California wildlife officials quietly shift on killing a high-profile predator
In a move that reverses nearly a decade of practice, California wildlife officials have quietly begun to allow killing mountain lions in order to protect another iconic native — bighorn sheep.Though limited to the Eastern Sierra — the steep, rugged home of a rare type of the wild sheep — it marks a sea change for California, where legislators and voters have heaped protections on the big, charismatic cats that suffered decades of persecution.It’s a complex story — a lesson in ecosystems that involves three linked species and efforts to do right by all of them.While some are thrilled, many are dismayed. Some think it’s the wrong tack while others say it doesn’t go far enough to safeguard yet another beloved animal: deer. The policy change came into relief recently. In the craggy Sierra Nevada mountains, late last year, a male lion hunted down several bighorn. They GPS-collared him and he killed another sheep.He was young enough that he hadn’t started breeding or fully established a home range, so wildlife officials caught him and hauled him to what was supposed to be his new home.But about six months later, he wandered back to sheep country and killed again.So this summer they put him down by lethal injection, according to Tom Stephenson, who leads the Sierra Nevada bighorn recovery program for the California Department of Fish and Wildlife.How we got hereThe moment lies at the intersection of politics and biology. And it wouldn’t have happened without an important Eastern Sierra contingent — hunters.In February of last year, Brian Tillemans submitted a petition to the California Fish and Game Commission spotlighting concerns about dwindling numbers of Eastern Sierra mule deer, as well as bighorn sheep. The local hunter, who is also a former watershed resource manager for the L.A. Department of Water and Power, told commissioners the mountain lion population had “exploded” in the region. Hundreds of area residents signed the petition. Brian Tillemans, a hunter and former watershed resource manager for the L.A. Department of Water and Power, sits outside the town of Bishop, near Mt. Tom, in an area where Sierra Nevada bighorn visit. (Jason Armond / Los Angeles Times) “The emotional biopolitics of protecting mountain lions is leading to the demise of two iconic species,” Tillemans told commissioners. His plea hit a nerve. It sparked a series of discussions that led the state to revise its approach to managing lions.Mountain lions in California are a “specially protected species” and it’s illegal to hunt them for sport. But they can be lawfully killed in limited situations. One is when the hefty cats are threatening Sierra Nevada bighorn, one of two subspecies of the sheep that live in the Golden State. (The other type, desert bighorn, prefer the arid Mojave Desert and mountains of Southern California over snowy Sierra peaks.) California lawmakers gave that right to state wildlife officials in 1999, the same year Sierra Nevada bighorn landed on the federal endangered species list.In 2017 though, wildlife officials stopped killing lions preying on sheep and began relocating them instead, Stephenson said. That has turned out to be successful for female lions and young ones. But males that have already established a home range proved tougher. They try their darndest to return to their mates. In what would become a highly publicized fail, two male lions from the Eastern Sierra died after being trucked more than 200 miles to a remote area of the desert.Bighorn, it seemed, were left vulnerable. Sierra Nevada bighorn began to recover after being listed as federally endangered in the late 1990s, but recent severe winters knocked the population down. At such low numbers, lions can take a heavy toll on them. (Stephen Osman / Los Angeles Times ) By the time bighorn sheep were listed under the Endangered Species Act, they had been driven to the brink of extinction by decades of hunting and diseases spread by domestic sheep. Once protected, they began to make gains. But several severe winters starting in 2016 knocked the fragile population down. At such low numbers, hungry lions can devastate herds. Their total population was about 400 last year. The lions in the Eastern Sierra area, meanwhile, are doing well for themselves. There are about 70 to 80 roaming the craggy mountains, which Stephenson described as a “relatively large” number. They feed on wild horses that roam the region, which may boost their ranks. Moving lions will still be the primary protection tool when feasible. But with bighorn in a precarious way, “we just recognize that we need to do everything we can to try to get this animal recovered,” Stephenson said. So lethal removal was put back on the table.John Wehausen, an applied population ecologist who has studied bighorn for more than half a century, is thrilled by the recent policy changes. He expects the bighorn to start to bounce back. Data support the effectiveness of removing lions to help the sheep, he said.He said it’s key for the agency to act quickly to move or euthanize a lion that’s feeding on sheep, to prevent it from harming more. He believes the agency was previously sluggish, but is now moving efficiently.“I’ve as much as said to them, ‘I don’t really care how you get [the lions] out of there. You just need to get them out of there in a timely way to protect these sheep because that’s what your job is,’” he said.But Beth Pratt, California regional executive director for the National Wildlife Federation, questions whether killing lions to protect sheep makes sense. Beth Pratt, of the National Wildlife Federation, hikes just outside the eastern entrance of Yosemite National Park, near the town of Lee Vining. (Jason Armond / Los Angeles Times) “Do you keep blowing away an animal for being an animal, when it’s clearly just not working?” she said. Many people “understand that predators have a place in healthy ecosystems.”Pratt wonders if there are creative solutions, such as bolstering the sheep population by bringing in animals raised elsewhere or stationing guard dogs around the herds.Disappearing deerFor Eastern Sierra natives such as Danny McIntosh, of Bishop, a small community about a four-hour drive north of Los Angeles beloved by hunters, climbers and hikers, deer represent a way of life.McIntosh has watched mule deer since he was a kid. He’s “infatuated” with bucks, which battle each other during mating season. Around his teen years, he started photographing the animals, named for their large, mule-like ears. He’s an avid hunter and also enjoys collecting “sheds,” antlers dropped annually by deer and elk.After the severe winter of 2018, he noticed a marked decline in the deer population that he said has only worsened.That observation largely tracks with state Department of Fish and Wildlife findings. According to a 2023 paper, what’s known as the Round Valley herd dropped 33% from 2016 to 2022. “What disheartens me the most is that my children will never get to experience, on the same level as I did, flourishing deer herds and the numerous traditional activities that surround them,” McIntosh told state wildlife commissioners during a meeting in June 2024.He largely blames lions and black bears, and isn’t satisfied with the state’s willingness to kill the big cats on behalf of bighorn. Though he acknowledged it will help the sheep, it’s not expected to have a meaningful impact on deer. “It’s still not enough,” McIntosh said. “Our deer were the healthiest and the herds were the strongest when there was trapping going on and there were no restrictions.”State wildlife officials don’t have the authority to control lions for the benefit of deer. Hunters want more deer, “and if someone can’t snap their fingers and make that happen, it’s frustrating” for them, said Stephenson, the state Department of Fish and Wildlife bighorn recovery leader. “There’s a limit to how many knobs we can turn to effect any sort of rapid change. It’s a long, slow process.”According to Stephenson, it’s complicated. Yes, bears and lions snack on deer. But fires can wipe out vegetation they rely on for food, too. Harsh winters, punctuated by drought, also take a toll.When there are so many factors, it’s hard to know which are most important in influencing the population, he said.Mule deer are dwindling not just here but across the West. In September, animal tracks dot the mud in a wildlife crossing installed under Highway 395 near the Eastern Sierra community of Bridgeport. (Jason Armond / Los Angeles Times) “We’re not concerned that the deer population is going to disappear over here,” Stephenson said. “I think it’s a concern from the perspective of a hunter who wants hunting opportunities, and who has seen that hunting opportunity change over the decades.”The promise of crossingsThere may be one solution everyone can get behind — something that could offer a lifeline to mule deer without the need to knock out lions. Hunters and conservationists alike support building a wildlife crossing in the top roadkill hot spot in the Eastern Sierra — a deadly stretch of Highway 395 that runs past the Mammoth Yosemite Airport. Car collisions are the second highest cause of death for deer, not counting unknown causes. On a sunny morning in September, a dead doe lay on the side of a small road just off 395, as cars whizzed by on the artery that connects communities along the Eastern Sierra.Scavengers had so far only ripped into her backside. Tillemans, the hunter from Bishop, who provided a tour of the area, said it meant she hadn’t been dead long.From 2002 to 2018, about 675 vehicles collided with deer in less than nine miles of roadway. It’s smack dab in the middle of the migration routes for the Round Valley and Casa Diablo herds, according to a recent study.A project is underway to build safe passage for fauna here. As envisioned, two overcrossings and two undercrossings would function as bridges across four lanes of traffic. But its future depends on lining up money — a lot of it. Additional planning and construction is estimated to cost more than $65 million, according to the California Department of Transportation, which is leading the effort. Ben Carter, a senior environmental scientist with the state Department of Fish and Wildlife, looks at animal tracks at a recently completed wildlife crossing in Bridgeport called the Sonora Junction Shoulders Project. (Jason Armond / Los Angeles Times) It could save the lives of untold deer. And it may be more plausible than allowing a lion hunting season, as some would like. That would require a change in state law.“If there’s ever a spot for a deer crossing, it’s up here,” Tillemans said while driving to the proposed project area.A recently completed crossing about 70 miles to the north may offer an example of what the other one could provide.In early fall, Ben Carter checked a camera positioned to capture the goings-on in a corrugated metal tunnel installed beneath a breathtaking stretch of the 395 north of the town of Bridgeport.Carter, a senior environmental scientist with the state Department of Fish and Wildlife, had pulled the SD card for the first time to see what critters might have been early adopters of the new wildlife undercrossing — one of two constructed as part of a shoulder-widening project.Tracks told their own tale. Cloven hooves had pressed into the soft mud. Deer had been there.
California wildlife officials are now allowing mountain lions to be killed to protect endangered bighorn sheep, changing a nearly decade-long practice of just moving them.
In a move that reverses nearly a decade of practice, California wildlife officials have quietly begun to allow killing mountain lions in order to protect another iconic native — bighorn sheep.
Though limited to the Eastern Sierra — the steep, rugged home of a rare type of the wild sheep — it marks a sea change for California, where legislators and voters have heaped protections on the big, charismatic cats that suffered decades of persecution.
It’s a complex story — a lesson in ecosystems that involves three linked species and efforts to do right by all of them.
While some are thrilled, many are dismayed. Some think it’s the wrong tack while others say it doesn’t go far enough to safeguard yet another beloved animal: deer.
The policy change came into relief recently. In the craggy Sierra Nevada mountains, late last year, a male lion hunted down several bighorn. They GPS-collared him and he killed another sheep.
He was young enough that he hadn’t started breeding or fully established a home range, so wildlife officials caught him and hauled him to what was supposed to be his new home.
But about six months later, he wandered back to sheep country and killed again.
So this summer they put him down by lethal injection, according to Tom Stephenson, who leads the Sierra Nevada bighorn recovery program for the California Department of Fish and Wildlife.
How we got here
The moment lies at the intersection of politics and biology. And it wouldn’t have happened without an important Eastern Sierra contingent — hunters.
In February of last year, Brian Tillemans submitted a petition to the California Fish and Game Commission spotlighting concerns about dwindling numbers of Eastern Sierra mule deer, as well as bighorn sheep. The local hunter, who is also a former watershed resource manager for the L.A. Department of Water and Power, told commissioners the mountain lion population had “exploded” in the region. Hundreds of area residents signed the petition.
Brian Tillemans, a hunter and former watershed resource manager for the L.A. Department of Water and Power, sits outside the town of Bishop, near Mt. Tom, in an area where Sierra Nevada bighorn visit.
(Jason Armond / Los Angeles Times)
“The emotional biopolitics of protecting mountain lions is leading to the demise of two iconic species,” Tillemans told commissioners. His plea hit a nerve. It sparked a series of discussions that led the state to revise its approach to managing lions.
Mountain lions in California are a “specially protected species” and it’s illegal to hunt them for sport. But they can be lawfully killed in limited situations. One is when the hefty cats are threatening Sierra Nevada bighorn, one of two subspecies of the sheep that live in the Golden State. (The other type, desert bighorn, prefer the arid Mojave Desert and mountains of Southern California over snowy Sierra peaks.)
California lawmakers gave that right to state wildlife officials in 1999, the same year Sierra Nevada bighorn landed on the federal endangered species list.
In 2017 though, wildlife officials stopped killing lions preying on sheep and began relocating them instead, Stephenson said.
That has turned out to be successful for female lions and young ones. But males that have already established a home range proved tougher. They try their darndest to return to their mates.
In what would become a highly publicized fail, two male lions from the Eastern Sierra died after being trucked more than 200 miles to a remote area of the desert.
Bighorn, it seemed, were left vulnerable.
Sierra Nevada bighorn began to recover after being listed as federally endangered in the late 1990s, but recent severe winters knocked the population down. At such low numbers, lions can take a heavy toll on them.
(Stephen Osman / Los Angeles Times )
By the time bighorn sheep were listed under the Endangered Species Act, they had been driven to the brink of extinction by decades of hunting and diseases spread by domestic sheep. Once protected, they began to make gains. But several severe winters starting in 2016 knocked the fragile population down. At such low numbers, hungry lions can devastate herds. Their total population was about 400 last year.
The lions in the Eastern Sierra area, meanwhile, are doing well for themselves. There are about 70 to 80 roaming the craggy mountains, which Stephenson described as a “relatively large” number. They feed on wild horses that roam the region, which may boost their ranks.
Moving lions will still be the primary protection tool when feasible. But with bighorn in a precarious way, “we just recognize that we need to do everything we can to try to get this animal recovered,” Stephenson said. So lethal removal was put back on the table.
John Wehausen, an applied population ecologist who has studied bighorn for more than half a century, is thrilled by the recent policy changes. He expects the bighorn to start to bounce back. Data support the effectiveness of removing lions to help the sheep, he said.
He said it’s key for the agency to act quickly to move or euthanize a lion that’s feeding on sheep, to prevent it from harming more. He believes the agency was previously sluggish, but is now moving efficiently.
“I’ve as much as said to them, ‘I don’t really care how you get [the lions] out of there. You just need to get them out of there in a timely way to protect these sheep because that’s what your job is,’” he said.
But Beth Pratt, California regional executive director for the National Wildlife Federation, questions whether killing lions to protect sheep makes sense.
Beth Pratt, of the National Wildlife Federation, hikes just outside the eastern entrance of Yosemite National Park, near the town of Lee Vining.
(Jason Armond / Los Angeles Times)
“Do you keep blowing away an animal for being an animal, when it’s clearly just not working?” she said. Many people “understand that predators have a place in healthy ecosystems.”
Pratt wonders if there are creative solutions, such as bolstering the sheep population by bringing in animals raised elsewhere or stationing guard dogs around the herds.
Disappearing deer
For Eastern Sierra natives such as Danny McIntosh, of Bishop, a small community about a four-hour drive north of Los Angeles beloved by hunters, climbers and hikers, deer represent a way of life.
McIntosh has watched mule deer since he was a kid. He’s “infatuated” with bucks, which battle each other during mating season. Around his teen years, he started photographing the animals, named for their large, mule-like ears. He’s an avid hunter and also enjoys collecting “sheds,” antlers dropped annually by deer and elk.
After the severe winter of 2018, he noticed a marked decline in the deer population that he said has only worsened.
That observation largely tracks with state Department of Fish and Wildlife findings. According to a 2023 paper, what’s known as the Round Valley herd dropped 33% from 2016 to 2022.
“What disheartens me the most is that my children will never get to experience, on the same level as I did, flourishing deer herds and the numerous traditional activities that surround them,” McIntosh told state wildlife commissioners during a meeting in June 2024.
He largely blames lions and black bears, and isn’t satisfied with the state’s willingness to kill the big cats on behalf of bighorn. Though he acknowledged it will help the sheep, it’s not expected to have a meaningful impact on deer.
“It’s still not enough,” McIntosh said. “Our deer were the healthiest and the herds were the strongest when there was trapping going on and there were no restrictions.”
State wildlife officials don’t have the authority to control lions for the benefit of deer.
Hunters want more deer, “and if someone can’t snap their fingers and make that happen, it’s frustrating” for them, said Stephenson, the state Department of Fish and Wildlife bighorn recovery leader. “There’s a limit to how many knobs we can turn to effect any sort of rapid change. It’s a long, slow process.”
According to Stephenson, it’s complicated. Yes, bears and lions snack on deer. But fires can wipe out vegetation they rely on for food, too. Harsh winters, punctuated by drought, also take a toll.
When there are so many factors, it’s hard to know which are most important in influencing the population, he said.
Mule deer are dwindling not just here but across the West.
In September, animal tracks dot the mud in a wildlife crossing installed under Highway 395 near the Eastern Sierra community of Bridgeport.
(Jason Armond / Los Angeles Times)
“We’re not concerned that the deer population is going to disappear over here,” Stephenson said. “I think it’s a concern from the perspective of a hunter who wants hunting opportunities, and who has seen that hunting opportunity change over the decades.”
The promise of crossings
There may be one solution everyone can get behind — something that could offer a lifeline to mule deer without the need to knock out lions.
Hunters and conservationists alike support building a wildlife crossing in the top roadkill hot spot in the Eastern Sierra — a deadly stretch of Highway 395 that runs past the Mammoth Yosemite Airport. Car collisions are the second highest cause of death for deer, not counting unknown causes.
On a sunny morning in September, a dead doe lay on the side of a small road just off 395, as cars whizzed by on the artery that connects communities along the Eastern Sierra.
Scavengers had so far only ripped into her backside. Tillemans, the hunter from Bishop, who provided a tour of the area, said it meant she hadn’t been dead long.
From 2002 to 2018, about 675 vehicles collided with deer in less than nine miles of roadway. It’s smack dab in the middle of the migration routes for the Round Valley and Casa Diablo herds, according to a recent study.
A project is underway to build safe passage for fauna here. As envisioned, two overcrossings and two undercrossings would function as bridges across four lanes of traffic. But its future depends on lining up money — a lot of it. Additional planning and construction is estimated to cost more than $65 million, according to the California Department of Transportation, which is leading the effort.
Ben Carter, a senior environmental scientist with the state Department of Fish and Wildlife, looks at animal tracks at a recently completed wildlife crossing in Bridgeport called the Sonora Junction Shoulders Project.
(Jason Armond / Los Angeles Times)
It could save the lives of untold deer. And it may be more plausible than allowing a lion hunting season, as some would like. That would require a change in state law.
“If there’s ever a spot for a deer crossing, it’s up here,” Tillemans said while driving to the proposed project area.
A recently completed crossing about 70 miles to the north may offer an example of what the other one could provide.
In early fall, Ben Carter checked a camera positioned to capture the goings-on in a corrugated metal tunnel installed beneath a breathtaking stretch of the 395 north of the town of Bridgeport.
Carter, a senior environmental scientist with the state Department of Fish and Wildlife, had pulled the SD card for the first time to see what critters might have been early adopters of the new wildlife undercrossing — one of two constructed as part of a shoulder-widening project.
Tracks told their own tale. Cloven hooves had pressed into the soft mud. Deer had been there.