Last summer, 国产吃瓜黑料 sent writer Drew Magary to Yellowstone National Park, not to observe the wildlife, but instead to gawk at the tourists. Amid all the chaos of high season at one of the United States鈥� most heavily-trafficked national parks, Magary discovered, among other things, that 鈥渆veryone who comes to Yellowstone is horny for bison.鈥�

But unlike other big, dangerous animals like wolves or bears, tourists, Magary noted, weren’t scared off by the 2,000-pound animals. 鈥淵our fight-or-flight instincts don鈥檛 kick in when you see a bison. Quite the opposite. You feel serene. Peaceful. At one with the land. That kind of attitude is why Yellowstone visitors end up gored.”

Alas, Magary’s observation has come true, again.

On Monday, June 10, a 30-year-old man from New Jersey was gored by a bison, near the Old Faithful geyser, after he and a large group of other tourists got too close to the animal. It鈥檚 the second such incident this year. A Florida , under similar circumstances.

The news was published by The National Park Service that asked visitors to use common sense. 鈥淲ild animals can be aggressive if people don鈥檛 respect their space,鈥� the release stated, before reminding visitors 鈥渢o stay more than 25 yards away from all large animals.鈥�

Bison have injured more people in Yellowstone than any other animal, and human-provoked bison attacks鈥攁lmost always resulting from tourists simply getting too close鈥攐ccur at least a couple of times a year in the park. There were two gorings reported in 2024, and another in 2023. The prevalence of such behavior, specifically in Yellowstone, has led to a nickname, 鈥渢ouron,鈥� a portmanteau of tourist and moron. An eponymous has over half a million follows.

Informally known as 鈥渂uffalo,鈥� American bison are the national mammal of the United States and the largest mammal in North America. Males stand six feet tall, weigh up to 2,000 pounds, and can run 35 miles per hour. Historically, bison roamed in sprawling herds across much of the continent, but were slaughtered for their furs wholesale in the late 1800s by settlers. In the late 1700s, the species numbered 60 million, but by 1889, less than 600 remained. Efforts to revive bison herds have been successful, however, and the latest assessment, in 2016, by the International Union for Conservation of Nature (IUCN) reported a population of 31,000.

Fossil records show that bison have continuously lived in Yellowstone since prehistoric times, and roughly 5,000 live in and around the park today, the largest bison population on American public lands.

It鈥檚 worth noting that bison attacks aren鈥檛 just bad for humans. They frequently result in tragedy for the animals. In 2016, a father and son tried to kidnap a baby bison in Yellowstone, which was subsequently rejected by its herd. Too young to survive on its own, the calf was euthanized. A similar incident occurred in 2023, when a man began handling a calf that had been separated from its mother. Despite repeated park efforts to reunite it with its family, this calf was also rejected and abandoned, and later had to be put down as well.

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Here at 翱耻迟蝉颈诲别,听we begin each workday by discussing the news stories making waves in the worlds of outdoor recreation, the environment, and adventure sports. Nary a day goes by that we don鈥檛 discuss the latest and dumbest story of a tourist behaving badly at Yellowstone National Park. Usually these news hits involve a large and terrifying mammal like a grizzly bear.

You鈥檝e likely seen these headlines gracing various websites and social media. . 听And one of my recent favorites: l.听

Yokels sauntering up to bison is not a new phenomenon, of course, and attempted to get a little too close to the wildlife at America鈥檚 first national park and . Like many byproducts of this era of cameraphones and social media, the wider world is simply more aware of this behavior because these moments of poor judgement are captured on camera, circulated on Facebook, and then forever enshrined on the Internet. And the incredible tonnage of this content now supports several online communities and media outlets.

I鈥檓 partial to a Facebook group called and the Instagram page (touron: moron plus tourist) for eyeing the latest and not-so-greatest听images of Yellowstone鈥檚 worst visitors. And the Wyoming news site does an admirable job reporting on these people and their exploits. In 2022 they pursued the story of named Matt Manzari who filmed himself walking barefoot through the scalding thermal pools near Old Faithful. Yeah, that鈥檚 against the law.

These websites and social media pages have been busy in 2023. The busy vacation season has barely begun and Yellowstone鈥檚 more careless visitors have already generated multiple troubling stories. On May 20, a tourist named Clifford Walters that had been separated from its mother. Rather than leave the animal alone, Walters grabbed it and pushed it up a hill and onto the roadway鈥攈e was photographed in the act. While his actions may have been done in good faith, they had damaging consequences. Rangers attempted to reunited the calf with its herd, but the animals would not take it back, which is common after bison calves come in contact with humans. Yellowstone officials euthanized the calf.

The $500 after he was charged with one count of feeding, touching, teasing, frightening, or intentionally disturbing wildlife.

Just a few days later, another group of errant tourists acted similarly. They after finding it along U.S. highway 191 and then brought the calf to a police station in West Yellowstone.鈥淭he elk later ran off into the forest, and its condition is unknown,鈥� the NPS said in a statement.

Also in May, of a woman walking up to a resting bison to snap a selfie. And then, just last week, Cowboy State Daily reported that Yellowstone rangers are searching for a and then chased the confused bruin into the woods while growling, grunting, and barking. Rangers knew about the malfeasance because, of course, the guy filmed the ordeal and . Same goes for 听of tourists who got too close to an elk calf and were chased away by its protective mother.

National parks offer a unique experience for watching wildlife. But with that privilege comes responsibility. Visitors are responsible for their own safety and for the safety of the animals, too. Remember to keep your distance.

— National Park Service (@NatlParkService)

The spate of incidents prompted the park鈥檚 media relations service to post an advisory to stay the hell away from the animals: 鈥淚n recent days, some actions by visitors have led to the endangerment of people and wildlife and resulted in the death of wildlife. The park calls on visitors to protect wildlife by understanding how their actions can negatively impact wildlife.鈥� The NPS also republished its infographic that reminds people to stay at least 25 feet away from animals.

I applaud the NPS for publishing these public-service announcements and for hiring designers to produce catchy infographics that we can all circulate on Twitter. Let鈥檚 hope that the blast of information prevents future absentminded do-gooders from attempting to help a beleaguered baby bison or elk.

However, having read dozens of bad tourist stories over the last several years, I suspect the problem of humans approaching Yellowstone鈥檚 enormous animals isn鈥檛 entirely rooted in na茂vet茅. My guess is the guy who jumped out of his Honda to chase a bear knew it was a bad idea, and the same goes for many of the tourists who sneak up on bison to snap selfies.

Whenever I see these stories, I fault our culture鈥檚 obsession with the selfie and the viral TikTok video for providing the inspiration to act like a dolt on camera. I鈥檝e written about this phenomenon before鈥攖he girl who smacked a golf ball into the Grand Canyon, and the high school football players who booted a ball off of a Colorado fourteener come to mind. My mindset is to avoid shaming these people for their careless actions, and to instead attempt to educate them and cultivate in them a greater appreciation for the tenets of responsible outdoor tourism鈥攜ou know, the basic Leave No Trace stuff. But man, the daily parade of Yellowstone content feels dire, and I wonder what could stop this behavior other than serious cultural change. Perhaps it鈥檚 on responsible outdoor enthusiasts to collectively agree to approach and stop these people when they are acting poorly. Can the outdoor community sway public sentiment to make these images feel lame, and not something to be coveted? The next time a friend or loved one is headed to Yellowstone, perhaps we carefully remind them that snapping a close-up image of a wild animal is not something to brag about. It鈥檚 something to be ashamed of.

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It鈥檚 tough for most people to see a baby animal in distress, even a wild one, and the urge to step in and help can be overwhelming. But one visitor鈥檚 recent attempt to save a struggling bison calf in Yellowstone National Park backfired when it led the herd to reject the animal, forcing the National Park Service to euthanize the animal.

On Saturday, May 20, visitors in the Lamar Valley area of the park saw a newborn calf get separated from its mother as a herd of bison crossed the Lamar River. In response, witnesses said a tourist, described by the park service as a 鈥渨hite male in his 40-50鈥檚, wearing a blue shirt and black pants,鈥� approached it and 鈥減ushed the calf up from the river and onto the roadway.鈥�

However, there was no happy ending in store for the calf, which began walking up to visitors rather than returning to its mother. Though that staff 鈥渢ried repeatedly to reunite the calf with the herd鈥� afterward, they were unsuccessful, and eventually ended up euthanizing the animal after it continued to approach people and cars in the road, 鈥渃ausing a hazardous situation.鈥澨�

May is the heart of Yellowstone bison鈥檚 calving season, which runs from April to early July, and the newborn animals are common this time of year. The sight of the fuzzy, gangly young can provoke some head-scratching behavior by visitors more accustomed to caring for domestic animals than managing wild ones. This is not the first time that a Yellowstone bison calf has been euthanized after an encounter with a tourist who wanted to help it. In May 2016, a father and son visiting the park put a calf in the back of their car and drove it to a ranger station because they believed it was cold; instead, rangers ticketed the pair and put the calf down after they too repeatedly failed at reintroducing the animal to its herd. (The NPS is currently trying to identify the person involved in this weekend鈥檚 incident, though it hasn鈥檛 said yet whether it plans to fine them or otherwise pursue charges.)

There are deep-seated evolutionary reasons for the very human urge to help baby animals, a fact that biologists and psychologists have understood for decades. In the 1940s, Austrian zoologist Konrad Lorenz suggested that most young animals, including human infants, share a 鈥渂aby schema鈥� of characteristics that intrinsically captures people鈥檚 attention, like rotund bodies and small noses and mouths. As psychiatric researcher Eloise Stark , research has since found that the mere sight of a baby animal causes activity in the orbitofrontal cortex, the part of our brain involved with reward, motivating us to approach or interact with it.

But fight that biology, backpackers, because the cold, hard truth is that baby wild animals aren鈥檛 like little humans or even domestic animals. Whether you鈥檙e a hiker on a weeklong trip or a tourist driving a lap through Yellowstone, your encounters with them will last a few minutes, while they鈥檒l need to rely on their families for weeks, months, or even years if they鈥檙e going to survive. Anything that jeopardizes that relationship is liable to put them in danger, and, as the NPS noted in its release, that includes 鈥渋nterference by people.鈥�

Yes, seeing nature take its course can be hard to watch鈥攊t鈥檚 impossible to say if the bison calf in this latest incident would have lived even without the human 鈥渉elp鈥� it got. But untrained, inexperienced people are poor judges of what wild animals鈥� needs are, and in this case, they did more harm than good.

The post A Yellowstone Visitor Tried to Help a Baby Bison鈥攁nd Caused Its Death Instead appeared first on 国产吃瓜黑料 Online.

Perhaps my greatest wintertime annoyance is shoveling snow from the sidewalk so that my eight-pound Yorkshire Terrier, Beau, can complete his daily stroll around the neighborhood. After each storm, Beau waits patiently for me to clear the concrete of ice and slush, and I am again reminded of the bizarre tasks we humans do for the animals we love.

Alas, my efforts seem piddly compared to those of a group of volunteers outside Yellowstone National Park, who recently cleared several hundred tons of snow to create a migration corridor for the local bison herd. On March 11 and 12, six members of the nonprofit Buffalo Field Campaign dug a 2,000-foot long system of passageways through deep snow near an important highway junction just north of West Yellowstone, Montana. It was painstaking work, because recent storms have left deep drifts on the hillsides.

鈥淚鈥檓 pretty tired鈥擨 won鈥檛 lie,鈥� Mike Mease, the group鈥檚 co-founder, told me. 鈥淚鈥檓 just happy that we can hopefully save some of their lives.鈥�

Mease and his group hope to avoid a scenario that played out this past December, when a semitruck slammed into bison that had been walking along U.S. Highway 191. The impact killed multiple bison immediately, and wildlife officials had to euthanize others. In total, 13 animals died. The fateful strike in December occurred approximately four miles north of town, near the spot where the group dug the corridor.

The collision sent shockwaves through West Yellowstone, Mease said, where bison are beloved annual visitors.听 鈥淲e saw the buffalo get killed and it felt like mass slaughter,鈥� Mease said. 鈥淲e wanted to do something that would give them a better chance of survival.鈥�

Every winter, bison from Yellowstone鈥檚 central herd head west along the Madison River, through West Yellowstone, and toward the banks of Hebgen Lake, where the animals wait out the snow and cold. In the spring, expecting mothers also give birth and raise their calves in the area. In years when snow accumulations is high, the bison avoid the meadows and hillsides and simply walk along the local highways.

Mease and his group hope the bison use their corridors to cross highway 191 at a single point, rather than having the animals walk down a long section of the road. Whether that happens or not is, of course, up to the bison themselves.

Buffalo Field Campaign has organized smaller digs in years past, but nothing of this size and scope, Mease said. That鈥檚 because of this year鈥檚 particularly harsh winter鈥攁ccording to , West Yellowstone has already received 149 percent of its average annual snowfall. Mease said there was urgency for the dig. Officials in Yellowstone National Park will soon begin plowing roadways for summer visitors, and expecting bison mothers uses the cleared pavement to migrate west.

鈥淚 couldn鈥檛 stand the idea of a pregnant mama bison being killed on the road,鈥� he said.

Earlier this month Mease reached out to park officials, as well as the Montana Department of Transportation, which agreed to help. On Saturday, officials with the department arrived at the junction with Highway 191 with snowblowers to clear pathways through the berms on each side of the highway. Then, the six volunteers went to work. They slammed pickaxes into the drifts to punch through the hardened crust, and then dug into the soft powder with shovels.

鈥淭he hard part was having to throw it over those walls on each side,鈥� Mease said. In some areas the snow walls were between five and six feet high.

For now, the makeshift corridor is a temporary solution. Earlier this year they circulated a petition to build a permanent wildlife corridor鈥攅ither a bridge or tunnel鈥攖o allow animals to bypass Highway 191. According to a news release, the group gathered 70,000 signatures.

On Thursday, March 16, Mease and others met with Yellowstone鈥檚 superintendent, Cam Sholly, to discuss the idea. Mease said officials support building a permanent wildlife corridor, however he believes the project will take years to go from idea to reality.

In the meantime, Mease and his group will likely do future digs to accommodate the herd. Like those of us who shovel snow for our delicate doggies, these volunteers appear to be motivated by the power of animal affection.

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A gory auto wreck west of Yellowstone National Park last week left 13 bison dead and authorities scratching their heads.

According to law enforcement, a semitruck traveling along U.S. Highway 191 smashed into a herd of the animals on Wednesday, December 28, at approximately 6:30 P.M just north of the town of West Yellowstone, Montana. In a statement on Friday, December 30, local police said the initial collision killed multiple bison, and several others had to be euthanized due to severe injuries.

鈥淲e deal with wildlife being struck and killed on the roadways in our area on a regular basis due to the abundance of wildlife in our area and our close proximity to Yellowstone National Park,鈥� the statement said. 鈥淲e are always saddened by any of these incidents, particularly when so many animals are lost.鈥�

Cops said bison often congregate along Highway 191 and the junction with U.S. Highway 297, which is located between the park鈥檚 westernmost boundary and the banks of Hebgen Lake. The animals sometimes use the roadway as travel corridors when snowdrifts get too high, authorities said.

Yellowstone鈥檚 bison population from approximately 3,200 to 5,500 animals and is composed of two primary herds; one lives in the park鈥檚 central Hayden and Pelican Valleys during the summer, while another lives in the Lamar Valley, in the park鈥檚 northeast corner.

Bison are migratory and each year to graze, raise offspring, and avoid extreme weather. Those inside the park鈥檚 boundaries spend the spring and summer months in mountainous grasslands. In the fall and winter, they head for lower elevations. According to a听, the central herd traditionally leaves the Hayden and Pelican Valleys and moves west into the Firehole River drainage, and often some of its members continue heading west toward Hebgen Lake and West Yellowstone to escape the snow. The animals that were struck were likely from this herd.

Police did not say whether the driver of the semitruck broke any laws during the incident.听In their statement, they reminded drivers to travel slower than the posted speed limit during winter conditions.

鈥淎lthough speed many not necessarily have been a factor in this accident, road conditions at the time would dictate traveling below the posted speed limit,鈥� the statement said. 鈥淧lease do not drive faster than you can stop within the distance that your headlights project.鈥�

The incident caused some confusion with authorities. An initial report suggested that two other vehicles were involved in the bison deaths. But the statement clarified that the semitruck was the only vehicle to have struck the animals.

鈥淎ll of the bison were hit by the semi, and the other two vehicles were secondary incidents,鈥� the statement said.

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This article was first published by .

Grizzly bears can top 1,000 pounds and stand nearly 10 feet tall; with four-inch claws and a predator鈥檚 canines, they鈥檙e equipped to take down prey and defend themselves from intruders with deadly force. So it鈥檚 a little vexing that tourists at Yellowstone keep trying to go near them.

A viral Instagram video from May captured an all-too-typical example: In the clip by user Darcie Addington, a woman tries to snap a photo of three grazing grizzlies from close range, with only a stone half-wall between them. When one (rather unsurprisingly) bluff charges her, she quickly steps away. , who appears to have broken park rules prohibiting visitors from approaching closer than 100 yards to a bear.

Listen, we don鈥檛 want to sound elitist. We understand that people have different levels of experience in the outdoors. But should anyone really need a rule to tell them not to go near a grizzly? They鈥檙e the largest terrestrial predator in the lower 48 states; while bear attacks aren鈥檛 common, they happen, most recently in April . And when attacks do happen, they get enough media coverage that even the biggest homebody should know by now that grizzlies can hurt or kill you if they want.

The same goes for most of Yellowstone鈥檚 animals, particularly its bison, which charge and injure tourists every year when the visitors get too close. When it comes to wildlife, further away is always better: Even when they don鈥檛 provoke an attack, visitors who approach animals can alter their patterns of behavior by forcing wildlife to move, stressing them out, and burning up valuable calories the creatures need to survive. If you need something more concrete, start with these tips.

Bears

If you have to wonder whether you鈥檙e too close to a bear, you probably are. Most grizzly attacks are defensive: They occur because the animal is trying to protect itself, its young, or a food source from a perceived interloper. Get too close, and that could be you, buddy. While black bears tend to be a little more skittish, ushering their young up trees rather than standing their ground, they can be dangerous as well. Yellowstone park rules require visitors to stay at least 100 yards from them at all times. Use this (literal) rule of thumb: Hold your thumb up at arm鈥檚 length. If you can cover up the bear with it, you鈥檙e good.

Bison

These grazers may have a distinct cattle-like vibe to them, but watch out: They鈥檙e wild animals, and they鈥檙e big enough to hurt you. Mother bison, who give birth in the spring, can be extremely protective of their young; during the mating season, which runs July through September, hormone-juiced male bison butt heads with each other and the occasional tourist who doesn鈥檛 respect their space. Yellowstone requires visitors to stay at least 25 yards away, or just longer than a typical semi truck.

Wolves

Compared to bears and bison, you鈥檙e less likely to see hanging out by the side of the road; there are usually 100 or fewer in the park proper, and they tend to shy away from crowds. If you鈥檙e lucky enough to see one, however, the same rules apply to them as to bears: Stay at least 100 yards鈥攐ne football field鈥攁way.

Photographing Bears, Bison, and Wolves

If you鈥檙e following these rules, you鈥檒l inevitably find that, unless you enjoy photos of tiny black dots, you鈥檒l be too far away to get good pictures of the wildlife with your phone鈥檚 camera. Instead, consider investing in a compact mirrorless camera like the Sony 伪6400 and pairing it with a telephoto lens.

The post A Friendly Reminder: Wild Animals Will Still Mess You Up appeared first on 国产吃瓜黑料 Online.

In physics, the Doppler effect describes how a noise like a coming train will always sound different when it approaches than when it recedes. The noise itself is the same, but your perspective听changes, and with it,听the pitch enters听a new frequency. Reading about history can ignite a similar feeling, showing how, say, social battles that once seemed futile were actually progressing all along. Such is the case with , a new book by former biologist and acclaimed science journalist and editor Michelle Nijhuis. Beloved Beasts unwinds a history of human efforts to protect the loss of other species, an impulse, Nijhuis writes,听鈥渓ikely as old as the images of steppe bison painted on cave walls.鈥� She reveals how policies and habits that once seemed unmovable were, through the intervention of passionate human advocates, changed. 鈥淔antasy and despair are tempting, but history can help us resist them,鈥� she writes. 鈥淭he past accomplishments of conservation were not inevitable, and neither are its future failures.鈥�

Beloved听Beasts is a capacious, engrossing, and timely examination of worldwide conservation movements since the late 19th century, tracing not just their triumphs but the tendrils of racism and colonialism that have all too often undergirded the science. Beginning with the plight of bison in the American West, the book moves chronologically through turning points in species conservation, with each chapter tethered to an actor or two and the animals they were鈥攐r are still鈥攚orking to protect. This structure is surprisingly buoying, not just because it鈥檚 more fun to follow people than policies, but because it鈥檚 evidence of just how many ripples one life can make. Aldo Leopold described conservation as a movement of individuals, each 鈥渁 member of a community of interdependent parts,鈥� and the book attains a similar patchwork of viewpoints and priorities, while never succumbing to the myth that change stems from one voice alone.

Conservation history,听Nijhuis writes,听is 鈥渇ull of people who did the wrong things for the right reasons, and the right things for the wrong reasons,鈥澨齛nd her听portraits of these movers and shakers are multifaceted. John Muir鈥檚 ecstatic meditations on the natural world may have become 鈥減art of conservation scripture,鈥� but when he came across a group of Mono people while hiking in the Sierra Nevada, he wrote that they 鈥渉a[d]听no right place in the landscape.鈥� This ethos听reverberated through the 20th-century creation of national parks in Africa, which were initially spearheaded by colonial governments听and which evicted nomadic inhabitants as 鈥渟quatters鈥� in order to create a definition of 鈥渨ilderness鈥� palatable to foreign safari-goers.

Human control over wild animals has long been a way of exerting dominance over the animals鈥� habitat, the same habitat, of course, that we rely on too. Nijhuis describes President Ulysses S. Grant鈥檚 interior secretary, Columbus Delano, believing that the decimation of American bison populations would, in his words, 鈥渃onfine the Indians to smaller areas, and compel them to abandon their nomadic customs鈥濃�攑aving the way, implicitly, for white men to dominate the landscape.听

Beloved Beasts also听details the rise of well-known organizations like the , which听was launched in 1961 by a few dozen听British naturalists, most of them male and white. One of them was听author 鈥檚 brother听Julian, an adventurous biologist whose three-month, Unesco-funded trip through Central and East Africa had just been chronicled听in a series of newspaper articles published in the London Observer.听As in the U.S. with Rachel Carson鈥檚 , Huxley鈥檚 writing won the hearts and minds of those with power and pocketbooks;听the WWF formed as a fundraising machine in the wake of his publication.听(As for the WWF panda mascot? It was sketched during an early planning meeting, chosen because it was cute, threatened globally, and its black-and-white fur would be cheap to print.)

Meanwhile, Nijhuis鈥檚 account of the 鈥渃risis discipline鈥� of conservation biology that emerged in the 1970s鈥攖he concept that the field needed to move urgently to address environmental threats鈥攊s enriched by her own account of knowing one of its earliest advocates, biologist , who was her neighbor in the foothills of the western Colorado Rockies decades later. 鈥淲hat really bothered him, he often said, was not the prospect of death but that of the end of birth鈥攖he end of evolution, the end of possibility,鈥� she writes.

In addition to covering these central movements, Nijhuis describes battles I knew little about, from the bird-watching suffragists who fought feathered fashion at the turn of the 20th century, to the Maori who successfully classified the longest navigable river in New Zealand as a legal person in 2017, to the Namibian conservationists currently reliant on budgets funded by trophy hunters. Though at times I hoped she would cover more of these smaller-scale conservation efforts鈥攑erhaps shedding a light on the Nez Perce 听or the Indigenous communities in Myanmar collected about fish in their rivers鈥攖he book seems to me successful if, after reading Nijhuis鈥檚听history,听readers are left wanting to hunt down more.

Nijhuis is the sort of writer who makes excavating arcane facts and dinner-party-worthy anecdotes look effortless. I often found myself shouting to my boyfriend in the other room, compelled to share, for example, that a species of Slovenian cave beetle was now nearly extinct because its scientific name (A. hitleri) had made it a neo-Nazi collector鈥檚 item. Her eye knows just where to linger when she鈥檚 in the field, as with听her description听of watching a rhino in the sparse, spiky shade of a mopani听tree as he 鈥渨orked his droopy upper lip 鈥� vast haunches jiggling as he disappeared into the sun-bleached brush.鈥� Even accounts of committee meetings鈥攐ne with 1920s Audubon members, another with contemporary seminomadic Namibian herders鈥攈ad my heart pounding, tickled to be so immersed in bureaucratic Ping-Pong.

I would have marveled at the scope of Nijhuis鈥檚 research in any moment, but the book feels particularly timely now. In late January, President Biden announced an unprecedented plan to conserve 30 percent of the United States鈥� lands and waters by 2030 as part of his day-one executive order on climate. In practice, this will mean more than doubling the area of currently protected land held by both private and public parties鈥攁dding an area 鈥攚ith no obvious path for which land should be targeted first. Scientists talk about 鈥�,鈥� where听an animal鈥檚 chance for survival depends on how 鈥渦seful鈥� we see it, and Beloved Beasts made me consider the value we assign not only to animals but to their鈥攖o our鈥攈abitats,听often prioritizing the conservation of the landscapes we most want to recreate in. The scope of Biden鈥檚 plan would require transcending those sorts of calculations. In the 1990s, Soul茅 was one of the first biologists to suggest that we should be building 鈥渉abitat corridors鈥� between natural reserves, creating pathways for animals to migrate and move across the whole continent, from Canada to Mexico. Proposals of this nature have traditionally been a tough sell, but Biden has created an opening to discuss the preservation of habitat connectivity once again.听

When humans invented agriculture around 8,000 B.C., we were ,听including baboons. Ten thousand years later, we rule the earth, and it鈥檚 the animals around us that keep disappearing, at a rate of about 9,000 human-caused species extinctions every year. The idea that we are entering a sixth mass extinction now is听well-documented. Biologist Paul Ehrlich tells Nijhuis that though the scale of species extinctions is already sobering, it doesn鈥檛 capture how many more local animal populations are declining or going extinct even as their species holds on. In her 2016 book , Ursula Heise asks, 鈥淚s it possible to acknowledge the realities of large-scale species extinction and yet to move beyond mourning, melancholia, and nostalgia to a more affirmative vision of our biological future?鈥�

After reading Beloved听Beasts, I am confident the answer is yes. Nijhuis defines the mission of conservation biology as 鈥渢he preservation of possibility,鈥� but in her introduction, she explains that she will use the word hope听sparingly, because the emotion did not motivate many early conservationists. They were swayed by other things (鈥渓ove, outrage, data鈥�), but they did not persevere because they felt they would succeed at saving the animals they loved鈥攖hey just felt it was worth doing regardless. So I was surprised, on closing the book, to feel that rare flutter: hope. It wasn鈥檛 that I now believed humans could save every animal, but that in owning up to the harmful rhetoric within conservation鈥檚 lineage, and acknowledging the persistence of colonial and racist environmental policies, we will be able to collaborate more efficiently and more equitably.听As Nijhuis suggests, to cultivate habitat for other animals, we must find connectivity in our own communities first.听

Though a conservation biologist will emphasize the similarities between humans and other animals, Nijhuis notes that Homo sapiens are the only ones aware of ourselves as a species, capable of identifying and acting as part of a larger 鈥渨e.鈥� 鈥淭he assumption that only particular kinds of humans are distinctive鈥攖hat a subset of the 鈥榳e鈥櫶齣s different from other animals, but 鈥榯hey鈥櫶齛re not鈥攗nderlies some of the darkest chapters of the conservation movement,鈥� writes Nijhuis toward the end of the book. We need a future built on multispecies solidarity, she writes, and an awareness that we are all in it together on this warming planet. Humans can destroy, but so can we protect, conserve, rebuild. We must not forget we are 鈥渃apable of protecting the rest of life from ourselves.鈥�

The post 鈥楤eloved Beasts鈥� Is a Riveting History of Conservation appeared first on 国产吃瓜黑料 Online.

62 Parks Traveler听started with a simple goal: to visit every U.S. national park. Avid backpacker and public-lands nerd听听saved up, built out a tiny van to travel and live in, and hit the road. The parks as we know them are rapidly changing, and she听wanted to see them before it鈥檚 too late.

Pennington听is committed to following CDC guidelines during the COVID-19 pandemic to ensure the safety of herself and others. She鈥檚 visiting new parks while closely adhering to best safety practices.

Five minutes after starting on a trail at Theodore Roosevelt National Park, I nearly stepped on a prairie rattlesnake. Wait, let me rephrase that. I nearly stepped on the rattlesnake, then recoiled, tripped, nearly stepped on听it again, rolled my ankle, and ran back to my boyfriend, who was laughing at how flushed my face and chest had become.

I鈥檇 heard that the wildlife sightings would be pretty outrageous amid听this 70,448-acre expanse of rugged badlands cut through by the Little Missouri River. I just didn鈥檛 realize how close I would actually get.

Theodore Roosevelt National Park was founded听to commemorate the death of the conservationist president and to preserve听a little-known corner of western North Dakota that first inspired his love of the outdoors. The听230 million acres of public land that Roosevelt听helped create in the U.S. forever shifted the way the world would think听about and protect听its natural wonders. But it鈥檚 important to note that his legacy is 鈥攈e鈥檚 been legitimately criticized for his support of the Indian allotment system and the removal of Native Americans from their ancestral homelands.

I slept off my tussle with the rattler and woke up refreshed and ready to explore. Turning onto the park鈥檚 most popular听attraction in its South Unit, the 36-mile Scenic Loop Drive, I was immediately met with more wildlife. A thundering coterie听of chirping prairie dogs darted chaotically around the grasslands. Meanwhile, in the distance, a group of wild horses ran right across the road as a coyote slunk听out from a nearby ditch. At one point, I pulled over to hike the short but sweet half-mile Wind Canyon Trail, stopping听to take in the dozens of distinct birdsongs fluttering about in the morning air. Though it was a busy听summer weekend in July and visitors abounded, the place was still teeming with animals.

By lunch听it was time to scoot over to the park鈥檚 less visited North Unit. But听as I hugged the curves along the winding park road, I was abruptly met with a traffic jam. To my right was a herd听of enormous bison with bright, rust-colored calves sprinting across the road. Not a single car dared to move. The mood was tense.

After a 30-minute standstill, we were able to drive two miles per hour between听the huge beasts, cautiously proceeding so as not to disturb them. Mothers were nursing their young in the road as my van crept听past. Given the fact that a full-grown bison cow can weigh 1,200 pounds, it was equal parts adorable and unnerving.

We capped it all off with an easy two-and-a-half mile out-and-back听hike to Sperati Point, tramping through a diverse ecosystem of grasses and wildflowers bursting up in every direction. There wasn鈥檛 a soul around, and I began to see how Roosevelt may have felt here. A remote expanse of badlands and prairie that humbles the ego instantly. Ragged, dynamic, wild.

62 Parks Traveler Theodore Roosevelt Info

Size: 70,448 acres

Location: Western North Dakota

Created In: 1935 (Roosevelt Recreation Demonstration Area), 1978 (national park)

Best For: Bird-watching, wildlife viewing, hiking, scenic drives, and car camping

When to Go: Summers (50 to 86 degrees) are hot, bustling, and an excellent time to visit the park. Spring (19 to 68 degrees) and fall (19 to 74 degrees) offer milder temperatures and chilly nights. In winter (5 to 33 degrees), the park鈥檚 scenic drives stay open as weather conditions permit.

Where to Stay:听, in the park鈥檚 South Unit, has views of the badlands and easy access to the听most popular outings. Each site comes equipped with a picnic table and grill. Just watch out for curious bison poking around camp!

Mini 国产吃瓜黑料: Drive the听 36-mile Scenic Loop Drive and hike the Wind Canyon Trail. The winding road will take you through some of the most exquisite painted badlands that this park听has to offer, while providing excellent opportunities for wildlife viewing. Once on the trail, you鈥檒l enjoy breathtaking views of the Little Missouri River.

Mega 国产吃瓜黑料: Thru–hike the rolling prairie on the听. Derived听from a local Mandan Tribe phrase meaning 鈥渁n area that will be around for a long time,鈥� this 144-mile singletrack connects the park鈥檚 three units and is an unforgettable way to explore the rustic wilderness that first inspired Roosevelt.

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63 Parks Traveler听started with a simple goal: to visit every U.S. national park. Avid backpacker and public-lands nerd听听saved up, built out a tiny van to travel and live in, and hit the road. The parks as we know them are rapidly changing, and she听wanted to see them before it鈥檚 too late.

Pennington has returned to traveling and is committed to following CDC guidelines during the COVID-19 pandemic to ensure the safety of herself and others. She鈥檚 visiting new parks while closely adhering to best safety practices.

Entering 听on the less-traveled Sage Creek Road听is not for the faint of heart. After a long drive through a sea of mottled, green grasslands, I took a sharp left turn down a听washboard road and watched as my van kicked up a plume of dust in the rearview mirror. A dozen miles later, I drove up to a sunny picnic table at Sage Creek Campground and was instantly greeted with a series of high-pitched alarm-like chirps. Hundreds of small rodents scattered and disappeared underground.

The campground was set in the middle of a prairie dog town.

I watched the playful little ground squirrels go about their daily dance, giggling every time they arched their backs, stood on their hind legs, and uttered a synchronized two-syllable screech. Caught up in watching them, I nearly forgot that there was a huge, wild park surrounding me. I was reminded of that again听when I set off for the bathroom to find it casually guarded by a trio of male bison.

The next morning, I woke up at 6 A.M. to beat the forecasted 95-degree July heat and check out the Castle-Medicine Root Loop, a seven-mile trail that cuts through the heart of the park鈥檚 most striking badlands formations. By 7 A.M., the temps were already in the mid-70s, and my poor Scandinavian body was lagging.

I ambled through the maze of sedimentary rock and big prairie vistas in awe of the stark desolation around me. Blood-red stripes perforated the otherwise dull, cream-colored buttes and spires. I couldn鈥檛 believe that early American homesteaders听once tried to navigate and farm these crumbling hills.

Once the thermometer hit 93, I was done. I dumped water over my head, hopped back into my van, and sped off toward听the Cedar Pass Campground to escape the sweltering mid-day heat. Half-naked and sprawled out in the shade on top of my site鈥檚 sole picnic table, I prayed for the sun to start sinking.

After what felt like an eon, I lifted my head to find that the once drab badlands were suddenly awash in color. The sun was beginning to dip below the horizon, turning the park and everything in it a blasphemous shade of pink. It was utterly captivating.

I jumped into my van in search of the perfect vantage point from which to view the evening鈥檚 show. I pulled over near Norbeck Pass, just as the sun was dipping behind a toothy ridge of eroding rock.

As I stood in the still air and gazed out at the vast grasslands to the west, I noticed that several other groups of travelers were gathered in clusters nearby, staring awestruck at the same trick of the light. I found myself swelling up with gratitude.

The parks are so often a perfect excuse to subvert our ordinary busyness, beckoning us to do nothing other than slow down and watch the immense beauty of the light fading.

62 Parks Traveler Badlands Info

Size: 242,756 acres

Location: South Dakota

Created in: 1939 (national monument), 1978 (national park)

Best For: Scenic drives, hiking, car camping, geology, night sky viewing

When to Go: Spring (25 to 73 degrees) and fall (25 to 81 degrees) provide near-perfect temperatures for hiking and exploring the colorful badlands formations. Summers (56 to 100-plus degrees) are scorching with plenty of sunshine, while winters (below zero to 41 degrees) are frigid with intense winds.

Where to Stay: The park is home to two developed campgrounds:听Sage Creek and Cedar Pass. is the more primitive, free option, located down a dusty dirt road on the park鈥檚 western side. 听(from $23) offers more creature comforts, like water, flush toilets, and showers, and is closer to the park鈥檚 most famous formations.

Mini 国产吃瓜黑料: Hike the wheelchair-accessible . Located in the heart of the park鈥檚 Cedar Pass area, these two .25-mile boardwalk paths are kid-friendly and get visitors up close to the park鈥檚 namesake badlands. After snapping a few photos, consider taking a scenic drive along Badlands Loop Road to see first-hand the miles-long expanse of the Badlands Wall.

Mega 国产吃瓜黑料: Backpack the ten-mile (round trip) . As the longest trail in the park, this hike traverses some of the most scenic pinnacles and spires that make the area famous. For a change of scenery,听consider taking the Medicine Root Trail on the return trip to check out the biodiversity of the park鈥檚 mixed grass prairie landscapes. Backpackers, take note: many of the low-traffic trails are a maze of crumbling rock and badlands. GPS is encouraged, and lots of water is a must. This is not for beginner backpackers.

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62 Parks Traveler听started with a simple goal: to visit every U.S. national park. Avid backpacker and public-lands nerd听听saved up, built out a tiny van to travel and live in, and hit the road. The parks as we know them are rapidly changing, and she听wanted to see them before it鈥檚 too late.

Pennington has returned to traveling and is committed to following CDC guidelines during the COVID-19 pandemic to ensure the safety of herself and others. She鈥檚 visiting new parks while closely adhering to best safety practices.

It was cool and quiet when I arrived at Wind Cave in South Dakota, a sunset glow kissing the grassy hillsides. I parked my van at a picnic area near the park鈥檚 visitor center and ambled down a short gravel path into a shallow canyon. At the end of听my听brief stroll, I held my palm gingerly over听a gaping hole in an otherwise solid rock wall. As if by some ancient wizardry, a chilly breeze blew out of the rocky ground, dancing between my fingertips鈥攖he famous wind of Wind Cave.

Long before a gust听knocked Jesse Bingham鈥檚 hat off his head while hunting here in 1881, prompting him听and his brother to stumble upon听this听vast cave system, the cave鈥檚 natural opening had been regarded as a sacred site for the Lakota people. It鈥檚 the place from which they believe they , a legend that has been passed down for centuries. Today听the site听is known to modern Lakota as Maka Oniye, or 鈥渂reathing earth,鈥� a portal to the spirit world.

Usually park visitors can see听the system by taking an elevator down into the caves听or hiking through the natural entrance with a ranger. Unfortunately, it听closed in July 2019听due to , and now remains closed because of the COVID-19 pandemic. So this small, historic opening was all that I could see of the park鈥檚 namesake caverns. There would be no in my immediate future. Ever the resourceful traveler, I took the closure as a challenge to explore the unsung wonders of this national park鈥攏otably its 30-plus miles of hiking trails through one of the largest remaining mixed-grass prairie ecosystems in the country.

The next day, I set an alarm and got an early start to hike the , a 4.5-mile trek through rolling green hills, prairie dog towns, ponderosa pine forests, and craggy, creekside canyons. As a California hiker unaccustomed to听big game on the听trail, I found myself tremendously anxious about the prospect of bison encounters. I had never seen one in the wild and only had a vague idea about听what I should do if I came across a bison jam en route.

As with most things in life, Mother Nature tends to sort out our fears with a hearty dose of immersion therapy.听Just ten minutes into the hike, I rounded a corner to find a 2,000-pound bull casually grazing in the middle of the trail. I stopped dead in my tracks and began laughing. Of course this is the first thing I see today,听I thought.

Taking a deep breath, I carefully scanned the ground for prairie dog holes and tiptoed as gracefully as I could in a wide semicircle around the fuzzy beast. I felt invincible.

After my death-defying run-in with an ice-age-era mammal, the rest of the hike was a snap. I dodged thick poison ivy as I cruised downhill through the forest and hopped across the lush, riparian landscape surrounding Highland Creek, passing rugged, rust-colored limestone cliffs and smiling all the way back to my van.

The day may not have featured the thousand-foot cliffs of Yosemite or the rocky alpine peaks of Glacier, but sometimes an unknown hike doesn鈥檛 need the usual fanfare to make you feel accomplished. Sometimes听all it takes is a welcome surprise.

62 Parks Traveler Wind Cave Info

Size: 33,847 acres

Location: Southwestern South Dakota

Created In: 1903 (national park)

Best For: Caving, night-sky viewing, hiking, scenic prairie drives

When to Go: Spring (23 to 67 degrees), summer (49 to 84 degrees), and fall (23 to 75 degrees) all provide proper weather for roaming听the park鈥檚 vast trails and prairies. Winter (13 to 41 degrees) is chilly, and snow sometimes forces park roads to close. The cave system鈥檚 temperature remains a steady 54 degrees year-round.

Where to Stay: Wind Cave is located a short drive from Hot Springs, South Dakota. For those not looking to camp at the park鈥檚 , is a great budget option full of clean rooms. Breakfast is听included.

Mini 国产吃瓜黑料: Hike the easy听one-mile Prairie Vista Trail, and check out Wind Cave鈥檚 natural opening. Along the way, learn about the history of the Lakota people, and experience the amazing biodiversity of a mixed-grass prairie landscape.

Mega 国产吃瓜黑料: Go spelunking. Once the cave听reopens (a date has yet to be announced, but you can ), the park will begin offering its famous tours once again. The most adventurous of the bunch is the four-hour , in which visitors crawl through tight passageways and explore its听undeveloped areas.

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