The Cattleman August 2008 - Lessons From Bighorn Sheep

Above: A 24- to 26-square foot guzzler will capture .62 gallons per square foot per inch of rain.

Lessons from Wild Bighorn Sheep

Texas Bighorn Society volunteers construct guzzlers in remote habitats for an elusive and rare species they may never see in person. Would a guzzler good for wild West Texas sheep be good for your wildlife? Would any organization benefit from volunteers as dedicated as TBS members?

By JOHN R. MEYER

From Interstate Highway 10, the Trans-Pecos area of Texas looks rugged and difficult from horizon to horizon. With the exception of an occasional oasis, the geography of this part of the state can be described as rocky; the flora as prickly; and the weather as dry.

For those who dare not stray from the interstate corridor, this is as detailed as it gets. But for those who venture off the paved path, the desert landscape is characterized more by its delicacy than its ruggedness.

Time and history have shown us that only the hardiest of folks have been able to live here, overcoming long odds and tough conditions. The difference between success and failure was slim, with seemingly small events separating the two.

Unfortunately for some of the native fauna, that difference between success and failure was also slim.

Ancient rock art proves desert bighorn sheep, Ovis canadensis, lived in the Trans-Pecos area for hundreds of years. The footnote to the species, though, is all too common. A few decades of human population derailed what had existed uneventfully for several centuries. Necessary tools of the livestock industry, most notably fences and the livestock themselves, took a toll on the native sheep. Unnecessary accompaniments such as poaching and over-hunting took care of the rest.

Efforts to stop the decline of desert bighorn sheep started in the early 1900s when legal hunting was outlawed. In the 1940s, the state began to strategically acquire land to serve as a refuge.

Efforts expanded in the 1950s to include transplanted animals from Arizona. However, by the end of the decade, momentum toward extinction was building.

October 1958 marked the last known sighting of a wild desert bighorn sheep in Texas. Their typically isolated existence suggests they lasted a few more years after that, but the party for wild, native sheep in Texas was over.

Efforts to re-establish wild sheep crept along in the ensuing decades, but never gained self-sufficiency.

Volunteers build guzzlers

By the 1980s, a group of regional supporters who were members of the Foundation for North American Wild Sheep (FNAWS) morphed into what would become the Texas Bighorn Society (TBS). Their first big project was to construct brood pens at the Sierra Diablo Wildlife Management Area in 1983.

From the brood pens came a nucleus of support, encouragement and most importantly, lambs which were used to establish populations in other areas of the state.

These days annual projects are expected to occur; but the initial effort of mobilizing the support of people and money, the support of more than 30 contributing conservation groups, the support from private citizens, and the state's support was significant.

This year's project was to build two guzzlers — devices that collect and divert rainwater into storage tanks. The water eventually flows into drinking troughs.

A 24- to 26-square foot guzzler will capture .62 gallons per square foot per inch of rain. This collects a substantial amount of water in an area with single-digit annual rainfall.

Texas Parks and Wildlife Department (TPWD) biologists determined the location for the guzzlers based on their observation of the sheep and their evaluation of terrain.

"It has been documented that sheep will readily use free-standing water when available," explains Froylan Hernandez, assistant project leader for the Desert Bighorn Sheep Program and biologist with TPWD's Elephant Mountain Wildlife Management Area (EMWMA).

Sheep will travel to natural water sources, too. "However, Hernandez adds, "some of these …are not within escape terrain or on prime sheep habitat. Consequently, sheep are exposed and become more susceptible to predation," underscoring the value of a well-placed guzzler.

The project came down to three days of carefully planned work. On the first day those who arrived early organized supplies and equipment. The rest of the volunteer work force arrived the next two days. Supplies, equipment and volunteers were delivered to the guzzler sites and the rest of the time was spent in labor and assembly.

To help out these majestic creatures, we went to where they felt at home -- higher altitude, steeply pitched slopes (meaning steeper than 60 degrees) with jagged, rocky peaks and drastic changes in elevation.

Biologists get a chance to see where sheep commonly reside during annual aerial surveys conducted each June. Poring over topographical maps then scouting the potential site on foot confirms a good location.

Hernandez again cites the ambush factor: "The site itself has to be in good habitat…(and) have good escape routes without a lot of cover. The clearer it is, the better to see predators approaching."

Getting to work

Before the majority of the crew arrived, welding supplies, water tanks and pre-fabricated steel frames had been dropped off in a pasture at the base of a mountainous area north of Van Horn. On the second day a pre-dawn caravan brought the rest of the volunteers from a meeting spot in town to the impromptu parking lot where the supplies had been delivered.

As the first order of business, everyone attended a mandatory safety lecture. We had to use helicopters to deliver supplies and workers to the rugged, inaccessible work sites. The pilot's directions for how to operate the engine kill switch in the event of a crash, along with explicit directions for avoiding the tail rotor, kept everyone mindful of safety.

Jerrel and Pam Coburn handed out sack lunches. Theresa Wetzl scanned her clipboard, informing me, "We want you to go to site two. You'll be going up after the next two groups."

By the time we landed, the work site was crawling with activity. Workers were already leveling the steel frame in place on the ground. Those with the most experience and most indispensable skills -- like welding – had been shuttled up first. Among them was longtime TBS member Dan Boone, the designated site boss.

Typically, a group of grown men and power tools create a volatile mixture of suggestions and ideas that start with the phrase, "I know a better way to do that."

Dan transcended potential conflicts that accompanied the occasional departure from tried and true methods. His smile and chuckle frequently accompanied a self-effacing reference to a previous failure that shaped current techniques. His suggestions of an extra screw here, a preventative pile of rocks there were all results of lessons learned while building a structure that must withstand a harsh environment with scant maintenance

Our guzzler site was in a half-mile by quarter-mile saddle, about three miles from the makeshift staging ground, which itself was a 20-minute drive from the highway.

Curt Brockmann used a cutting torch to modify a dozen t-posts for eventual use as anchors at the corners of the frame.

Several men seamlessly, and eventually wordlessly, rotated on and off a Bosch two-inch hammer drill. Each was careful to avoid bruised knuckles from the twisting motor case when the bit got jammed in an awkward spot in the rock.

Veterans to the guzzler project said we were working toward something that looked like an inverted roof without a house, with a gutter down the middle. The gutter feeds into a six-inch irrigation pipe, which splits into a Y shape. Arms of the pipe connect to two 2,500-gallon collection tanks.

The rugged nature of the sheep habitat requires rugged design. After drilling the holes in the rock foundation, the t-posts were hammered in and the remaining length was bent around the nearest piece of frame.

From there, David Brake welded the post and frame together. Kathy Boone stood by with a collapsible backpack firefighting pump to douse any fires started by the cutting torch. The sheet metal goods were then screwed in place, followed by the gutter. All the while, the helicopter continually shuttled in workers and baskets of supplies.

As planned, the first day was full and efficiently executed, leaving less than a full day of work for day two. By the time I was shuttled up to the mountain on the second day, the pipe had been connected and was being plumbed to the storage tanks.

Horror struck when I leaned over for a photo close-up. I had unknowingly leaned on the pipe and shifted it eight inches out of place. I glanced around, sure someone was coming at me with a piece of pipe to toss me off the mountain.

Fortunately, one of the volunteers smiled and told me the pipe was not yet attached to its supports. A series of strategically placed vise-grips was holding it in place while the pitch was being adjusted, leaving the pipe easy to put back in place.

Pads for the two tanks had been nearly completed on day one. Topsoil is a rare and precious commodity, but is necessary in work like this because it can more readily be shaped to fit the pad than the endless conglomeration of rocks scarcely hidden beneath the surface.

There was no room for a weakness in this project. The storage tank pads had to be smooth and free of jagged rock edges lest the weight of a water-filled tank push down on a rock, causing it to pierce the tank and render the entire guzzler useless.

Two troughs were the final touches – one connected to each tank. Closer inspection here revealed details typical of the entire design -- nothing was left to chance. A float valve lay protected underneath a hinged cover made of a thick steel plate and separated from the drinking area by a heavy wire mesh screen.

When closed, the float and arm will be protected from unwanted guests. Jason Wagner, a wildlife technician from Elephant Mountain Wildlife Management Area explained that something as minor as spider webs or a mouse nest could prop up the float and prevent the tanks from filling.

Soon after, the helicopter ferried off the remaining crew, their tools and the few leftovers. At the bottom of the mountain, Wetzl rechecked her list, marking off the workers returning from the site. The end, just like the beginning, was quietly efficient. There was a general feeling of satisfaction with the completion of the project and seeds were sewn for next year's effort.

Today, desert bighorn sheep inhabit seven mountain ranges in Texas -- the Baylor, the Beach, Sierra Diablo, Sierra Vieja, Van Horn, the Black Gap Wildlife Management Area, and the Elephant Mountain WMA. Last year's aerial surveys documented almost 1,000 sheep with estimates of another 200, numbers the region hasn't seen in almost 200 years.

Robert Joseph, current TBS president, likens the group to facilitators. "Texas Parks and Wildlife people tell us where the greatest need is," then TBS spends the year organizing the effort to enact TPWD's suggestions.

TBS members demonstrate an attitude that exhibits their devotion to a goal much larger than themselves. Joseph points out, "Everybody has a role and willingly fills it. Nobody cares if they ever get any recognition."

Indeed, the results are usually known only by, but never seen by, most TBS members. Their altruism is also proven by the fact their currency of donation is often their labor and sweat.

"Lessons from Bighorn Sheep" is from the August 2008 issue of The Cattleman magazine.