When the sun dips into the
horizon during Wyoming’s twilight hours, dangers are suddenly
everywhere. In an instant, dark figures begin darting onto the
state’s roads, and the sound of squeaking brakes can be heard
from Rock Springs to Cody. We call this time of day “deer o’clock,”
and we grip the steering wheel just a little bit tighter. Some of
us even slow down.
Driving during a light-fading Wyoming
evening is a test of mental alertness and reflex response. In a
state where deer and antelope outnumber humans, the odds are
stacked against you when it comes to having an unexpected encounter
with a jay-walking animal. In 2002, the Wyoming Department of
Transportation reported 1,681 vehicle collisions with wildlife,
which they say under-represents the number of animal carcasses they
find on Wyoming’s roads.
These collisions are scary and
sad. I don’t think I’m alone in knowing someone
who’s been killed in one. Not long ago, while driving along
Highway 191 near Pinedale, I slammed on my brakes for a small herd
of pronghorn antelope nervously scooting across the highway. As the
car skidded closer and closer, I locked eyes with the lead antelope
in the pack. We were both terrified. I managed to come to a halt
inches from the cluster of animals.
Only a few minutes
later, just as I was catching my breath, I passed an antelope that
hadn’t been so lucky. She’d been hit by an oncoming car and
was struggling by the side of the road, her legs thrashing in the
air and twisted at an unnatural angle.
It’s not easy to
be a twilight driver in Wyoming, yet it’s far harder for wildlife.
At less than 500,000 people, the state isn’t densely
populated, but the open range of a couple of hundred years ago is
mostly gone. Today, oil and gas rigs that make daily stops at wells
and roads, private land development and rampant fencing have all
created an obstacle course for migrating wildlife, especially along
Highway 191 in southwestern Wyoming. And it will only get more
congested, because more than 90 percent of southwest Wyoming’s
public land is available for oil and gas leasing and development.
You can see the future in the thousands of gas wells that already
spider out in a giant web of service roads, powerlines and
pipelines.
This development is starting to choke the
largest big-game migration in the Lower 48 states, which happens
right across Highway 191 each year. Nearly 50,000 pronghorn
antelope migrate through a natural funnel from summer ranges in
Grand Teton National Park to winter ranges farther south near
Pinedale. Everything converges at a bottleneck named
Trapper’s Point. This narrow corridor is the most notorious
wildlife crossing in Wyoming. But today, instead of the fur
trappers who rendezvoused here in the 1880s, vehicles zoom 70 miles
per hour along Highway 191.
Wild animals have to scramble
for their lives to escape oncoming trucks and cars, and many
vehicles careen off the road to avoid a collision. Who’s at fault?
You can’t blame wildlife; they’re following migration instincts
thousands of years in the making. But they’re running against a
nation on the move.
Nearly 4 million miles of roads and
200 million vehicles zigzag across our great land. According to the
nonprofit Defenders of Wildlife, hundreds of thousands of animals
— large and small —are killed on our highways every
day.
So what’s the twilight driver to do? One thing we
can do is be more active in how and where our roads are built. For
most of us, the only time we think about transportation planning is
when we’re stopped for a road construction project. But each year,
new roads are built and many existing roads are widened in the
United States. There have been studies to find ways to keep
wildlife off the roads, such as installing flashing lights and
over-and-under passes that give wildlife crossing alternatives. As
taxpayers, we need to speak out so this research continues and
proper planning can dictate how our roads are built.
Wildlife advocates don’t need to oppose every new road or
road-expansion project — after all, we all drive cars. But as
development continues to choke the West, wildlife shouldn’t always
have to take a back seat when it comes to road planning. Both
humans and animals deserve a home on the range where we can travel
safely.
Kerry Brophy is a contributor to
Writers on the Range, a service of High Country News (hcn.org). She
is publications manager for the National Outdoor Leadership School
in Lander, Wyoming.
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