Facing a Rough Rockies Winter

By KURT ANDERSEN

Water and wildlife worries

"This winter," says Doug Crowe, a Wyoming wildlife official, "started out like a bear cat."

For the moment the growl is gone: the Rocky Mountain states are having a respite from the terrible extremes of cold and snow. But with their day-to-day challenges of survival eased, people now have time to fret--about wildlife and water. From Denver to Boise, Idaho, herds of antelope, deer and elk are wandering out of the deep back-country snow dazed and starving. The snowfall, three or four times as great as normal, makes Rockies residents look toward the spring thaw with apprehension. Says California Meteorologist Jerome Namais: "This is potentially a very dangerous situation." All over the region, the snow facts seem almost like Paul Bunyan tall tales. Utah and Idaho last endured such snowy winters in the 1880s. In Alta, Utah, more than 20 ft. fell during December alone, exceeding the previous record by 5 ft. "I've never seen a winter this hard on deer," says Joe Gerrans, a Colorado wildlife supervisor. The snows came unusually early, so the herds had only a brief time for winter foraging. Now much of the sagebrush and other shrubs is covered by a layer of snow so thick and crusty that the hungry animals are roaming toward settled areas for food. They often wander plowed roads and railroad tracks: 400 antelope were struck and killed by trains in one week in Carbon County, Wyo. Where prey go, predators follow: coyotes are coming close to towns to eat deer. Or whatever. "Archibald, my cat, won't go out at night any more," says D.J. Bassett of Jackson, Wyo.

"He's no fool." The hungry herds can be irksome as well as pathetic. The animals knock down fences and eat food meant for livestock. In Montana, the state distributes defenses to ranchers: dried hog blood is sprinkled around haystacks to repel deer, and wooden elk barricades, made by state prison inmates, are being erected. Even more is being done to feed the ravenous animals. Typically, winter kills 5% to 15% of the herds; this season more than half of some herds could die. Colorado, with 550,000 deer and 130,000 elk, may spend $1.6 million for emergency feeding. One morning last week near Kremmling, Colo., Gerrans and his crew took their Sno-Cat, a huge cart with tanklike treads, rumbling out for the daily 14-mile feeding sortie. The men scattered high-protein biscuits by the handful across the snow. Soon a pair of mule deer appeared, then five or six.

Then hundreds of deer were bounding over ridges and struggling down hillsides, each eager for its 420-a-day state feast. Gerrans figures he feeds 20% of the deer and 50% of the elk in his three-county area. "They don't know how to say they appreciate it," the husky, Marlboro-smoking man notes sweetly, "but I know they do." Volunteers help too. Boise's Red Dog Saloon raised $410 to feed deer by holding a benefit dinner featuring venison chili. President Reagan sent a $100 check to Utah to help the animals. In Jackson Hole, Wyo., Hunting Guide Les Levenstein has spent $2,500 feeding 100 deer and 75 elk in his yard every day. Some unsentimental experts consider such efforts misguided. "Wild animals have amply demonstrated over several million years that they will take care of themselves," says Wyoming's Crowe, who does not mind that cold weather is culling the state's overabundant (400,000) antelope herd. Jack Grieb, Colorado's wildlife director, sees an expensive precedent. "We fear the public will force us to feed the animals every year." A more difficult task is protecting the public when the snow melts. The 14 Colorado River dams operated by the federal Bureau of Reclamation are supposed to prevent floods and provide irrigation for a vast swath of the West.

"It's a juggling act," says the bureau's Clifford Barrett, who manages the upper Colorado, "and a lot of people are looking over your shoulder all the time."

Last spring, when the swollen river badly overflowed, the bureau was blamed. This year the bureau is sluicing 68% more water through Hoover Dam to prepare for the big thaw.

Rivers are ornery. In Idaho last month the ice-jammed Lemhi River flooded the town of Salmon (pop. 3,300), displacing hundreds of people. Utah's Great Salt Lake, its rising waters thick with ice chunks, is worrisome. The lake has risen 7 ft. in just over a year and thus expanded by 359 sq.

mi. By June, nearly 190 sq. mi. of additional land may be submerged. Briny water already laps over Interstate 80 just outside Salt Lake City, and dredging crews are working 24 hours a day to build earthen dikes. Westerners have a knack for weathering such rigors. Yet winter's hardest times may be ahead. Says Doug Day, Utah's wildlife director:

"Generally, we get most of our winter kill in February." And federal Hydrologist Kenneth Jones says the flood question is unsettled. "What snow falls after Feb. 1," he notes, "can really make or break you."

With reporting by Robert C. Wurmstedt