From our January/February 2025 issue
It’s been some time since I shot my first sage grouse at the age of 16. Fellow classmate Fred Woolett is responsible for this pivotal event that determined my future. Without the birds we found that fateful afternoon in late September 1988, I wouldn’t be the man I am today.
There was no wise old gentleman with horn-rimmed glasses to show us the grace of a setter frozen on point or any other “classic” component, but it was Wyoming classic: two teenagers out searching an ocean of sage.
The following year I remember the excitement of hunting opening day—in August. In those days Wyoming’s sage grouse opener coincided with Labor Day Weekend. I didn’t realize then that hunting sage grouse during the final days of August was about to end. But eventually, due to concerns of declining bird populations, seasons were reduced to the last two weeks of September (or less) in an effort to protect hens and yearlings—which at that time begin to migrate away from water sources while mature males move off on their own. The daily limit was also reduced from three to two.
Historically, grouse numbers have fluctuated wildly. During the 1930s, due to the famous period of severe drought, it looked as though sage grouse might go the way of the dinosaur. But as rains healed the plains, sage grouse staged a strong comeback . . . for a while. I have witnessed similar fluctuations take place through drought-and-wet cycles during the past 36 years. Weather plays a crucial role in habitat quality and brood-rearing conditions. The grouse also need water to drink.
As their name implies, sage grouse are linked to sage. That being the case, it’s hard to imagine any shortage of habitat when one views vast amounts of the plant in places like Wyoming. We’re “up to our ears” in the stuff. However, not all sage is created equal. Not all growth stages serve the same purpose to grouse. I am often asked for hunting advice. My best advice is to think of sage like a ruffed grouse hunter thinks of the forest: There must be successional growth. Sage grouse feed early and late in the day in sage seldom higher than a child’s ankle. It seems odd to see six-pound birds out on the sage-land version of a pool table, but that’s where they fill their bellies. I suspect there is a nutritional or pH difference in younger sage plants. Ribbons and pockets of taller sage, about knee high, provide cover during intervening hours where the grouse dust, preen and get out of the ever-present wind. On rare occasions during hot weather sage grouse will utilize old-growth sage, sometimes taller than a man’s head. But mostly they avoid the big stuff, much as they avoid conifers, likely due to predation vulnerability. Sage “chickens” prefer to see danger coming and need easy escape lanes.
Through the years many theories concerning sage grouse population declines have been entertained. I always look to large “control” areas that have lacked change during my lifetime to gauge new ideas as they emerge.
In recent years cheatgrass has been reported to be a factor—interestingly, about the same time a chemical to kill it came on the market. Why? Because cheatgrass burns rapidly, and then afterward outcompetes new sage, choking out sage sprouts like weeds. But wait . . . all our grasses burn fast when dry and outgrow sage after fires. Grasses emerge and grow at a daily rate. The growth rate of sage brush is measured in years and decades. I’m not convinced cheatgrass deserves so much attention. More importantly, the vast majority of Wyoming’s sage grouse habitat has no cheatgrass and never has. Yet the same grouse declines have occurred in these areas. Cheatgrass can’t be a culprit where it doesn’t exist. Ironically, cheatgrass checks all the boxes as ideal screening cover beneath sage plants.
How we manage burn areas after fires may play a bigger role than grass type. At what point do sage sprouts survive being trampled by livestock? Give sage sprouts time to grow a little, and they become resilient. On the other hand, grazing after a fire negates grasses outcompeting sage.
OK, now I’ve mentioned the sacred cow. The truth is, cows themselves are not the problem. As Aldo Leopold stated, the cow can be used to build habitat rather than destroy it. How we manage grazing needs an overhaul. I’ve had some great conversations with a close friend who spent 15 years in Wyoming’s Department of Agriculture. His “bigger picture” insights could hold the key to the future of sage grouse.
Historically, America’s plains and prairies contained massive herds of bison that grazed heavily, and then moved on. Therein lies the crucial detail. The bison would not rotate back for three to five years—there were no fences. In their absence amazing regeneration of plant species occurred, resulting in a wider range of plant life and the successional growth so valuable to wildlife. We can duplicate this with rotational cattle grazing, and in some areas it already is being done successfully while maintaining cattle numbers. Today the most prevalent practice on public grazing lands is known as “take 50, leave 50” which assumes 50 percent (of a specific grass) is grazed off and 50 percent is left behind. Results vary greatly depending on annual moisture. There is generally no rotation. The same allotments often get grazed annually, removing a critical grazing benefit that the plains ecosystem depends on.
Another major factor is the lowly grasshopper. Grasshoppers equal grouse. I preseason scout sage grouse in late August by looking for grasshopper concentrations. From year to year locations go boom or bust in otherwise identical habitat, often within only a few miles. By late September sage grouse are no longer dependent on hoppers, but they haven’t yet migrated far from them either.
Grazing has a huge impact on grasshoppers. Grasshoppers lay their eggs in soil cracks. High stem density (thick vegetation growth) greatly inhibits this. Drought opens ground. Grazing also opens bare ground, creating the grasshopper’s equivalent of nesting habitat. The flip side of the coin? When grasshoppers hatch, they need food. Again, rotate grazing to create a mosaic of plant and insect life. Tremendous grouse production occurs when drought or grazing are followed by a wet summer, resulting in superb habitat conditions and a burgeoning hopper supply.
Another idea in the headlines these days is habitat “fragmentation.” I hate to see fragmentation, but I am realistic in my observations. In most areas where I hunt sage grouse there have been no developments by man that result in fragmentation. Some of these places are broad enough to spend a lifetime exploring; others measure only a few dozen square miles. Again, when I see sage grouse in these untouched areas suffering as they are elsewhere, I have to think that we haven’t yet found the smoking gun.
An idea that may be worth investigating is the long-past war on sage. Once upon a time, sage was the enemy. Efforts to convert areas of sage to grazing lands took place as society expanded westward. I wonder if by doing this we actually created a bump in sage grouse numbers, like when the prairie chicken population “exploded” behind the plow. Unlike the prairie chicken situation, many early sage-removal efforts failed, resulting in a boom of new-growth sage that lasted decades. Perhaps we are comparing today’s grouse numbers to an artificially created historical high . . . .
Fire management has also changed the face of the high plains. Fire suppression does remove another natural method of regeneration and has been in place long enough to be a major player.
What I have observed is that our sage lands, like our forests, have indeed been aging. As the lands have aged, sage grouse have been in a parallel decline. On one “control area” sage has slowly grown taller and grouse numbers have responded inversely. No other changes to the landscape or management have occurred. I didn’t notice it for nearly 20 years. Eventually I noticed how hiking through the sage was becoming more difficult. Then I realized how little short sage remained. Subtleties are easy to miss when the metamorphosis is gradual.
We have only so many resources and so much manpower to devote to this problem; I would like to see our efforts maximized by finding and addressing root causes instead of chasing rabbits down holes. Perhaps it’s time to consider a broader historical perspective.
Ideally, this winter will be a mild one, and with any luck, a wet summer will heal our habitat as best it can. Add grasshoppers, and grouse numbers will rise again. I’ve witnessed it repeatedly.
Come next September, I hope my friends can gather around our campfire with growing cause for optimism. Ultimately, it depends on what Americans as a whole value most. I’d like to think that the “bird of my life” will once again prosper.
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