffalo in House Rock Valley. However, some believe that this herd, being direct descendants of Jones and Owens original transplants, is historically significant in its own right. Moreover, of course, there is still the trouble of corralling the elusive herd.
So, for the time being, buffalo will remain in Grand Canyon National Park - though, perhaps not for long. Recent changes in park administration have resulted in new alignment of priorities, and a willingness to revisit the problem.
"This is something that needs attention," said Martha Hahn, the new Grand Canyon Science Center director, "we have new management and a new superintendent and we plan on working on this issue with Game and Fish next year." She just submitted a spending plan that lists the buffalo issue as a priority for North Rim projects. "We would like to re-create our relationship with Game and Fish, look at what we know, and what our options are."
When asked if the park wanted to see the buffalo gone, Hahn pointed out that although keeping buffalo out of the park is probably desirable, it may not be possible. "Rather than let one agenda get in the way of making progress," Hahn said, "we would rather work with the state to find a solution that is feasible and achieves common goals."
I returned to swamp ridge later in the summer, six months after my first encounter with the ghost buffalo. On the map, a small blue dot labeled "Swamp Lake" indicated a water source not far from where the encounter occurred. Wherever there be water, I surmised, there be buffalo.
A sinkhole creates the "lake," which has no inlet or outlet. More swamp than lake, its life is variable, and dependant on snowmelt and rain. By June, a circle of cracked earth, no more than 10 feet wide showed where the last moisture collected and slowly evaporated into the dry northern Arizona sky. Another 20 feet beyond that, the carcass of a young buffalo lay bleaching in the sun.
I kneeled down near its matted hide, and contemplated its life - and death. This animal did not choose to be here, struggling to find water in an increasingly dry landscape. We brought him here, and sentenced him to wandering the woods, trying to survive. These buffalo are more than just juggernauts of the north rim, wantonly wrecking riparian areas - they are a reminder of what happens when humans meddle in the affairs of nature.
Rather than the sense of smug satisfaction I expected to experience at seeing one less buffalo, I felt only remorse. These buffalo are no more out of place than I. They are no more invasive than the visitors that collide with deer, squirrels, or birds while driving to the North Rim. Who gets to decide what belongs where, and what does not?
I sat for a moment - considering this - before saying my peace, and turning to leave.
Thus ended my minor obsession with stalking the elusive buffalo of Grand Canyon National Park.
Loren Bell works seasonally in Grand Canyon National Park. He has given up stalking the buffalo, and instead has turned his attention to stalking, and killing, Tamarisk. You can join him on his crusade at www.gcvolunteers.org.