Lave et al. have proposed the name critical physical geography for research that “combines critical attention to power relations with deep knowledge of biophysical science or technology in the service of social and environmental transformation.” Such work neither oversimpliflies physical geography as “naively positivist” nor seeks to criticize physical geography from the outside. Rather, CPG “requires critical human geographers to engage substantively with the physical sciences and the importance of the material environment in shaping social relations, while expanding physical geographers’ exposure to and understanding of the power relations and human practices that shape physical systems and their own research practices.” The need for CPG, they argue, arises both from the ubiquity of human influences on biophysical processes—reflected in the increasing adoption of the term “Anthropocene”—and from the insight that scientific concepts and ideas are socially mediated or “co-produced” with the landscapes they seek to describe and understand. At the core of CPG lies a “reflexive and integrative epistemological spirit” that strives “to produce critical biophysical and social explanations while also reflecting on the conditions under which those explanations are produced.” CPG thus involves scrutinizing not only the findings but also the concepts and categories of physical geography. These concepts and categories must be understood, moreover, both in terms of their theoretical origins within a discipline and in relation to the broader social and institutional contexts of their production. Scientific categories have histories; they should not be taken for granted as given or natural, but understood as the result of actions taken by particular people in particular contexts. This is especially important in cases where repeated use over time has cemented concepts into the literature and occluded the decisions and assumptions that attended them at the outset.
Such decisions necessarily reflected,in some measure, Grow bag for blueberry plants the social conditions in which they were made, and they very likely rested on assumptions that may have been faulty from the start, or that may have become faulty as conditions subsequently changed. Critical understanding of the history of concepts and categories used by physical geographers is not the only task of CPG; the larger goal is to address contemporary problems and issues more effectively. But it is a necessary part of CPG, insofar as the concepts and categories used today may benefit from a critical examination of their origins and histories. Elsewhere I have treated the terms carrying capacity and anthropogenic in this spirit. This paper explores the origins of key concepts and practices in range science, a field of applied ecology that arose in the United States around the turn of the 20th century. The history of the discipline has received remarkably little attention from scholars, even within range science; critical scrutiny of it along the lines of CPG is virtually non-existent. Prompted by concern that uncontrolled livestock grazing was degrading Western public lands, federal government agencies tasked scientists to find the causes of degradation and devise ways to reverse it. What emerged was a set of ideas about how livestock, herders, herding dogs and wild predators interacted to impact vegetation for better or worse, and a corresponding set of practices that were subsequently implemented across the West’s vast public rangelands: fencing, regulated stocking rates, and predator control. In the centurysince this model was born, the connection between predator control and fencing has become invisible; the history told here allows us to see that rangeland policies might usefully be reconsidered in light of this lost connection.
It also uncovers a key assumption of the logic behind the model—namely, that reduced labor costs would offset the costs of fencing—and it reveals a historical contingency that went on to have profound implications for Western rangelands: the subordination of range science to timber production and therefore fire suppression.On May 9, 1907, the famous naturalist and Chief of the US Department of Agriculture’s Bureau of Biological Survey, C. Hart Merriam, sent a short memo to Gifford Pinchot, head of another USDA agency, the recently created US Forest Service. “Dear Mr. Pinchot: Your proposition to build a wolf and coyote proof fence on the Imnaha2 National Forest in Oregon is of great interest to us, and the Biological Survey will gladly cooperate with the Forest Service in any way possible to secure satisfactory results.” Three sentences later, Merriam—who in his career described more than 600 species of mammals—concluded with a blunt recommendation: “After the fence is completed, all wolves, coyotes, mountain lions and wild cats should of course be killed or driven out before the sheep are brought in.” He made no mention of the purpose of the project, and his own agency’s involvement was quite limited.3 But Merriam took an interest because the project was a scientific experiment, for which the fence was an important apparatus.The Coyote-Proof Pasture Experiment was a joint effort between the Forest Service and a third USDA agency, the Bureau of Plant Industry . Conceived by Pinchot, it was designed by Frederick Coville, Chief Botanist in the BPI, and although it was not the first scientific experiment in range management, as is sometimes claimed, it was the first to be deemed successful, and its results helped transform the very institutions that had produced it. Inspired by this perceived success, the Forest Service permanently took over range research from the BPI in 1910, and the young scientist whom Coville had hired to conduct the experiment, James T. Jardine, became Inspector of Grazing for the Forest Service. Jardine’s collaborator, Arthur Sampson, went on to become “the father of range science.” The Wallowa experiment thus had enormous implications for how rangelands would be studied and managed for the rest of the 20th century.
From four square miles in the mountains of eastern Oregon, a model of range management based on fencing and predator control spread across the rangelands of the western US in a matter of decades. In the second half of the century, the model was exported to the developing world. Fenced pastures and the near-total absence of large predators have by now been ubiquitous on US rangelands for so long that they are widely taken for granted. “Open range” no longer signiflies the absence of fences altogether, but instead their absence along remote roadways, where livestock may imperil motorists without the livestock owner being liable for damages. Coyotes, brown bears and mountain lions persist throughout the West, and wolves and grizzly bears are still found in parts of the northern Rockies, but their numbers are too small to pose a significant threat to livestock: less than 0.25 percent of US cattle, for example, are lost to predators, including dogs.5 Range fences aren’t even designed to repel predators, because doing so would be far too expensive relative to the small risks of predation. Today, fencing and predator control are treated as separate issues in public debate and policy recommendations, and the historical link between them is forgotten. To be sure, both fencing and predator control predated the Coyote-Proof Pasture Experiment, and their combined use on rangelands might be considered coincidental. But Coville and Jardine’s experiment united them in an effort to understand range livestock production scientifically and to use that understanding in the formulation of policies. The inspiration for the experiment lay not in rangelands at all, but in the much smaller pastures of the eastern United States and Europe, where fencing was primarily a means of keeping livestock away from crops, rather than keeping predators away from livestock. To apply the pasture model to the much drier, expansive lands of the Western range, however, blueberry grow bag the Forest Service had to interpret the results of the Wallowa experiment in ways that elided or overlooked many important details. Fencing had to make sense at the scale of thousands or tens of thousands of acres, for example, rather than 1-40 acres. The results with sheep had to be extended to cattle, even though cattle are far less vulnerable to predation. Most importantly, the attribution of causality had to shift from the removal of predators—which putatively reduced livestock trampling of vegetation—to the control of stocking rates by fencing, which came to be viewed as improving the composition and production of range vegetation. The Coyote-Proof Pasture Experiment sanctioned and catalyzed the institutionalization of a set of practices of US rangeland administration and management that presupposed the combination of fencing and predator control. The model rested on weak scientific foundations, as we will see, but it spread for other reasons, enabled by large public subsidies over many decades, especially in the form of labor under Depression-era jobs programs. This is ironic because reducing labor —in the form of herders—was the semi-visible, ulterior motive of both fencing and predator control.The first two decades of the 20th century were a period of ongoing and sweeping reorganization within the USDA, especially with regard to the West’s vast public lands. At the turn of the century, the public lands resided within the Interior Department’s General Land Office, whose principal mandate was to dispose of them under the nation’s various settlement acts. But the Forest Reserve Act of 1891 had authorized the President to withdraw timbered lands from disposal, and as the Forest Reserves grew in size and number, Congress and the Interior Department scrambled to decide how to administer and manage them.
Along with mineral resources and water, the region’s key natural resources were forests and rangelands,both of which were considered to be in crisis due to unrestrained commercial exploitation. The Forest Reserves were justified legally as a means to protect timber and watersheds, but they also encompassed large areas where livestock owners had been grazing their animals for decades or more. The relationship between forests and rangelands, trees and grasses, timber and forage, was at once a scientific, management, and bureaucratic question. Forestry had by this time emerged as a small but recognized scientific field, imported from Europe and first institutionalized at Cornell University in 1898 and at Yale in 1900. The USDA had begun assessments of the nation’s forests in 1876, organized since 1881 under the Division of Forestry, and division chief Bernhard Fernow could point to thousands of pages of published forestry research when he stepped down in 1898 . Research on rangelands, in comparison, had barely begun. It had not attracted the agency’s attention until 1895, when the Division of Agrostology was created in response to devastating drought and consequent overgrazing, especially in the Southwest. Little more than taxonomic and reconnaissance surveys had been completed in the West by 1900 , when Agrostology was combined with five other divisions into the Office of Plant Industry, renamed the following year as the Bureau of Plant Industry. The Division of Forestry also became a bureau in 1901. Without a land base, however, none of the USDA’s various bureaus “could do more than advise and research” . Congress and the Interior Department had been studying and debating the administration of the Forest Reserves since their inception, but the matter was only resolved in 1905, when the reserves were transferred to the USDA and its new US Forest Service, headed by Pinchot and facilitated by his close friendship with President Theodore Roosevelt. As Pyne notes, the Transfer Act catapulted forestry to the forefront of American conservation not on the basis of its scientific credentials—which were quite meager in comparison to, for example, the US Geological Survey—but by virtue of the 63 million acres of land that the Forest Service suddenly controlled. Dedicated to science as the means of striking an optimal balance between utilization and conservation, Pinchot moved quickly to expand and consolidate research on several fronts. But the bureaucratic divisions within USDA persisted, and expertise on rangelands—what little there was of it—remained in the BPI. The European forestry model was ill suited to North American forests because it failed to recognize the importance of recurrent fires for their functioning and persistence, as Pyne , among others, has shown. But in most places, fires were a function not so much of the trees themselves, but of the grasses that grew beneath and between them, providing the fine fuels in which recurrent fires could start and spread. European forestry’s ignorance of—and prejudice against— fire, then, reflected its ignorance of grasses, which in the European context were deemed important only in “improved” pastures that were both spatially and intellectually segregated from forests.