In the light of the early morning, range rider Sigrid Olson and her horse Jake trot down a Forest Service road running high along a rugged ridge in Montana’s Blackfoot Valley. Olson’s ears are perked, and her head is on a swivel, scanning for fresh tracks in the muddy earth. At the valley’s bottom, she finally locates the cattle she was looking for, bunched up in an enclave of trees. Much to her relief, they weren’t taken by the growing number of apex predators in the area, which includes grizzlies, wolves and mountain lions.
“I believe that predators have a place on the landscape,” Olson says. “But each one presents its own set of challenges for ranching out here.”
Across the globe, rising populations have led to the rapid development of wild spaces, resulting in growing pains for both people and animals in the form of human-wildlife conflict. These interactions can result in harm to either party and to their shared environment.
Once thought to be relics of yesteryear, range riders — who are skilled equestrians with a keen sense of wildlife — returned to the American West to mitigate this tension in the far reaches of the rangelands. Long days in the saddle help to fine-tune these ‘conservation cowboys’ acute sense of observation, making them stewards of livestock, landscapes and rural communities on what’s left of the western frontier.
The once-wild West
Range riders were first employed in the 1800s era of Westward Expansion when states west of the Mississippi were in their infancy as territories. Open-range cattle ranching was common, with stockmen running livestock across large swaths of unclaimed land. For decades, range riders patrolled the large herds of cattle, moving them long distances and protecting them against predators in the era that came to be known as the Wild West.
As homesteaders filled the corners of the map, the West was sequestered into parcels of pastures, highways and townships. Fences demarcated the once-open range, and people killed off apex predators through state bounty systems, poisoning and trapping campaigns. Eventually, the need for range riders as the guardians of the West dissolved.
Slowly over the 20th century, the United States realized some regulation was necessary to ensure that certain species, like grizzly bears and wolves, weren’t erased forever. The Endangered Species Act was established in 1973 to protect threatened species of wildlife and plants and is a law that requires both federal and state governments to act against extinction. But by then many predators were already in peril. Gray wolves lost 95 percent of their historic range across the country by the 1970s. The Greater Yellowstone Ecosystem was the last stronghold for grizzlies where roughly 30 females remained in the decade following the establishment of the act.
Both wolves and grizzly bears were listed as endangered or threatened within two years of the establishment of the Endangered Species Act. Over time, thanks to those protections, they’ve made a slow but sure comeback.
The Blackfoot Valley in Montana flanks one of the largest grizzly populations in the country. Sitting at the edge of the Northern Continental Divide where grizzly numbers have more than doubled, this area is home to more of the bears than all other recovery zones in the lower 48 states combined. Meanwhile, wolves re-established populations across 15 states, with wild populations exceeding 10,000.
But as these predators expanded back into their former territories in Montana and worldwide, new tensions have emerged, in part because those habitats are now home to people.
More than 70 percent of countries surveyed in a 2023 World Bank report saw an increase in human-wildlife conflict incidents, largely driven by habitat loss, land-use change and climate-induced resource competition. Japan, for example, has seen an alarming uptick of bear attacks, with 238 just last year. In Asia and Africa, human-elephant conflict is on the rise due to agricultural development expanding into former wildlife habitat. In Africa, almost 80 percent of countries affected by these conflicts report that they have increased in recent years. In Asia, interactions with wild Asian elephants cause around 700 human deaths annually.
It’s a growing quandary. Preserving iconic wildlife and agriculture that safeguards food security across the globe. Yet unsustainable land, water, and energy use for food production is linked to the sixth mass extinction of biodiversity worldwide. The potential repercussions for people who come into contact with wildlife being pushed from their former homes can also be devastating, whether in the form of fatalities or significant loss of income.
Montana’s Blackfoot Valley is a testbed for finding the middle ground between wildlife conservation and deeply rooted cultural livelihoods like ranching, renewing the need for the range rider in the 21st century West.
The Blackfoot Challenge, a nonprofit established in 1993 by community members, is a guiding force amid the unique challenges that arise in Montana’s hinterlands between people, cattle and predators. The organization has funded a range rider program for more than a decade, and although human presence has yet to be scientifically proven to keep predators at bay, anecdotal evidence suggests that the method works.
“In my mind, our two most ancient tools are the best, and those are livestock guardian dogs and people,” says Julie Young, a professor of ecology at Utah State University, who studies human-wildlife conflict reduction.
Finding harmony with wild walks of life is a delicate balance, something the Blackfoot Challenge knows well. Members have worked with wolves for decades and is one of the few ranching communities that also deals with grizzlies. The organization combines analog solutions like the range rider with modern technologies like GPS cattle collars that track stray cows and electrified bear mats that discourage the brutes from wandering onto properties. But the real key to success is a community that maintains a united front, no matter their lifestyle differences, says Seth Wilson, wildlife biologist and executive director of the Blackfoot Challenge.
“Having the support of the community members who live and work among large carnivores is essential for building the processes and partnerships needed for adopting the right tools for reducing conflicts with them,” Wilson says.
Growing pains
These coexistence efforts were tested when a bicyclist was killed by a grizzly near Ovando, Montana, in 2021. The Blackfoot community had to come together to reduce the risk of another deadly encounter without villainizing the entire species because of one individual, Wilson says. They decided to construct an electric fence in Ovando Park so cyclists and other visitors can camp safely.
“We try to focus on interests versus positions when it comes to living with carnivores,” Wilson says. “Some of those shared interests include keeping people safe, maintaining livelihoods, minimizing loss of property, and sharing information about both grizzly bear and wolf behaviors across the valley.”
Even so, living alongside grizzlies requires a whole new set of conventions, Blackfoot Valley rancher Denny Iverson says.
“To live with these predators, you have to understand them,” Iverson says. “I tell my kids, ’You can’t do it like grandpa did, or even like I did.’ Name the problem, with climate change and the changing landscape, it just isn’t going to work.”
Many Blackfoot ranchers like Iverson believe a human presence on the landscape is one of the best deterrents. When a range rider finds livestock suspected to be killed by a predator, or sees one while riding in the backcountry, they report back to the local rancher and the Blackfoot Challenge. After a sighting, ranchers try to keep cattle away from the area and report any livestock deaths to wildlife services, which confirms that the cause of death was in fact from a predator. All of this data helps inform local wildlife management agencies, as well.
“Range riders are one of the best tools out there,” Iverson says. “Having somebody out there on the ground — knowing where predators are and where cattle are — it’s just a comfort to know that somebody’s up there and has your back.”
Each landowner has a unique case depending on what kind of animals they keep on their property and their distance from town, amongst other factors. The Blackfoot Challenge uses a collaborative model to understand local anecdotes and work toward building a consensus-driven process that meets a variety of needs across the valley.
“Collaboration is essential for fostering civil and respectful conversations across stakeholders,” the Blackfoot Challenge’s Wilson says. “This gives meaningful chances for stakeholders to share their voices and perspectives. ”
The Blackfoot Challenge has seen such success that its model has drawn attention from other states and countries navigating similar human-wildlife coexistence challenges. In 2023, Colorado tapped the organization’s expertise to reintroduce wolves, with the state now hosting now hosting 32 thanks to a population rebound.
This past summer, a Japanese television crew working on a documentary about brown bear conflict prevention visited Montana to consult leaders and ranchers about living alongside bears. Since the documentary aired, the country came up with its own innovations to mitigate negative outcomes, like drones that deploy bear spray against problem bears.
No matter the culture, landscape or specific case, studies show that the direct sharing of practical experience, local adaptations and tacit knowledge helps to evolve knowledge systems in agricultural communities.
“I think culture can change if something works,” Utah State University’s Young says. “There are people in communities that can [create] this snowball effect, where they’re kind of like a social media influencer, but instead, they’re community influencers.”
The range rider season typically runs from May to October to coincide with when livestock graze along the fringes of the valley, increasing the likelihood of predator encounters. In 2026, three range riders will roam the Blackfoot Valley, a number determined by the priority of needs for ranchers who have been challenged by predators.
Both Wilson and Iverson highlighted that the only way any of these tools work is if the community, with everyone from ranchers to wildlife agency experts, can trust one another. Iverson also included that working with predators is just one of the deals you make as a rural rancher, and that an established culture of working with wildlife experts is critical for success.
The fabric of the natural world is changing rapidly due to development, with rural areas being some of the most impacted. Amid this shift, people’s connection to place — and their drive to protect it — will become critical for preserving natural resources. Communities like the Blackfoot Valley, that place value on things like wildlife and the landscape, will be some of the last strongholds. Over time, this established appraisal of the non-material can transcend into a culture of stewardship.
“It’s important, if we’re going to live with predators, to keep this landscape open,” Iverson says. “We need people that are on the land, that own the land, and that are working the land that are participating in the community. It’s important that we keep communities grounded.”
