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The farmers in the audience either sided with the scientists or were too polite to disagree; there were no walkouts, or even skeptical questions. That's likely because climate change is getting harder for farmers and ranchers to ignore. The weather in recent years looks a lot like the extreme conditions scientists projected: floods in 2011, severe fires in 2012 and record-breaking hail damage in 2013. All that leads to lost income and the fear that crop insurance will be tougher to buy.
In a 2014 study, University of Montana ecologist Brady Allred found that the U.S. states richest in natural resource and agricultural lands are also the most likely to get hotter and drier. Those states — including Montana, where agriculture is the largest industry — also elect -congressional representatives that resist climate change mitigation or adaptation policies. Agricultural lands are among the most vulnerable, says Allred. "And if (we) have this leadership that is not as likely to think about adaptation or mitigation policies going forward, that presents a concern."
The Montana Farmers Union is attempting to temper the partisan polarization around climate issues by inviting scientists like Menallad to forums and publishing scientific reports about what farmers can expect in the warming region. The Farmers Union has always focused on protecting family farmers, and its leaders worry that smaller operations will feel the impacts more acutely than large agribusiness. The risks to its members' livelihoods now outweigh any political fallout that could come from discussing the issue, says the union's president, Alan Merrill: "We just want to make people aware of what is happening. Learn what you can do on your operation, learn how to cope with what is happening right now."
Montana's other traditional ag groups have yet to take formal positions on climate change. Chelcie Cremer, the director of state affairs for the Montana Farm Bureau Federation, says that's because their members haven't sought more information. In the past, however, her group campaigned against cap-and-trade legislation that could impose costs on producers. But now, farmers' unions in the upper Midwest, Kansas and New England as well as Montana are confronting the issue. Merrill credits the National Farmers Union's willingness to tackle controversial topics, such as lobbying for country-of-origin labeling.-
"It does sort of feel like we're reaching a tipping point where it's OK to talk about it now," says Montana Department of Agriculture Director Ron de Yong. "Farmers and ranchers, even if they aren't reading about it, they are experiencing it on their own farms."
Farmers are adapting, de Yong says. Merrill, who grows wheat in central Montana, has found that the planting schedules his father taught him no longer work on his farm, and Montana State researchers are developing spring wheat that matures faster to beat hotter, drier June weather. De Yong's office is encouraging producers to plant a more diverse array of crops as insurance against the erratic climate and volatile commodities markets. Montana farmers have taken advantage of high pea and lentil demand, rotating those drought-tolerant crops with wheat. No-till agriculture, which helps keep water in the soil and sequester carbon, is also becoming popular, as are cover crops like millet and soybeans, which help fight weeds and hold soil in place during intense rainfalls.
At a question-and-answer session in Great Falls, a farmer mentioned that irrigation season in western Montana started two weeks earlier than normal this year and was followed by an unusual frost. "Are these surprises, or are these things that we should be expecting?" he asked a panel that included de Yong, Menalled and Justin Derner, a rangeland scientist who runs the Northern Plains "climate hub" for the U.S. Department of Agriculture. The climate hub is part of a new network of regional climate centers that provide producers with data and help them solve problems like new pests or the need to switch seeds. Derner didn't miss a beat: "I think those sort of things are the new normal."
Rancher Rich Liebert stood up to say he wished Menalled would take his talk to Montana's elected officials. Two of the state's three congressmen have expressed skepticism about humans' role in causing climate change. But the panel's moderator quickly moved the discussion along, trying to avoid politics. "In their hearts, they know it's happening," Liebert said later, of his fellow food producers. "I think secretly there are farmers that vote red, but they are thinking green."]]>
It would have been an unremarkable scene in Portland or Los Angeles, but this was Butte, a southwestern Montana town best known for the Berkeley Pit, a toxic lake in an old copper mine that's part of the nation's largest Superfund site. Yet dozens of film industry folks were gathered that night to screen Orphan Girl, a historical drama following a day in the life of an underground miner, showing the dangers, hardship and innovation that went into unearthing the copper that electrified the modern era. Butte power-couple Courtney and John McKee of Headframe Spirits wanted to use the story of the Orphan Girl mine, the namesake of their bourbon cream liqueur, to convey the "untold history of Butte." The film is not only part of a marketing campaign, it's also a tribute to Butte's mining history — and a call to arms for its future.
Since copper crashed in the 1980s, Butte has struggled to find an economic footing — and a new identity. In the '90s, the town promoted mining tourism, opening a roadside gift shop and charging visitors to gaze at the Berkeley Pit's metal-melting waters. In 2006, The Daily Show visited. "If it's the Berkeley Pit that draws them here, it's our job to keep them here … for all of the other things we have to offer," then-state Rep. Jon Sesso, D, said. The show's reporter asked for examples; Sesso's edited reply consisted of 30 painful seconds of "um" and "uh."
Since then, Butte has become as well known for its summer music festivals as for its once-legendary St. Patrick's Day bar brawls. A few tech companies have moved in, and developers have breathed life back into historic Uptown. Yet compared to Bozeman and Missoula, the economy still looks anemic: Uptown's poverty rate is nearly 30 percent.
The film, which told Butte's story with the kind of production polish more common at sporty mountain film festivals, was part of a larger effort to reboot the town's image — as well as its cultural and economic reality. The area's population peaked at over 90,000 in 1917; the McKees envision rebuilding it to just under 50,000 from its current 35,000 — big enough to bustle, but unlikely to attract big-box stores. The future city, many residents say, should meld the middle-class stability of the past with a diverse economy and amenities like parks, trails and climbing walls. They hope to prove that a post-industrial town without a ski resort or other big tourist draws can still be modern and well connected.
Today, optimism is having its own boom. A Superfund cleanup has changed the cityscape: Once-contaminated soil is now home to parks with walking paths; an old rail bed is a bike trail; one former mineyard is a grassy venue for weddings and festivals. The city is pursuing development grants, including one that built Montana's fastest broadband network. A local nonprofit brought the National Folk Festival to town in 2008, and a few years later, it started the Montana Folk Festival.
Julia Crain, a city planner who grew up during the 1980s mining bust, says the festivals renewed community pride. "After that, sidewalks were improved, facades started to get painted," she remembers. "You saw people like Courtney and John who were taking risks, and they were deciding to do it here. It was kind of like, there's a lot of energy here. It was really palpable."
Headframe Spirits is one of Butte's most visible economic success stories, and Courtney and John McKee are deeply involved in development efforts. Initially, though, they just wanted to stay in Butte, where they had close friends, two kids, a golden retriever and a historic home with a cheap mortgage. In 2010, John was working for a biodiesel company and Courtney had an IT business. Then the biodiesel company folded, so Courtney challenged John to turn his flair for cocktails and distilling knowledge into a -business plan.
To succeed in a market glutted with artisanal products, they needed to be, in her words, "a marketing company that sells hooch." So they built their brand around Butte's gritty history; "Headframe," for instance, refers to the multi-story hoist towers that once hauled ore from the earth and still pincushion the landscape. They named their gin, bourbon and vodka after evocative-sounding mines — Destroying Angel, Neversweat, Anselmo — and plastered bottles with historic, sepia-toned photos. Their Uptown tasting room boasts a 110-year-old mahogany bar on loan from the World Museum of Mining.-
Though they drained their savings, the sales pitch worked: John McKee now manufactures high-tech stills in Butte, and the company sells booze from California to Chicago. Orphan Girl outsells Baileys Irish Cream in Montana. Their experience showed that there was opportunity in Butte, if only people were inspired to create it. The low cost of living and supportive community, Courtney McKee says, allowed them to build a lot from very little. Their appraiser, for instance, told them that their $165,000 building would have cost $3 million in Bozeman. "You can push yourself in ways you couldn't in other places," McKee says.
Bad marketing and lack of vision are holding the city back, she thinks. Last fall, the city hired consultants to assess the local economy. There was a lot to build on, they concluded: Low housing prices, proximity to major interstates and local financing help for businesses. But to draw more residents, the city needed to aggressively sell its assets — like its historic business district. To help, McKee recently started a nonprofit called Butte Innovates, with support from the head of Butte's combined city-county government, to amplify positive messages about the town.
To that same end, the Orphan Girl film featured a handful of local entrepreneurs as Butte's "modern mavericks" — people like Anthony Cochenour, the founder of a company that secures computer networks against hackers. Cochenour opened his newest office in Butte last summer instead of expanding in Bozeman. He now works out of the 114-year-old building housing a data center connected to the town's high-speed Internet, which is critical to helping him beat hackers. Other IT companies share the building, while the National Center for Healthcare Informatics, which trains battlefield medics via computer simulations, is plugged in across town.
Crain points out that Butte doesn't lack professional jobs. The city's largest manufacturer makes high-purity silicon used to build solar panels and employs about 300 people. The hospital is always hiring, and the utility Northwestern Energy is expanding in Uptown. And mining isn't totally dead: Copper maintains a few hundred high-wage jobs. Silver Bow County's 4.7 percent unemployment rate is higher than that of Missoula or Gallatin County, where Bozeman is, but lower than the national average. Butte's population is growing again, but just barely. Its growth rate was just over 1 percent between 2010 and 2014, compared to Gallatin County's 8.6 percent.
Such tenuous gains make Crain and others fear that Butte will backslide unless citizens vigilantly maintain its current momentum. Roughly 30 of Crain's young friends, many with small children, left for bigger cities in the last year. The school district lost 60 students last year as part of a decade-long trend. Some couples leave because it's hard to find two good jobs in a small community. But Butte also lacks family-friendly amenities like an outdoor swimming pool. "I have unrivaled professional opportunity here," Crain says. She has less competition than she would in a bigger city and access to decision makers. "It's awesome. But I'm still seeing all of these people leave."
Last spring, determined to halt the exodus, Crain helped start a group called the Butte Idea Exchange to engage more young professionals in community development. At the first meeting, 145 people crowded the ballroom above Headframe Spirits. On a board on the wall, they listed Butte's assets and asked what people still wanted. The answers: More family activities, and things like community gardens, a livelier nightlife and arts scene, and better recycling programs. Basically, people wanted a New West economy and culture, and didn't want to have to go to Missoula to get it. The group started encouraging young leaders to participate in the school board, the historic preservation board and in economic development groups like McKee's, and they're trying to turn abandoned lots into small parks.
This is what Nick Kujawa, a Butte-raised real estate developer, calls "economic gardening" — small quality-of-life improvements that make people want to stay in a community. Butte's leaders recently approved a $130,000 project to create bike lanes and make Uptown more pedestrian-friendly, the kind of simple infrastructure that helps attract investors like Kujawa. In 2010, he bought an abandoned early 1900s apartment building and turned it into lofts with a grocery store downstairs, the first in the downtown core in over 30 years. The project helped kick off a small wave of similar redevelopments. Now, Kujawa says, Butte can use these assets "to convince people who grew up and moved away that, 'Hey, you know this town, there's opportunity here, and you can make a life here.' "
But to really grow, Butte will still have to attract new transplants, and that's an ongoing challenge. "It has a reputation to overcome," says Ray Rasker, the executive director of Headwaters Economics in Bozeman. Take the Berkeley Pit. "That's pollution tourism. You're telling the world you're one of the most polluted places in the world." On the other hand, he says, "People throughout Montana really respect Butte because they have a can-do spirit. That's worth marketing. They are scrappy people, and they get it done."
Courtney McKee herself is evidence that opinions can change. When she first glimpsed Butte from Interstate 90 in 2001 she saw the Berkeley Pit's ochre walls, and a dismal drag of gas stations and fast food chains in an area called The Flats. What a dump, she thought. And yet weeks later, she moved to town — to be with John, who was raised in Butte.
Now, McKee jokes that she's doing penance for her bad attitude. On a cloudy November day, she parked her pickup in a weedy old mine yard with rusting steel buildings and piles of pipe. "This whole site looks like (crap)," she griped, as ravens pecked siding off the hoist house. But she and John are negotiating to buy it. They plan to build the largest distillery West of the Mississippi here, complete with conference facilities, a restaurant, lodging in old miners' bungalows, and a music venue. A lot of cleanup is needed first, but McKee seems undaunted. "I want to create a destination like nothing else that exists here," she said. "I just want to challenge people's thinking about what potential looks like]]>
But earlier this month, Dood learned he wouldn't see the bison plan through to the end because Montana Fish Wildlife and Parks (FWP) is eliminating his position. His supervisor has taken over the bison planning process, and Dood has been offered another job, and likely a pay cut, managing brucellosis, a disease affecting bison, cattle and elk.
Dood, who has been with FWP since 1975, is a victim of budget cuts, according to FWP spokesman Ron Aasheim. "This isn't about a change in plans on bison, or a suggestion that we're less committed to doing what's right," Aasheim said.Similar to many fish and game departments in the West, FWP's budget has been in turmoil because revenue from hunter and angler-funded license fees are not keeping up with expenses. (Though, earlier this year the Montana legislature did provide some relief by approving license fee increases for FWP.) In 2013 the Montana legislature mandated a four percent personnel cut for executive branch agencies. As a result, FWP must eliminate the equivalent of about 20 full time positions; the agency is now finalizing where to make those cuts.
Yet some critics of the demotion are wondering whether it's not just budget cuts, but politics at play. The news of Dood's departure comes just before the release of a draft environmental impact statement for a controversial statewide bison plan. Currently, the only unfenced bison in Montana roam Yellowstone National Park. While Yellowstone bison are going through their own planning process, the goal of the statewide plan is to determine if bison, managed as wildlife, not livestock, can be restored elsewhere in Montana. (Yellowstone bison deemed disease-free could be used to start the new herd.)
The environmental impact statement is an opportunity for the public to comment on four options for reintroducing a herd, possibly to an area large enough to accommodate 500-1,000 bison. A fifth option would be to take no action on reintroducing bison. So far, the alternatives don't say much about specific locations, but tribal lands or the 1.1 million-acre Charles M. Russell National Wildlife Refuge have been discussed.
For decades, Montana's bison have been a lightening rod for controversy. Ranchers and their political allies worry that if Montana establishes a new bison herd, the animals could spread disease to livestock, destroy fences and compete with cattle for grass on public land. "I think the higher-ups were uncomfortable pushing the bison issue," said Glenn Hockett, president of the Gallatin Wildlife Association, a Bozeman-based hunter's conservation group. "They just got rid of their best guy," he added. "How can they say, 'Oh yeah, we're serious (about restoring bison) but we're going to get rid of our slugger' ?"
In a recent display of political opposition to bison restoration, northeastern Montana state senator John Brenden sponsored a failed 2015 bill that would have required the state to consult with county commissioners before relocating the wooly ungulates to their counties. During the bill's hearing, Brenden, who also chairs the state Senate Fish and Game Committee, threatened that landowners would protest bison restoration by pulling their property out of a popular FWP program that allows hunters access to private land.
"You push me and some of these other folks too far and we're going to push back," Brenden said during the February hearing.
Dood's job transfer is "absolutely not" a response to political pressure from Brenden and others who do not want to see bison restoration in eastern Montana, Aasheim told HCN.
With the draft impact statement for the statewide bison plan containing a wide range of options, the future of Montana's bison remains uncertain. But Stillwater County rancher Noel Keogh, who has known Dood since 1979, is sure of this: Even if the ranching community didn't always like what Dood had to say about bison restoration, he was a straight shooter.
"I feel very strongly if you wanted anything successful to come out of this, you'd want someone who can stand up and tell the truth and talk to people, and that's one thing that Arnold could do," Keogh said. "I think if there was anyone in the state that could settle this bison management issue it was Arnold Dood."
FWP plans to publish its environmental impact statement for public comment in June.
Sarah Jane Keller is a High Country News contributor based in Bozeman, Montana. Follow @shogrene]]>
And it was: In June 2012, that forest and mountainside neighborhood ignited in the High Park fire. But the infestation wasn't to blame for the blaze, one among many in what became a historically severe fire season. "I think it's safe to say that there is no effect of mountain pine beetle on the area that's burning," says Sarah Hart, a forest ecologist at the University of Colorado, Boulder. "We're having lots of fire across the West; it's because it's warm and dry."
Hart coauthored a study published this week in the Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences showing no relationship between the amount of forest killed by bark beetles and the number of acres burned in recent severe wildfires.
The conclusion is a departure from the conventional media and political narratives that have espoused the beetle-fire connection, even as scientists and forest managers debate the idea and gradually uncover a much more nuanced picture. And it's important, because those narratives are often used to justify logging beetle-killed forests.
Living in Colorado during the 2012 fire-season and reading headlines like "High Park Fire Follows in Pine Beetles' Tracks" helped inspire Hart and her colleagues to test the link in the first place. They knew there wasn't much scientific evidence supporting it.
Other studies on fire risk and pine beetles have been based on computer models or looked at just one or two fires, so this time the scientists looked at the whole West, comparing Forest Service maps of mountain pine beetle infestations to burned areas. They found that even though the total area infested by mountain pine beetle increased between the years 2000 and 2013, the amount of land that burned did not.
During the peak fire years of 2006, 2007, and 2012, only five percent of the forest area burned across the western United States had recent bark beetle infestations. The researchers suspect that beetles don't change the odds of burning because when it's extremely hot and dry, forests get so parched they will support serious conflagrations with or without beetle kill.
Fire researchers still have questions about how beetles affect other aspects of fire behavior that are especially important to firefighters – like how hot fires burn, how fast they spread, and how predictable they are. The recent study also doesn't negate the safety benefits of clearing dead trees – which are prone to topple – from around homes, trails or power lines.
Hart and her colleagues hope their paper will inform discussion about the underlying reasons for fire risk and inspire more effective policies for coping with it. Right now, conventional wisdom is still driving some restoration efforts. The 2014 Farm Bill authorized $200 million in taxpayer funds for projects, including forest thinning, meant to address the risk of insect outbreaks and wildfire on national forests. "Large landscapes of dead and infested trees pose a significant threat of forest fires, as evidenced by last summer's historic Colorado, California, and Idaho wildfires," reads a letter of support signed by at least seven Senators.
"For any manager concerned about whether their forests are going to burn or not," says Hart, "I think they should focus more on trying to adapt to changes in climate rather than changes to fuels from mountain pine beetle infestation."
And if she could go back and rewrite those 2012 fire headlines today, she says, she would go for the much less dramatic, but far more accurate, "Warm and Dry Weather Promotes Widespread Fire."
Sarah Jane Keller is a High Country News contributor based in Bozeman, Montana. She tweets @sjanekeller.]]>
The long-standing conflict between Robbins and the BLM has flared up again recently, and this time it could have dire consequences for one of the lower 48's largest bighorn sheep populations.
After Robbins' protest in 2000, he took his grievances to Washington, D.C. and accepted a settlement that forgave him for nine years of alleged grazing violations. In return, he agreed to allow BLM employees to access public land through his property.
But Robbins' acrimony towards the agency continued, and his cow-calf operation and dude ranch garnered many complaints over the years. As High Country News reported in 2003, that included "cattle trespassing on the private property of neighbors and on the neighbors' BLM grazing allotments; grazing too early, too late, and putting too many cattle on his allotments; blocking a neighbor's use of a cattle-drive trail; claiming his cattle were on private pasture when they were on BLM pastures; refusing to obtain recreation permits for his dude ranch trail drives over BLM lands; and refusing to modify his grazing practices during drought."
So the BLM pulled all of Robbins' 14 cattle grazing leases again in the mid-2000s, and he had to shrink his herd to what his 75,000 acre ranch would support. The BLM did offer to return some of the cattle leases to Robbins, but he refused the deal.
Instead, a few years ago he started running domestic sheep on his ranch. The problem is that Robbins' ranch is smack dab in the middle of prime habitat for 600 to 800 bighorns, and those sheep intermingle with even more herds. It's well established that bighorn sheep can catch pneumonia from domestic sheep — often with fatal consequences for adults and newborns.
Robbins recently told the Casper Star-Tribune that the sheep were an economic necessity after the agency rescinded his public-land grazing permit, since sheep require less land than cattle. But it also looks like the decision was a form of protest against the agency. The Star-Tribune reported that he sent the BLM a letter in April 2012 stating, "Since you decided not to return the permit in whole we have decided to go forward with sheep."
"If and when a bighorn die-off occurs I want you to know that we feel we have done everything that we have been ask (sic) and been patient for years and you will have to answer for what happens," Robbins wrote.
In the worst cases pneumonia from domestic sheep can obliterate bighorn herds, erasing years of work on the part of biologists, agencies and cooperative landowners. For example, in 2008, after some public land squatters brought domestic sheep and goats into Montana's Elkhorn Mountains, a bighorn herd that biologists had been nursing along for over a decade crashed by 90 percent.
Thanks to reintroductions, habitat protection and restricted hunting, bighorn sheep have been making a comeback since they reached a low point of several thousand in the lower 48 around 1900. But there are still many populations that are perilously small, and many places that once harbored bighorns that no longer do.
Along with habitat loss, pneumonia is one of the biggest challenges for continued bighorn conservation. The main microbe responsible for the disease wasn't identified until recently and scientists still have many questions, like why some herds are more susceptible than others. Researchers are learning that even when adult sheep survive and become immune, some populations struggle to recover, likely because the lambs continue to die from pneumonia before they are weaned. But since lamb carcasses don't last long, that's a very difficult phenomenon for biologists to observe. Efforts to develop a vaccine have been unsuccessful so far.
In short, pneumonia is insidious, dooming many of the West's burliest mountain-dwellers to a mucous-y death. And wildlife biologists are at their wits' end over it. The most obvious solution is to keep domestic and wild sheep separated.
That's why wildlife conservation groups like the Wyoming Wild Sheep Foundation and the Wyoming Wildlife Federation are so worried about Robbins' domestic sheep. It's also why they, and many others from the ag and wildlife community, spent almost five years working on a plan for domestic and wild sheep to coexist in Wyoming. Now that work is at risk of unraveling. "We think the best thing for all of us is to have a good, viable domestic sheep industry in the state and a viable bighorn population," says Steve Kilpatrick, executive director of the Wyoming Wildlife Federation. "This just flies in the face of that."
Furthermore, Wyoming Game and Fish has documented Robbins' sheep trespassing on federal land, the Star-Tribune reported — a violation that could result in fines and even livestock impoundment. But the BLM says its staffers need to document the trespassing themselves for it to count against Robbins. The BLM even suspended one of its biologists for insubordination after he asked a state biologist to check on Robbins' leases for trespass during an aerial survey of grizzly bears, the Star-Tribune reported.
Now, the BLM is looking at restoring some of Robbins' cattle grazing leases. Bighorn conservationists are asking the agency to move through that decision-making process quickly, and address the ongoing trespassing issue. If Robbins is permitted to run cattle again, they hope he will stop running sheep on the intermingled BLM and private lands near the top of the watershed -- that's where bighorns are more likely to interact with domestic sheep. That could take years to play out, though."We're not willing to sit and fold our hands on the domestic sheep issue," says Kilpatrick. "The bighorn sheep simply can't afford continuous years of trespass and potential commingling (with domestic sheep)."
The sheep versus sheep struggle, while still a reality throughout the West isn't always a completely intractable feud. Similar to Wyoming, the woolgrower's association in Montana has participated in bighorn conservation planning. Montana wildlife officials would like to reintroduce more bighorns to mountains throughout the state, but they've still struggled to find locations sufficiently far from domestic sheep. After fits and starts, they took a big step forward earlier this month, by releasing 52 bighorns to start a new herd in Southwest Montana's Madison range.
Sarah Jane Keller is a High Country News contributor based in Bozeman, Mont. Follow her @sjanekeller.]]>
This week, Wielgus, director of Washington State University's Large Carnivore Conservation Lab, released his newest study with equally surprising results. "I analyzed it like 50 times, with different statisticians and layers and layers of peer review because the results are kind of astounding," he says. The new paper challenges assumptions about how state wildlife agencies deal with problem wolves. It turns out that killing wolves that kill livestock may backfire in the long term. According to the study, lethal removal may actually increase the odds that wolves eat more cattle or sheep the following year.
Overall, wolves are doing fine in the Northern Rockies, compared to their brush with extinction in the 1970s. Their population has dipped slightly since its peak in 2011 to roughly 1,700 wolves, but biologists say it's secure.
People have long assumed that fewer wolves lead to fewer depredations on sheep or cattle. And wildlife managers often say that lethal removal can be a salve for vitriol toward wolves, by providing a short-term solution for the harmed livestock producers, and by showing that states are actively managing the animals. It's part of the reason some states allow wolf hunting, and why Washington, Montana, Idaho and Wyoming all lethally remove wolves that harm livestock. In 2013 the later three states killed 202 wolves for control purposes, or 8 percent of the population in all four states.
But when Wielgus and his coauthor looked at 25 years of data on lethal wolf control and livestock depredations from Idaho, Wyoming, and Montana they found that killing one wolf increases the odds of sheep depredation by 4 percent the following year. For cattle, it increased the odds by 5 to 6 percent.
This pattern holds until 25 percent of the wolf population is removed. That's because wolf populations in the states studied grow at a 25 percent rate. So once the lethal removals exceed the population's growth rate, wolves begin to decline, and so do depredations. But that's not a sustainable solution for the wolves, or for people who don't want to see them on the endangered species list.
It's important to note that this study has found a correlation between wolf removal and livestock depredation over a large region, but it hasn't established the exact reason for the patterns. To learn more about why lethal removal of wolves doesn't appear to protect livestock, Wielgus now needs to drill down to individual packs.
Wielgus suspects the answer may be found in wolf social dynamics. The animals may compensate for losing part of their pack by increasing reproduction and thus, the need to hunt for those new pups. Or wolves may become less efficient hunters in smaller groups and turn to dining on livestock. "I think the take home point is that social behavior and social systems of these large carnivores, pack dynamics, territory, all of that is a very important element to how wolves interact with their environment," says John Pierce, chief wildlife scientist for the Washington Department of Fish and Wildlife. "As we move forward in wolf management we should carefully be studying that and don't assume a linear relationship (between wolf removal and depredation)."
Pierce thinks the study is too preliminary to change wolf management in the near future. But his agency is funding Wielgus to research proactive, non-lethal wolf management such as having cowboys called range riders monitoring for trouble, and using special fencing, or lights and sounds, to deter wolves. Wielgus is comparing the effectiveness of those techniques to lethal methods, and also mapping where livestock are at the greatest risk of wolf attack.
That work is still in its early stages, but Washington is starting to see good results with proactive non-lethal methods, says Pierce. Ideally, learning more about those techniques will help prevent events like what unfolded in northeastern Washington in August. The Huckleberry Pack became habituated to feeding on sheep, and after non-lethal wolf deterrents failed, a sharpshooter took out the alpha female (not the wolf they were hoping to eliminate) at the request of Washington's wildlife department.
Wielgus hopes that his studies will help wildlife managers reevaluate practices that may be based on long-standing assumptions. "Science progresses," he says, "and eventually we'll get it right."
Sarah Jane Keller is a correspondent for High Country News. She writes from Bozeman, Montana and tweets @sjanekeller. Homepage image of grey wolf being released into Yellowstone by Barry O'Neill, courtesy National Park Service,]]>
In response, a waterfowl conservation group figured out a new way to help ranchers save their grasses: Paying them to grow carbon instead of corn. Ducks Unlimited and their partners have been working for years on a new kind of carbon credit created by calculating the greenhouse gasses stored in grasslands that would otherwise be tilled. Last week, Chevrolet became its first buyer, purchasing 40,000 tons of those carbon credits, which came from 11,000 acres and 29 landowners in North Dakota. It's part of the company's $40 million push to offset emissions from driving the new cars and trucks they put on the road in a single year. Even if the credit purchase, which is roughly equivalent to taking 5,000 cars off the road for a year, is modest compared to the scale of the problem, it's still significant.First, it's another step toward incentivizing private landowners to conserve their land because it does stuff that's beneficial to society, like storing carbon. "There's been a lot of conversation about ecosystem markets for a long time, and the challenge has been to make the promise of ecosystem service markets a reality," says Robert Bonnie, the U.S. Department of Agriculture's under secretary for natural resources and the environment. "One of the challenges is that we're operating in an environment where we haven't had clear policy on the federal level that's created a demand for these opportunities."
But the USDA is moving ahead anyway. That's because the bigger barrier, says Bonnie, has been demonstrating that ecosystem markets can work for everyone involved. That's why they've funded projects to figure out how to market carbon sequestered in natural and agricultural systems, and why they granted Ducks Unlimited $161,000 to come up with a way to create new revenue for ranchers that keep grasslands intact rather than cultivating their land
But voluntary carbon markets alone won't adequately slow greenhouse gas emissions, says Peter Weisberg, an analyst for the Climate Trust, the carbon credit marketing non-profit that helped Ducks Unlimited sell credits to Chevy. Even so, work done now to bolster voluntary markets will mean there are more templates for how to do things as mandatory markets grow, and people won't be starting from scratch. For example, the group that oversees California's mandatory market is looking at developing a grassland credit. Weisberg hopes they will build on the methodology they developed with Ducks Unlimited.
While Chevrolet's purchase is good public relations, Weisberg thinks there's more to it than that. It's an indicator that corporations are preparing for eventual mandatory emissions reductions. Other giants like Disney, Microsoft and Shell have already imposed internal emissions caps.
If larger scale mandatory cap and trade does happen, it's important to figure out how to quantify the greenhouse gas stored in ecosystems now, so we get it right for the big leagues. There's still a great deal of scientific uncertainty about how ecosystems release and store greenhouse gases over time. And that's not just an academic problem. For instance, what if you sell an ecosystem-based carbon credit that lasts for 50 years, but the ecosystem starts emitting greenhouse gasses during that time? Then the emissions weren't really offset.
Bottom line: This stuff is hard and groups willing to develop new tools for the carbon market are taking a financial risk. Ducks Unlimited and their partners are working on refining their methods for the grassland credits right now, though they've already had more interest. "We have optimism that it's going to improve from here on out and these types of incentives are going to continue," says Billy Gascoigne, an economist with Ducks Unlimited. "These are emerging markets and they need further attention and investment."
Sarah Jane Keller is a correspondent for High Country News. She writes from Bozeman, Montana and tweets @sjanekeller.]]>
Part of that solution coalesced late last month when the Conservancy announced its $134 million deal to buy 47,921 of Plum Creek Timber Company land in Washington's Yakima River headwaters — an area the size of Tacoma — plus 117,152 acres in Western Montana's Lower Blackfoot River Watershed. The purchase unites entire watersheds that have been under fractured ownership for generations. Having a cohesive plan for those lands will make it easier to do forest thinning or prescribed burns on a scale that could stave off catastrophic wildfires, for example. It should also make managing ecosystems to sustain at-risk species like spotted owls, grizzly bears or lynx less challenging.In addition to improving management options, the purchase marks a new era for those forests and the communities around them. The Plum Creek lands complicate management because they are interspersed with National Forest in a checkerboard pattern that formed in the 1860s, when Congress granted the railroads every other square mile section near their rail lines. As the checkerboard became more valuable to Plum Creek for real estate in the late 1990s and early 2000s, conservationists and communities grew nervous about losing forest access and being overrun with development. Groups like the Blackfoot Challenge and the Trust for Public Land in Montana, and the Nature Conservancy in both states, began buying the checkerboard to conserve it.
The recent deal was the final one needed to resolve 150 years of splintered ownership in Montana's Blackfoot Valley. Now the Conservancy and its partners — other NGOs, community groups, the state and the Forest Service — can continue to look at common management goals. "We'll be working on this for years," says Chris Bryant, the Nature Conservancy's land protection specialist for Western Montana. "This is a big piece of ground so it's a slow, ongoing, almost glacial process." Maintaining public access and biodiversity, and restoring logged parcels will be key to future plans.
The recent deal was the final purchase needed to resolve 150 years of splintered ownership in Montana's Blackfoot Valley.
In Washington, especially, the Conservancy is also interested in trying different ways to thin forests for restoration, while selling timber when possible. That could help finance other restoration projections that don't produce commercial timber. One way of doing that might be to create gaps in a former tree farm to emulate a more wild forest, while harvesting timber in the process. "For us this (purchase) is really a game changer," says Schroeder. "A big piece of what we want to do is show that we can implement some science-based restoration on this landscape that could influence how national forests could be managed in the future."
One benefit of the parcels' massive scale is that the Conservancy can act as a kind of test bed for ideas that are often too risky or cumbersome for the Forest Service, such as trying new techniques for making entire watersheds more resilient to climate change and fire.
The Conservancy's latest big purchase ultimately signifies a move toward more landscape-scale thinking. For example, as much as the spotted owl has driven conservation in Washington's forests, the traditional conservation idea of simply setting aside old-growth reserves isn't enough. "If fire comes through and wipes out those reserves, the spotted owl is left with nothing. So if we can't make the forests more resilient to fire and restore more habitat, then ultimately we will lose," says Schroeder. "In changing climates, it's not enough to have a small amount of land locked away. You need to figure out how to have enough flexibility on the land so that species can persist and move to different places and find suitable habitats. That's an evolution in our way of thinking about conservation."
Sarah Jane Keller is a correspondent for High Country News. She writes from Bozeman, Montana and tweets @sjanekeller.]]>
The authors want people to see dead trees as a tangible reminder of what's at stake as we continue to mess with the atmosphere. Average yearly temperatures in Rocky Mountain states have increased about 2 degrees Fahrenheit since 1895. If emissions continue unabated it could be another 3 degrees hotter by mid-century. That means what already seem like "serious jolts to forest ecosystems could be very mild compared to what we could see in the future with greater changes," said Jason Funk, a senior climate scientist for the Union of Concerned Scientists.
Aside from providing current stats that you can use to scare your friends at the bar (Did you know that bark beetles have killed enough forests in the past 14 years to nearly cover the state of Colorado?), the report contains some new projections about how inhospitable the Rocky Mountains could become for familiar trees.
According to the report, 90 percent of the acres where today the climate is suitable for lodgepole pine will become unsuitable for the species by 2060 if current emissions rates continue. This doesn't mean that 90 percent of the West's lodgepoles will die, but it does mean that much of the habitat they occupy today will not support them by 2060. Aspens will lose 60 percent of the acreage that supports them today and ponderosa pines will lose 80 percent.
These startling numbers come with another big caveat. These "climate envelope" models contain huge amount of uncertainty, in part because they assume that climate is the single most important factor in determining where a species lives, and they don't account for many other aspects that matter for survival: plant physiology, short term variation in temperature and precipitation, interaction with other species, or local geography.
Even the report's authors discouraged focusing on the precise numbers. Instead they suggest using them as a reminder "that if we keep changing the climate the way we are, we could be very fundamentally changing the nature and the extent of the forests in the Rocky Mountains," said the Rocky Mountain Climate Organization's president Stephen Saunders.
However, some experts on climate change and ecosystems think the report, especially the projections, paint a "worst case scenario." That's partly because actual responses to climate change are going to vary a lot based on local conditions. "I think the challenge is going to take this info and make it meaningful at local and regional scales," said Dave Peterson, a research biologist with the Forest Service's Pacific Northwest research station. That's what Peterson and others in the Forest Service have been trying to do, to help the agency plan for and adapt to climate change.
For example, Peterson said that fire "may be the biggest ecological story that we have (for forests) in the coming decade." As the West has become hotter and drier, wildfires have become more frequent. Compared to the gradual ecological changes brought on by rising temperature or even insect blight, fires quickly reset vegetation, clearing the way for rapid and large-scale changes. This may be especially true in the Southwest where forests may not regenerate after large disturbances, and could be replaced by grassland or shrubs.
To increase resiliency to climate change, managers might do larger prescribed burns to create mosaics with different species and ages, instead of same-aged monocultures of trees that are more vulnerable to fire or insects sweeping through them.
Strategic thinning of dense forests to reduce the risk of severe fires – especially near populated areas – will also be important, says Peterson. And reseeding with trees that are genetically adapted to warmer climates is also something foresters are discussing, though not acting on yet. But "can we actually do this at a scale that's large enough to make a difference across the West?" said Peterson. With funding sufficient to treat just 10 to 15 percent of the acres that the Forest Service would like to treat each year, "the answer is no."
Despite the realities of limited resources for management, and the large-scale changes our forests are facing, Peterson remains positive. "I think the challenge is to communicate this in any positive and hopeful manner," he said. "Negative messages and scare tactics don't work, but if you can make it real and something people can relate to, and if you provide a pathway by which our personal values might be challenged, they are more likely to become engaged."
Here are some past High Country News stories about Western forests:
Sarah Jane Keller is a High Country News correspondent based in Bozeman. Follow @sjanekeller]]>
He was disappointed, and not just because he would miss a ski day. Mazurkiewicz is the reservoir operator at Hetch Hetchy Reservoir in Yosemite. His job is to work with a team from the San Francisco Public Utilities Commission to fill the reservoir. If they're successful, 2.6 million people, plus businesses, in the San Francisco Bay Area are assured a reliable source of water to drink, flush their toilets, and keep their lawns green. The last time the reservoir failed to fill was near the end of another severe, multi-year drought. Operators released too much water for hydropower, and in 1991 the reservoir hit one of its lowest levels ever. Residents had to ration their water.
Hetch Hetchy provides 85 percent of the water in San Francisco's eight water storage reservoirs, and nearly all of it comes from snowmelt. Trudging across the naked Sierra Nevada, where snowpack this year reached only 18 percent of normal, Mazurkiewicz was concerned. Over the next four months, he would have to find some way to harness this pitiful snowpack to keep the Bay Area wet while saving as much water as possible for next year. That would mean keeping an unwavering focus on runoff, anticipating its every fickle move.
Reservoirs, it's worth remembering, don't fill themselves. Even in years when snow is plentiful, topping off Hetch Hetchy takes work. Often, more water melts off the mountains than the reservoir can hold, and Mazurkiewicz and his coworkers have to figure out what to do with the excess without letting so much go that, when runoff ends, the reservoir isn't full. It's a delicate balance, achieved in part by expecting the worst. "A water-supply operator's job is to be a terrible pessimist," says Bruce McGurk, a past operations manager at Hetch Hetchy, "and figure that next year is going to be worse than this year, so that you are prepared" — by banking as much water as possible.
Even for a professional pessimist, the sight of bare grass at 9,200 feet in January was sobering. It made an already-tough job seem impossible. Mazurkiewicz never knows exactly how much snow sits above Hetch Hetchy, how much water it will yield, or when it will melt. (Weather forecasts are imperfect, and data points on snow depth are sparse, providing an incomplete picture.) So he and other forecasters rely on what they know happened in the past to create statistical equations that model the future.
But this year, one of the worst snow years on record, Mazurkiewicz thought, "My statistical models will not be useful." Back in the office, his team had to develop new models and accept larger errors in their forecasts. After the January outing, their models projected a 60 to 70 percent chance of the reservoir filling.
So even after two storms helped bring February's precipitation up to normal, Mazurkiewicz kept every drop of water left over from last year. In a wetter year, he would have released water to produce hydropower and make room for runoff. This year, his team nixed most hydropower and skipped ecological experiments that would have provided the Tuolumne River with higher-volume spring pulses to boost aquatic life and wetlands. Such situations could become more common, says McGurk: "If our historical data are less robust for future (forecasts) because of changing climate, operators will have to hedge more and operate more conservatively."
Mazurkiewicz had little hope for a "miracle March," when big snowstorms often unleash over the Sierra, rescuing Californians from potential water shortages. This year, he wished merely for a "median March," and didn't get even that. April was more of the same: a couple of anemic storms, but no weeklong whoppers. A colleague in Utah once compared such situations to being served quiche when you're craving steak and eggs. "It could tide you over," Mazurkiewicz says, "but it was certainly not enough."
Then, in May, the weather changed; light snow fell every week and rapidly melted into the reservoir. In a normal year, Mazurkiewicz and his colleagues carefully calculate when to release water through hydropower turbines, doing it gradually so that an unexpected surge of runoff — caused by a sudden spell of hot weather, for instance — doesn't spill over the dam, flooding the river. This spring, they didn't think they'd have to do that. But with May's storms, they decided to move water to another reservoir to make room in case the runoff exceeded expectations. It turned out to be a wise bet: By mid-June, the reservoir had risen to within about a foot and a half of full, surprising everyone.
Given the state's overall water shortage, however, Mazurkiewicz and his colleagues didn't celebrate. They simply gave thanks for what they had, well aware that it wouldn't last. The reservoir typically hovers at its peak for two weeks as new snowmelt comes in. This year, it began falling within a day. By August, all Californians were under strict mandatory water-use restrictions.
Reached by phone in his office in August, Mazurkiewicz was already thinking about next winter — and planning for a fourth year of drought. Though Hetch Hetchy is normal for this time of year thanks to water conservation, the entire regional system of reservoirs is at just 62 percent of capacity. And if moisture does return suddenly, Hetch Hetchy could face a new set of problems, like flooding. Nearly filling the reservoir was satisfying, but only fleetingly. "We may celebrate when we have enough snow on the ground to refill the entire system," Mazurkiewicz said wryly. "Hopefully, flood planning does not interrupt that."]]>
Climate change is a real force disrupting wildlife populations. But for the 300 or so wolverines living in the lower 48, there's still not enough evidence of present or future danger to protect them under the Endangered Species Act, the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service announced Tuesday.
In February 2013, the agency proposed to list wolverines as threatened because climate change is eating away at spring snowpack in the northern Rockies, which in turn will harm wolverines since they raise their young in snowy dens. After more than a year of analysis, the agency officially withdrew its proposal this week.
It's an important listing decision, not only for dictating future wolverine management, but also for gauging the Fish and Wildlife Service's tolerance for using climate models to list species.
Most ESA listings result from threats that are already happening, such as habitat loss from human development. But the proposal to list wolverines was based largely on predictions of how future snowpack will shrink in their high-alpine denning regions. While the agency has always used ecological models to evaluate risks to sensitive species, climate predictions that play into the wolverine proposal add yet another layer of uncertainty.
Listing decisions based primarily on the threats of climate change also attract a new level of scrutiny since there have been so few. Thus far, polar bears, ringed seals and bearded seals are the only species listings primarily based on warming threats to their habitat.
If Tuesday's decision is any indication, the challenge of predicting highly specific, small-scale climate impacts may prove a major roadblock to endangered species protection for other animals as well. For example, a judge in Alaska recently ruled that bearded seals, which were considered threatened because of melting sea ice, should not have been listed.
The wolverine proposal was also out of the ordinary because these animals are not currently declining, as far as anyone knows. In addition to facing climate-related threats, wolverines were trapped and poisoned, wiping them out over much of the West in the early 20th century. Now they may even be recovering and some biologists think they could be expanding their range into places like Utah and Colorado.
While climate models predict spring snow cover loss across the wolverine's range by the end of the century, "we don't know that this loss of snow will equate to a commensurate loss of wolverine habitat or when it might limit wolverine populations," said U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service director Dan Ashe during a teleconference with reporters on Tuesday. The problem, from the agency's perspective, is that there's not enough specific information about how and why wolverines choose their snowy den sites to predict how devastated their habitat will be as the Earth continues to warm.
Ashe framed the agency's reversal as a case of two sets of scientists evaluating the same body of research and reaching different, yet reasoned, conclusions – which isn't that unusual. But environmental groups and some scientists see the agency's reversal as a bow to political pressure, namely from the states of Montana, Wyoming and Idaho, all of which opposed a listing.
"In this case the Service is using uncertainty as an excuse to override the expert judgment of its owns scientists and that's a really bad precedent," Shaye Wolf, climate science director for the Tucson-based Center for Biological Diversity, said in an interview last month. CBD is one of the environmental groups involved in the legal settlement that spurred the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service to propose listing wolverines last year. Nine organizations, including CBD, are now planning to challenge the listing decision in court.
Sarah Jane Keller is a High Country News correspondent based in Bozeman, Montana. She tweets @sjanekeller.]]>
In the dead of winter, female wolverines dig elaborate, multi-chambered dens to raise their young, choosing sites where snowpack lasts well into the spring. But snowpack in the Northern Rockies is almost certain to decline as the climate warms, jeopardizing their chances for successful reproduction. There are fewer than 300 wolverines in the Lower 48, and models show that they could lose 31 percent of their habitat by 2045 and 63 percent by 2085. And so, in February 2013, the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service proposed adding the "mountain devils" to the endangered species list.
The science behind the proposal has not changed, but the agency's position on it has. Mountain-Prairie Regional Director Noreen Walsh advocated against a speculative listing in a memo released by environmentalists in July, citing uncertainty as to exactly why wolverines need a persistent snowpack to reproduce and how its loss would harm the animals. Though scientists recommended listing wolverines as threatened, agency leader Dan Ashe defended her position – a strong indication of which way the final decision, due in early August, will go.
Wolverines would have been the first species in the Lower 48 thrust onto the endangered species list by climate change. A listing would have helped validate the use of climate models to develop strategies to protect animals against future threats. And it would have been unusual because, unlike most of the species the act safeguards, wolverines, though rare, are not thought to be declining.
Idaho, Montana and Wyoming – the states that anchor the animal's range in the Lower 48 – dreaded the prospect of a listing and the public-land restrictions it could bring, while environmentalists cheered it on. In practical terms, though, would formal protections really help wolverines? Can a law that was designed to rescue species from discrete, localized threats also protect them from the more diffuse hazards of a warming world?
The Endangered Species Act has helped prevent the extinction of many species of plants and animals by removing specific threats to their survival, often only in areas designated as "critical habitat." Closing forest roads in prime grizzly habitat, for instance, helped keep poachers and stressful traffic at bay. Prohibiting the hunting or poisoning of wolves after they were reintroduced to the Northern Rockies allowed populations to rebuild. Restricting timber harvests in the Pacific Northwest took pressure off the northern spotted owl.
But the Fish and Wildlife Service can't simply rope off high mountain niches, exclude greenhouse gases and preserve the snow that wolverines depend on. Polar bears, bearded seals and ringed seals are already listed due to disappearing sea ice, yet carbon emissions continue to rise, and the Arctic is still melting.
The Center for Biological Diversity, which has sued for greater wolverine protection, wants the Fish and Wildlife Service and the National Marine Fisheries Service to include specific emissions targets in the plans they create to recover species threatened by climate change "to raise awareness about what these species need," says Shaye Wolf, the center's climate science director. But using the act to reduce greenhouse gases would be politically and practically impossible, argues J.B. Ruhl, a Vanderbilt University professor specializing in endangered species law. Scientists couldn't prove that a particular coal-fired power plant is responsible for the demise of polar bears, for instance. Plus, the idea has never had support in the agencies or the White House.
Still, listing species threatened by climate change isn't pointless. Recovery plans lead to basic conservation measures, such as long-term, range-wide monitoring of endangered populations and their habitats. Such unglamorous science is crucial to understanding what can be done to help at-risk species; it's not being done for wolverines, which are elusive and scarce, thus difficult and expensive to study. Insufficient funding for wolverine research also means that any decline in the population or devastating habitat changes might not be noticed until it's too late.
Additionally, the act includes an allowance for the introduction of "experimental" populations, which carry fewer land-use restrictions than existing populations that are declared endangered or threatened. In Colorado, wildlife managers have discussed introducing an experimental wolverine population for years. Trapping and poisoning wiped out wolverines in Colorado in the early 20th century, but its mountains could provide a snowy stronghold into the future. Now, however, the state is reluctant to reintroduce a species that could later become officially endangered.
Though few species have been listed primarily because of impending climate change, 66 percent of recovery plans now recommend action to cushion the impacts of warming. Of those, about 17 percent mention reducing greenhouse gas emissions, about half recommend monitoring, and most suggest actions to help species adapt, according to Wolf. These are incremental steps, but necessary to maintain the act's relevance in a warming world.
In the future, the Fish and Wildlife Service could take more creative approaches, like setting aside critical habitat that may not be ideal today, but could be essential tomorrow. Another option is to protect corridors that would allow species to move to friendlier climes as their current homes become less hospitable. The Endangered Species Act, explains Ruhl, hasn't solved traditional problems such as urban sprawl or invasive species – but it's helped species survive them. Similarly, the act must be used to address the effects, if not the causes, of a warming planet. "I think fundamentally this is about trying to help species to adapt to climate change," he says. "That's what the Endangered Species Act can help us do best."]]>
Now researchers have discovered another water disappearance that's equally dramatic, but not nearly as visible as the newly exposed sandstone walls of Lake Mead. Over the last nine years the states drawing on the Colorado River Basin groundwater have pumped enough out from underground to fill Lake Mead nearly twice. That means groundwater has been drawn down even faster than Lake Mead or Lake Powell during those years.
It's well known that when surface water is scarce, cities and farms fill the gap by pumping aquifers. But no one knew that Arizona, California, Colorado, New Mexico, Nevada, Wyoming and Utah have been using that much groundwater until the researchers measured it for the first time, using data from a NASA satellite. "I think the key phrase has been 'shocking'," says Stephanie Castle, a water resources researcher at the University of California, Irvine, and the lead author of the study published last week in the journal Geophysical Research Letters. That means a lot coming from a group of scientists studying worldwide groundwater depletion.
So why isn't more being done to encourage judicious groundwater use? It's not that managers aren't interested in it, says Sharon B. Megdal, an expert in groundwater governance and the director of the University of Arizona Water Resources Research Center. Ideas have been thrown around for years, but it's fundamentally a hard problem to solve and the politics of water don't make it any easier. This study is also the first to measure groundwater depletion in the Colorado Basin on such a large scale. The good news though is that "right now there's a lot of pent up demand (within the water-watching community) for developing solutions."
The first barrier to understanding – and caring about – groundwater use is that it's mostly invisible. With aquifers, there are no photos of marinas stranded well above Lake Powell's water line, just wells to drill and models to run. That's why satellite data is so valuable.
Plus, there's no single entity in charge of accounting for groundwater. That's different from surface water in the Colorado River Basin, since the U.S. Bureau of Reclamation keeps an eye on how much is entering and leaving their reservoirs. And every state using the river is bound by a 1922 agreement that the northern Colorado River states, where most of water comes from, will share half with the Southwestern states. Since those states know that the water demands of about 40 million people are perilously close to outstripping supply, they've begun thinking about ways to stave off water conflict by using less of it or finding new sources.
But states aren't held to any such agreement about their aquifers, and oversight varies, if there's any at all. For example, California's groundwater is the least regulated of any western state. With that state in throes of drought, overpumping has drawn saltwater into coastal wells. That's helped inspire two pieces of legislation that, if passed, could change the free-for-all nature of California's groundwater.
Arizona, where 40 percent of the water comes from underground, has made strides to preserve its groundwater stores, in part by recharging aquifers with leftovers from their Colorado River allotment, instead of sending it downstream to California, and by creating special water management districts. But those districts don't cover the entire state, and rapid depletion is still a problem.
Since groundwater is a local resource, solutions to its runaway depletion will likely be local too. But not solving the problem, and running out in important agricultural regions, like California's Central Valley, or cities, would have ripple effects that extend far beyond local wells.
Castle and her colleagues hope their revelations about the region's groundwater will raise the resource's profile in the management community and with the public. That's an important step to slowing the drain on groundwater reserves. "I do personally believe that we can all do more to conserve," says Megdal. "If people understood the pressure that is being put on our aquifers, they might think more about (their water use)."
Sarah Jane Keller is a High Country News correspondent based in Bozeman, Montana. She tweets @sjanekeller.]]>
Schreiber and other landfill operators in North Dakota have been catching unscrupulous or uninformed oil producers and their subcontractors trying to unload hazardous radioactive waste into the municipal dump for years. Sick of issuing fines to haulers who claim they don't know the rules, this past winter he fired off emails to the U.S. Environmental Protection Agency, his county commissioners, the governor's office and the state attorney general. "Somebody has to take a stand," says Schreiber. "I'm not here to make friends with the oil companies, I'm here to do my job and protect the people of McKenzie County the best I can and make sure my legacy here in 20 years…isn't destruction of the environment and a Superfund project." Schreiber's comments reflect growing public concern in the state over safe disposal of oilfield waste, and now North Dakota is responding, with a batch of new rules, scientific studies and risk assessments aimed at low-level radioactive oilfield waste.
North Dakota regulators estimate as much as 70 tons of filter socks may be discarded in the state each day.
As Bakken development has boomed over the last half-dozen years, industrial waste volumes have ballooned along with crime, truck traffic, and out-of-state workers. In 2001 North Dakota's landfills took in nearly 10,000 tons of special waste from oilfields – like chemical-laden rock and soil, and oil-soaked dirt. In 2013 they took in nearly 1.8 million tons, according to the state health department. These numbers don't include North Dakota's radioactive oilfield waste, which hasn't been tracked, though it's likely expanded at a similar rate. Even industrial waste landfills cannot legally accept most oilfield rubbish containing low levels of radioactivity, which has led to some particularly egregious dumping incidents, including the one near Schreiber's landfill. An even larger pile was left in an old gas station in the tiny town of Noonan near the Canadian border earlier this year.
Those incidents made national news, and now the state is drafting rules to require oil producers to track low level radioactive waste from the time it's created to the moment it slides into a special waste landfill. The North Dakota Petroleum Council – an oil and gas industry group – supports the changes, saying that it will level the playing field since many of its member companies already document where they send their radioactive waste.
The bulk of the radioactive waste under scrutiny comes in the form of butterfly-net-shaped mesh tubes called filter socks. Drillers use the socks to strain out solid wastes and prevent wells from clogging with sediment while wastewater is injected deep underground for disposal. By the time the filters are discarded, they've usually accumulated radium, a uranium decay byproduct that's a natural part of oil-rich shale. Last year, 954 socks made it past Schreiber into the McKenzie County landfill, and landfills statewide reported rejecting 89 loads of them.
North Dakota regulators estimate as much as 70 tons of filter socks may be discarded in the state each day. But no one really knows for sure how much low-level radioactive waste oilfields create in the form of filter socks, sludge from tanks, or crud built up in pipes, in the Bakken or elsewhere across the West. Nor does anyone know exactly how such waste might affect workers exposed to it if it's handled improperly. Oil field waste emits low enough levels of radiation that is not hazardous to be near in the short term, unless it's inhaled or ingested. But effects from long-term exposure are unknown. So "it does need to be handled properly, there's no question about it," says Scott Radig, the North Dakota Department of Health's waste management director. North Dakota's Department of Health recently began requiring drillers to keep temporary leak-proof storage containers for filter socks at the drilling site.
North Dakota's particularly stringent requirements for disposing of any radioactive waste are catching part of the blame for encouraging illegal dumping of oilfield waste. Those rules were created before anyone could foresee that hydraulic fracturing would create a massive boom in western North Dakota that pumped out more than a million barrels of oil per day. The state allows radioactive waste containing 5 picocuries of radium per gram, one of the strictest standards in the country. To put that level into perspective, it's similar to the amount of radiation that occurs naturally in North Dakota soil.
Companies that do handle their waste legally must ship filter socks and other radioactive waste to special disposal facilities in other states. Much of it goes to Idaho, which has a site allowing up to 1,500 picocuries per gram, and Colorado (which allows up to 400 picocuries per gram), Texas, or Washington. And as of last year, an entrepreneurial farmer in Montana, where 30 picocuries per gram are allowed, opened a special waste landfill, which can now take some of it too.
Now, hoping to curb illegal dumping by making waste disposal more convenient, North Dakota officials are considering raising the level of radiation permitted in waste, a move supported by the North Dakota Petroleum Council. North Dakota doesn't anticipate its levels will go as high as Idaho or Colorado's. "That waste is generated here and we believe that it should be disposed of properly here," says Tessa Sandstrom, the council's communications manager. The state's health department is working with Argonne National Lab near Chicago, and the University of North Dakota, to study the risks of low-level naturally occurring radiation, including health risks to people working around it and transporting it, and possible harm to the public and the environment after landfill closure or from spills.
Other oil producing states are also grappling with low level radioactive debris. Pennsylvania is studying radiation in its Marcellus Shale with an eye toward changing its disposal rules for radioactive oilfield byproducts. In March, West Virginia passed a law requiring separate lined containers for hot drilling waste, while expanding how much landfills can accept.
Hoping to curb illegal dumping by making waste disposal more convenient, North Dakota officials are considering raising the level of radiation permitted in waste.
Some see raising North Dakota's proposal to increase allowed levels of radiation as more of a boon to oil companies that have to deal with high disposal and trucking expenses, than a means to protect public health and safety. Members of a recently formed citizen's watchdog group, the North Dakota Energy Industry Waste Coalition, say illegal waste dumping is evidence that the state is inadequately enforcing its current rules, not a reason to allow higher levels of radiation in North Dakota.
Schreiber is fine with the state raising the radiation limit – if the waste sites are heavily regulated and inspected often. But he's also skeptical that enforcement will actually get any better. It took 14 months for the state to follow up with one company he reported for bringing filter socks into his landfill. Plus, even if the radiation level increases, filter socks would still have to go to special waste landfills, not the ones for household waste like Schreiber's. He still wonders whether bad actors will avoid paying to use new special landfills in North Dakota if enforcement doesn't improve. (The health department says that they do immediate follow-up on most cases, but that the spike in illegal dumping means it can take longer to get to each one.)
"We're not talking about Chernobyl," he says of the waste. But he still wants to see less of it coming his way. "We don't know for a guy like me who is around this stuff every single day what the long term effects will be on me or my guys. These guys who say there is more radiation in a banana or your countertops – that's great, but I don't sit on my counter with a banana in my mouth all day long."
Sarah Jane Keller is a correspondent for High Country News and is based in Bozeman, Montana. She tweets @sjanekeller.]]>
Wolverines share the snowmobilers' affinity for isolated alpine terrain with deep snow, and Crapster was part of a research team tracking the movements of both to learn if the traffic impacts the animals. He approached the two men to ask them to take a GPS along on their ride. One of them noticed his clipboard and the fluorescent orange bracelet containing the tracker, and cut him off before he could start: "I'm not carrying one."
Fortunately, such rejections are rare. About 90 percent of snowmobilers and skiers approached have taken the GPS units into the mountains. Since 2010, researchers have collected roughly 10,000 such GPS tracks in four Idaho national forests and one in Wyoming. They've fitted 23 wolverines with radio-collars in those areas, including two in the Centennials. Eventually, they'll compare the two datasets to see if the presence of people affects how the "mountain devils" behave, reproduce, and where they choose to live – things that could ultimately affect their survival.
Wolverines are scrappy scavengers, generally weighing between 20 and 60 pounds, with stout legs, snowshoe-like paws and sharp claws that equip them for travel near treeline. When a three to four-foot dump overwhelmed the researchers' snowmobiles in 2011, a GPS-collared wolverine cruised the stormy slopes and ridgelines as briskly as a human striding down a flat, dry trail. "They are just like a little super animal," says Kim Heinemeyer, a biologist with Round River Conservation Studies, a research nonprofit co-leading the study with the Forest Service's Rocky Mountain Research Station.
But they are also vulnerable. So far, their remote lifestyle has protected them from most of the pressures that other charismatic carnivores face – like development, livestock and logging. That, and their natural rarity, has also kept them relatively understudied. While there are thousands of wolverines in Alaska and Canada, plus more in northern Europe and Asia, the Lower 48 probably hosts fewer than 300. But no one knows for sure. It's clear that climate change threatens their snowy habitats, so they'll be considered for endangered listing this August, even as their populations in Idaho, Montana, Wyoming and the North Cascades are bouncing back from early 20th century trapping and poisoning. Yet the effects of increasing numbers of snowmobiles, helicopters, snowcats and skis in wolverine territory are uncertain.
Surprisingly, the Idaho State Snowmobile Association endorses the study. The potential for a listing has raised the stakes for everyone: Snowmobilers hope the study's findings will prevent large closures, while managers and scientists are optimistic that getting the recreation community involved early on could help wolverines remain relatively uncontroversial, even if listed.
"My hope is that regardless of the results, recreationists take ownership of this animal and become largely self-policing, and we don't have to force regulations upon them," says Jeff Copeland, a Forest Service researcher who started the project before retiring to direct the Idaho-based Wolverine Foundation.
Like Island Park, western Idaho's Payette National Forest is a snowmobile magnet. In 2008, a Forest Service plan to ease the pressure of increasing motorized recreation on wildlife and trails threatened to close thousands of acres there. But the proposed closures were based on educated guesses – not hard evidence – about how traffic might discourage wolverine movements or disrupt denning.
In response, the snowmobile association did something desperate people rarely do: They searched the scientific literature. That yielded a few anecdotes – one female abandoned her den when helicopters were nearby – but no proof that snowmobiles harm wolverines. Copeland's name was on many studies, so they called him. "He admitted that there was no science," says Sandra Mitchell, the association's public-lands advocate. "If there is an impact, we need to act responsibly. But to close the public lands because there's a perceived impact, that's not good enough."
Mitchell invited Copeland to speak at the International Snowmobile Congress in Boise in 2008. Together with several Forest Service biologists, they agreed that a wolverine and recreation study was overdue, and the snowmobile association offered to help the Forest Service promote and fund it.
It was an unusual alliance: Idaho snowmobilers have fought federal agencies in court for years over motorized recreation bans in national forest wilderness study areas, and over 70,000 acres of closures to protect endangered caribou. Copeland, for his part, says he hates riding snowmobiles, a necessary, but noisy, tool of his trade. In 40 years as a wildlife biologist, he's clocked countless miles on them and owns two old beaters to access his off-grid house. "I sure as hell would never ride one for recreation," he says.
Still, he wanted to maintain wildlife management's credibility by avoiding arbitrary closures. Most of all, he recognized a rare opportunity to improve the adversarial relationship between snowmobilers and the Forest Service. The snowmobile association, in turn, saw that Copeland didn't have an anti-motorized agenda. "Their position is that if you do good science and you come up with a result that says we are damaging wolverine populations by recreating on top of them, we will change our behavior," says Copeland. "That is a huge step. They came to the 'enemy' and said, 'We're going to trust you to do this.' "
That trust has been crucial to the study. When the project began, researchers weren't sure how snowmobilers at trailheads would respond. But the Idaho State Snowmobile Association encouraged its members to participate, and some snowmobile rental companies helped distribute GPS units. Local businesses provided beer and pizza discounts to riders that returned GPS units (as opposed to dropping them in pit toilets, which once happened). Yurt and helicopter skiing operators and ski areas have also begun equipping customers with GPS trackers.
It hasn't hurt that snowmobilers are confident that their sport does not harm wolverines. "It's not a sissy animal," says Mitchell. While other animals hibernate, wolverines sniff out mountain goats frozen in avalanches, devouring even the bones. They can take down prey 10 to 20 times their weight, like caribou or moose. Noisy engines should be no problem for a species with that kind of grit, she reasons, but admits, "Maybe that's wishful thinking."
Initially, no one knew if wolverines could coexist with intense recreation. Now that they've been captured in high-use areas, some individuals for five years running, it's clear they tolerate traffic to some extent. One female even migrated 100 miles last year and denned in the heavily used Payette National Forest this spring.
Though Heinemeyer is encouraged, the study needs to include more animals to justify policy decisions, and the wolverine's rarity makes accumulating a large sample tough. A preliminary analysis revealed some snowmobile impact: Wolverines seemed to move more during high-traffic weekends than during the quieter workweek. But it's not yet known if that creates difficulties finding food, burns too many calories, or hinders survival and reproduction.
Winter recreation plans for the Payette National Forest are on hold until the work is complete. If researchers do conclude that wolverines have limited tolerance, managers could consider smaller closures, seasonal closures during denning, or even reopening long-closed areas that aren't good wolverine habitat. "My sincere hope is that if there are any impacts, that we have this group of folks that continue to work together and figure out ways to sustain both winter recreation and wolverines on the landscape," says Heinemeyer.
There is another problem that makes the study even more relevant. Most researchers agree that female wolverines, which dig snow tunnels to birth kits in late February and March, need deep snowpack lasting until late April and early May, likely to protect their denning kits. "Where you don't have those (cold, persistently snowy) conditions, you don't have wolverines," says Shawn Sartorius, a U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service biologist based in Helena, Montana, who is overseeing the endangered species listing decision.
Climate change is the main threat motivating the proposed listing, but the study could help managers if dwindling snowpack means that winter recreation adds stress to wolverines. "Winter recreation is one of the areas where we have more control," says Ana Egnew, a wildlife biologist on the Payette National Forest. "Climate change is a bigger issue than the Forest Service can take on alone."
Back in Island Park, Crapster prepares to approach the next truck that pulls in. The driver, a sunburned construction contractor with two teenage boys, is curious about wolverines: where they live, what they eat, how the research team captures them. Researchers stash partial elk carcasses in traps that look like small log cabins, Crapster explains. The man accepts a GPS unit. "If we're harming anything, I wouldn't go there," he says. "I'm glad that (wolverines) are here."]]>


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Princess Kate (aka the Duchess of Cambridge) is Pregnant!
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December 4 2012, 10:09 AM
Re: Princess Kate (aka the Duchess of Cambridge) is Pregnant!
Ro_Laren wrote:
From the Official British Monarchy Facebook Page:
Their Royal Highnesses The Duke and Duchess of Cambridge are very pleased to announce that The Duchess of Cambridge is expecting a baby.
The Queen, The Duke of Edinburgh, The Prince of Wales, The Duchess of Cornwall and Prince Harry and members of both families are delighted with the news.
The Duchess was admitted this afternoon to King Edward VII Hospital in Central London with Hyperemesis Gravidarum. As the pregnancy is in its very early stages, Her Royal Highness is expected to stay in hospital for several days and will require a period of rest thereafter.
And here's an excerpt from the Guardian:
St James's Palace announced the news after the duchess was admitted to hospital on Monday afternoon with acute morning sickness.
It is understood that the duchess is not yet 12 weeks. But the fact she has been admitted to hospital, and is likely to stay there for several days, forced the palace into making an announcement earlier than it would have liked.
... The baby will be the third in line to the throne, bumping Prince Harry, the baby's uncle, to fourth place.
I hope that Prince William & Princess Kate have a boy!!
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Move over, Barbie.
Gracing the cover of the 2014 Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Issue are the topless trio of Lily Aldridge, Nina Agdal and Chrissy Teigen, the first cover appearance for all three.
Happy 50th anniversary, indeed!
The tanned, toned beauties, all of whom are wearing the cheekiest of bikini bottoms—Nina in Beach Bunny, Lily in Basta Surf and Chrissy in Bettinis—will be heating up newsstands, mailboxes and mobile devices all over the world on Feb. 18.
Not to mention the Internet in 3...2...1...
"The 2014 cover embodies the essence of Sports Illustrated Swimsuit," said issue editor MJ Day. "It is presented from a unique perspective, with a lighthearted spirit and breathtaking setting that lets the imagination run wild. This is what Swimsuit does best and we're thrilled to see it captured in such a memorable image."
Meanwhile, it wasn't just Kate Upton's two-covers-running streak that was interrupted. Though SI went ahead and released the cover before show time, the big reveal was given to Jimmy Kimmel Live, meaning the Late Show With David Letterman didn't do the whole side-of-a-building-unveiling for the first time in six years. (Perhaps too many people were getting glimpses of the cover ahead of time?)
Kimmel, in turn, will welcome Agdal, Teigen and Aldridge as guests on Feb. 17, the night before the issue goes on sale.
"I am so incredibly honored to be part of this issue," Aldridge said. "As my first time ever shooting with Sports Illustrated I never imagined I would be on the cover.
"I'm speechless," said Agdal. "This has been my goal. I couldn't be happier to be on this year's cover. It's absolutely amazing!"
Added Teigen: "I am so thrilled and honored to not only be on the cover but to be on the 50th Anniversary cover."
While 2006 was an all-star cover featuring eight models in the main image, and a number of duos have decorated the cover, SI has only employed a trio of hotties as the main eye candy for its famed issue once before, in 1994, when Kathy Ireland, Elle Macpherson and Rachel Hunter made for a fierce three.
Over the last week, SI had been rolling out one "rookie" a day as a way of welcoming each hottie to the illustrious skin-baring family on the occasion of her first-ever appearance in the famed issue. Aldridge, Lauren Mellor, and "Blurred Lines" babe Emily Ratajkowski were among the newbies.
So, you ask, what was the deal with the so-called cover featuring another all-American girl—blond, blue-eyed Barbie, of Mattel fame, clad in an updated version of the black-and-white-striped swimsuit she was born with—released by SI this week?
Can someone say "genius marketing ploy"?
PHOTOS: Check out all the hotties who attended the Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Issue 50th anniversary party


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ALEXANDRIA, VA, July 18, 2014 — The American Physical Therapy Association (APTA) has announced its finalists in the Innovation 2.0 project, an initiative aimed at highlighting and advancing the impact of physical therapy in innovative and emerging models of health care, such as accountable care organizations (ACOs), bundled payment, direct access, patient-centered medical homes, prevention and health promotion, and value-based purchasing.
"The health care environment is rapidly evolving with an emphasis being placed on collaborative care models that achieve the triple aim of improving health and outcomes and reducing costs," said Paul A. Rockar Jr, PT, DPT, MS, president of APTA. "Our finalists have demonstrated success in using new and collaborative models to achieve these goals, and we are proud to support them in their pursuit."
Three Innovation 2.0 project finalists were selected from among nearly 60 applicants. Applicants participated in a rigorous review process, which involved attending a workshop in May to present their projects to a review panel of 9 individuals representing various physical therapy settings across the continuum of care.
The 3 finalists selected to receive financial and in-kind support from APTA are:
APTA will work with each of the project leads over the coming weeks to finalize the details of a timeline for their participation in Innovation 2.0. Over the next 12 months, APTA will also work closely with each of the teams to further develop and advance their models, which will establish new and innovative templates that can be replicated for wider implementation in the health care system.
"APTA is committed to preparing its members for inclusion in new models of care and helping members thrive in this new health care environment," said Rockar.
APTA has selected 2 additional recipients and projects to receive financial awards:
The American Physical Therapy Association represents more than 88,000 physical therapists, physical therapist assistants, and students of physical therapy nationwide. Learn more about the types of conditions physical therapists can treat, and find a physical therapist in your area, by visiting www.moveforwardpt.com. Consumers are encouraged to follow APTA on Twitter (@MoveForwardPT) and Facebook.
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Pastor Maldonado sure Williams have strong car irrespective of FIA exhaust call
Maldonado says FW35 best Williams he's driven out of the box
By James Galloway in Barcelona
Last Updated: 19/02/13 7:23pm
The Grove-based team rolled out their car in the Circuit de Catalunya pitlane on the opening morning of the winter's second test and it didn't take long for paddock attention to focus onto the 'vanes' situated inside the exits of the new car's Coanda exhausts.
A similar design on the new Caterham had already provoked controversy at the Jerez test but Williams Technical Director Mike Coughlan stressed to reporters on Tuesday morning in Spain that he thought his team's design was subtly different, and therefore legal.
However, Sky Sports F1's Ted Kravitz revealed that the FIA would judge both exhaust configurations as being illegal should they appear on the two team's respective cars in Melbourne.
But asked if he was concerned about the governing body's stance at the end of his opening day behind the wheel of the FW35, Maldonado replied: "No, actually not. This is not changing anything.
"It is a standard Coanda. [There are] things we are testing and doing some experiments in the car for the future. We are really looking forward and we know very well the rules and we are looking forward to getting 100% not only from the exhaust, all [of] the car.
"I'm 100% sure we will be there in Melbourne fighting for good places."
Indeed, although the car almost immediately found itself at the centre of controversy, an upbeat Maldonado said it had been a "positive" day for the team, with the Venezuelan declaring the FW35 the best of the three Williams he has ever driven at this stage of the winter.
"I'm very happy with the car because it's the best car I've had - especially in the first test for the previous years," he told reporters.
"Last year the car was quite good, competitive all through the year, but I think there is a clear step forward in this car.
"And a part of that there is good reliability in the car, so this is a good improvement we did and we are really looking forward to even more mileage on the car in the next couple of days and even try to try different things in the car."
Describing the 2013 challenger as having "more braking and more traction" than its race-winning predecessor, Maldonado added: "I think I'm going to enjoy this car in the season and we can do something good."


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Best Eastern Race in Years
2003-2004 has done something that no one really could have predicted- given us huge excitement out of the Eastern Conference. In years past, New Jersey was the dominant team, with minor challenges from the likes of Philly, Toronto, and Ottawa. Now, The typically "phone it in" Devils stand small, at the 6 seed. Now, I am not fooled by this, as they are still considered the class of the east, until someone proves otherwise; however, the 5 teams above them are for real, for a nice change. A quick breakdown, from an unbiased perspective: 1- Toronto- Tons of offense and veteran leadership make this team formidable in the post season. One has to think they will pick up something in the way of D (my guess is either Wesley or Boughner, with a lean toward Wesley). Spotty D and Belfour's injury are the question marks.
2- Philly- A powerful offense (that seemingly awoken from years of slumber) has been decimated with injury. If- IF – they are healthy before the post season, they match up well with anyone. A blend of speed, and power, coupled with the ability to roll 4 lines is the biggest assett a team can have. D is powerful- question mark- gee, this is new- GOALTENDING.
3- Tampa- 5-0 vs. Philly says something! Speed and youth makes the energy on this team enough to be a real contender. They have games in hand on the entire conference, and if the top two falter, they might just come knocking! Goaltending is tough, but not yet battle tested….
4- Boston- Who would have guessed this? Questions in gaol for the past several years, and they finally fid their guy in the form of Andrew Raycroft? Talented offense is why people watch, but team defense and surprising goaltending are the reason for success. Tough team in the East, as the top 2 lines can challenge anyone in the league. Depth and experience are the biggest questions. Interested to see how the youngster handles big time games.
5- Ottawa- Do not take stupid penalties here! PP is a monster. With the addition of Bondra, this team is a scary Offensive machine…. are they tough enough? Haven't we heard this before?? No, they do not match the grit of Toronto (not sure who does), or the size of Philly, but skill conquers much of this.- Remember, you cannot hit what you cannot catch! Lalime is a bit shaky, but this team can virtually outscore any opponent to win a game!
6- NJ- well…… the best active goalie in the league, continued success, balanced offense, and intimidation make this team what it is. I do not feel like I have to keep going…. question mark lies in the health of Scott Stevens- they look like a lost puppy without him right now. Still a contender for Lord Stanley, but if Stevens cannot return, this race is up for grabs!
Well, this is just my thought on the real contenders- 6 powerful, well balanced teams, that can beat any one on any given day. As a Philly native, and Flyer fan, I hope this was an unbiased look at things.
Just consider this- a first round match up of Boston vs. Ottawa (or NJ replacing either of these teams) at the 4/5 proves the added depth. The spectacular offense in the West will get a real challenge from any of these well balanced teams. In a year where CBA has overshadowed most, we may get our best playoff treat in years. There is no clear cut favorite in this league- everyone has weakness, which makes more excitement. If they sit out next year, at least we can all say we got one fine farewell..


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Digital Trends - February's highly publicized Sony event that served as the official announcement of the PlayStation 4 is in the rearview mirror now, and the ball is in Microsoft's court as fans clamor for more information about the as-yet-unnamed successor to the Xbox 360.
There's been no shortage of rumors leading up to – and in the wake of – Sony's announcement that cast a comparative eye on Microsoft's plans for the Xbox 720… or is it the Durango? Or maybe just Xbox? Along with the console's name, many of the aspects of the next Xbox are likewise unknown, though certain rumors seem to have more credibility than others.