By its very essence, the American West requires a jeweler’s touch.
I know. Over three decades, I was a town wildlife officer, leading Mammoth Lakes’ effort to find balance with its coyotes, bears, mountain lions and more.
I crawled into bear dens, I managed their population surge, I led programs to educate the public and police.
Through enlightened leadership, and my own trial and error, Mammoth Lakes managed to create a sense of stewardship for the town’s wild kingdom.
As I always explain, I didn’t so much help people with their wildlife problems. I helped wildlife with their people problems.
We’d hit that wilderness sweet spot: co-existence.
In the past few years, that beautiful balance has tipped back toward fear and misunderstanding.
Witness the ongoing reaction to the most recent bear encounter, a bloody showdown that swept across TV, newspapers and social media.
To recap: On a summer morning, a longtime Mammoth resident opens the front door to find her dog in a life-or-death struggle with a young bear.
A second dog slips out of the house, escalating the front yard battle. Her boyfriend races out of the shower to help. Naked and afraid, he grabs a hatchet and wades into the bloody brawl.
The next minutes are a blur of snarling teeth, thrashing claws and deadly hatchet blows.
The toll: one dead 70-pound cub, barely 17 months old, plus two humans shredded and bleeding and headed for the ER.
The town is now a cauldron of vitriol and blame. Some residents are furious at the couple, saying they should’ve handled their dogs better. Others are using the incident to suggest that the bears should be eliminated, extending the current trend to overstep, by relocating or even euthanizing troublesome bears.
Again, fear and misunderstanding are taking over.
In the couple’s defense, they have always been strong advocates for the town’s wild bears. They are devastated over what happened and now face huge medical bills. Their lives are upside down.
The lashings they are taking on social media are over the top. I say that as someone who appreciates bears more than almost anyone.
The not-so-obvious irony is that some 20,000 years ago, humans domesticated the wolf as protection from bears and lions. Dogs became the hard wall between soft huts and the wilderness.
The dogs in the latest bear fight were doing exactly what they were programmed to do — protect their owners. And then the two owners were laying their lives on the line for their beloved dogs. That’s a full-circle moment that is lost on many critics.
There’s another tragedy playing out here in the West that shows the backsliding of recent enlightenment: the plight of the wild mustangs at nearby Mono Lake.
As with the bears 30 years ago, the mustangs’ population has grown to unsustainable levels, becoming a threat to the desert and the lake itself, at least according to the Bureau of Land Management.
On July 8, contract workers will use helicopters to round up 500 of the horses and cart them away to holding pens. This is rugged and expensive work, with strong and skittish horses that can be spooked by a butterfly.
Good luck to the men and women tasked with this.
Yet I have to wonder, again how necessary such a heavy-handed response might be. I think of the foals separated from their mothers. I think of the injuries and the trauma involved in forcing wild animals into pens and trucks.
Wild mustangs are among the most beautiful creatures of the American West. Their spirit is our spirit. The local Paiute tribes, expert with horses, have offered their services but were turned down.
Once again, the approach to a situation seems stuck on “stupid.” Case after case, we see humans treading where they need not be, moving wildlife and harming the very thing they claim to love.
I rely on my gut rather than textbooks. I rely on all the lessons learned from decades of chasing bears out of cabins and cars, never suffering so much as a single scratch.
And you’re worried about that bear in your apple tree?
Far more than bears, this is what I fear: The current situations are a byproduct of the American mood, in which we don’t listen. Instead, we lash out at our opponents, missing a chance to work together.
Stubbornly, in the way of cowboys and bureaucrats, we march ahead.
So long, solutions. Farewell, co-existence.
Steve Searles is the former wildlife officer in Mammoth Lakes and the co-author, with Chris Erskine, of “What the Bears Know.”
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