TEXAS CITY, Texas --8/20/02
- On a swath of grassland, tucked
among belching refineries, a power plant and
a busy highway, sits the last known breeding
ground on Earth for one of North America's
most endangered birds. There are fewer than
40 of the ungainly Attwater's prairie
chickens left in the wild, half of them here
at the Nature Conservancy's Texas City
Prairie Preserve.
Yet when the Nature Conservancy, the world's
wealthiest environmental organization, was
given this 2,263-acre oil field by Mobil Oil
Corp. in 1995 because of low production
levels, the nonprofit organization did not
shut off the petroleum spigots.
Instead, it drilled new natural gas wells,
and kept cattle grazing too. The
conservancy—the 10th largest charity of
any kind in the United States—has reaped
$5.2 million in royalties from the preserve
so far.
Conservancy officials insisted that, under
their careful management, neither gas lines
nor cattle hoofs will harm the endangered
bird. The conservancy called its prairie
chicken preserve cum petroleum patch
a "working" landscape, a
harmonious mixture of commerce and
conservation.
Long noted for its low-key, apolitical
philosophy of acquiring land from willing
sellers or donors, the conservancy under a
new boss is forging closer ties with
industries that other environmentalists
often think of as the enemy.
"Maybe it's time we all took a walk in
the oilman's shoes," said Niki
McDaniel, spokesman for the Texas Nature
Conservancy. "We believe the
opportunity we have in Texas City to raise
significant sums of money for conservation
is one we cannot pass up, provided we are
convinced we can do this drilling without
harming the prairie chickens and their
habitat. And we are convinced."
Others disagreed, saying that, even if there
has not been a pipeline blowout, for
instance, it is impossible to eliminate all
risk. They said that development, including
oil and gas refineries, is what devastated
the bird's habitat to begin with.
"Let me be generous," said Clait
E. Braun, president of the Wildlife Society,
and one of the nation's leading experts on
prairie chickens and other grouse.
"There are no data to indicate that the
Attwater's prairie chicken can coexist with
oil and gas drilling. All the evidence
indicates clearly that what you get is a
fragmentary population straggling toward
extinction."
Nearly half of the 7 million acres that the
conservancy said it is protecting in the
United States is now being grazed, logged,
farmed, drilled or put to work in some
fashion. The money earned from such
activities—about $7 million this year—is
less than 1% of the group's $732 million in
annual revenues.
The Nature Conservancy, which turned 50 last
year, was founded by New York state
residents who bought a small piece of land
near the Hudson River to keep it from being
developed. That "bucks for acres"
concept caught on, spawning other national
land trusts, open space initiatives and
preservation efforts. The conservancy
distinguished itself by focusing on
acquiring biologically significant lands.
The organization has long prided itself on
collaboration, rather than confrontation.
That has paid off handsomely in corporate
donations and government contracts, from the
world's largest oil, paper, automobile and
software companies and the U.S. military.
A list of donors to its recent $1-billion
Campaign for Conservation is a who's who of
American industry—in the $20 million or
more category are General Motors and the
David and Lucille Packard Foundation of
Silicon Valley fame. In the $10-million to
$20-million category are mega-developer
Donald Bren and American Electric Power.
Chevron Texaco Corp. pitched in $5 million
to $10 million, and Centex Homes, Georgia
Pacific timber and paper company, Arrow Last
& Livestock Inc. and Public Service Co.
of New Mexico each gave between $2.5 million
and $5 million. The organization also has
nearly 1 million individual members, who
pitched in more than $200 million last year.
In the last several years, under the
leadership of John Sawhill, the organization
adopted new fund-raising and conservation
tactics, from licensing its name to granola
bar and coffee bean companies to doing
research funded by General Motors on climate
change. GM could win mitigation credits for
greenhouse gas emissions it causes as a
result of the research, according to a
footnote in the conservancy's latest tax
filings.
"Land acquisition will always be an
important tool, but not necessarily the
major tool" of the organization, said
its national spokesman, Jordan Peavey.
A key in-house architect of the changes was
Steve McCormick, 50, longtime head of the
California Nature Conservancy, who became
executive director of the entire
organization last year, after Sawhill died.
Petroleum, timber and farming royalties made
up the bulk of the Texas chapter's budget in
2001—$6.5 million of $7.6 million—and
the lion's share of that was gas royalties
from the Texas City Prairie Preserve. But
McCormick said the primary aim of the
"working" landscapes is not to
make money. In numerous cases, the
conservancy is paying ranchers, farmers and
others to use more environmentally friendly
practices, he said.
McCormick conceded that there are potential
biological risks to a strategy that puts
industry side by side with conservation. But
it is a necessary strategy, he said, because
buying isolated fragments of land has not
been enough to protect rare species that
need whole mountain ranges or watersheds
stretching hundreds of square miles.
There will never be enough money to buy such
vast stretches, he said. The solution, he
said, is to stitch together habitat by
forging partnerships with ranchers, timber
companies and other rural landowners who
have often opposed environmental laws, such
as the Endangered Species Act.
"Our desire is to work with those rural
communities in ways that respect their
culture, respect their economies ... but in
a fashion that is compatible with
preservation of endangered species,"
McCormick said.
"Is that risky terrain? Yes, it is,
because it puts us in a position of working
with extractive uses" such as oil
drilling, he said. "But the alternative
is to stand on the side wishing it weren't
so."
Critics said that doesn't justify the
conservancy's taking similar risks on its
own land.
"I knew the founders of this
organization on a first-name basis, and they
would be turning over in their graves,"
said Huey Johnson, a Northern California
environmentalist who was the Nature
Conservancy's first Western region manager,
40 years ago. "It would take just one
dumb move to destroy the integrity
accumulated over 50 years by this
organization."
"There are millions of acres being
logged already by timber companies, millions
of acres being grazed by private cattle
ranches. Why does the Nature Conservancy
have to become a timber baron?" asked
Kieran Suckling, executive director of the
Center for Biological Diversity, which has
the same mission as the conservancy, but
uses lawsuits and other adversarial tactics.
Conservancy officials and supporters said
they provide a valuable example by
demonstrating on their own lands that
conservation and commerce can go hand in
hand.
In New England, as paper companies have sold
off whole forests in recent years, the
conservancy has participated in deals on
nearly a million acres of Maine and New
Hampshire woods, McCormick said. Though some
small pieces will be preserved, most of the
land will continue to be logged. The forests
will be thinned rather than shorn of trees,
using "sustainable" forestry
practices.
That strategy is far different from those of
other environmental groups in the region,
which have pushed for the creation of a
national park.
But the idea of a park, with a loss of
forestry jobs and restrictions on motorized
recreation, is not popular with many
residents. That includes workers at paper
factories, hunters and snowmobilers who have
ranged freely on the privately owned
backwoods for centuries. Under the
conservancy's stewardship, those traditions
will continue.
In the Southwest, where conservancy staff
members said encroaching subdivisions
represent the single greatest environmental
threat, the group now controls 2.1 million
acres of livestock range, including ranches
it has bought and interests in other lands.
The conservancy has even funded a business
venture called Conservation Beef to market
hormone-free steaks described on the
venture's Internet site as "rapturously
tender, undeniably charismatic" and
"like the free-range beef our
grandparents grew up on."
"Your purchase of Conservation Beef is
worth feeling good about. You're becoming a
partner in helping us protect the Great
American West," the Web site says.
Conservancy officials said they are moving
cattle from place to place to protect stream
beds and using other ecologically sound
measures. They said that all ranchers they
work with must follow rigorous plans for
land stewardship.
Still, the partnerships have on occasion put
the conservancy in the position of siding
with ranchers against other
environmentalists. In 1999, 18 Arizona
environmental groups wrote a joint letter to
the organization, asking the conservancy to
stop siding with ranchers in negotiations to
change federal and state environmental laws
governing grazing and to stop perpetuating
"myths about environmental protection
and rancher(s) which are flatly
untrue."
As for the conservancy's argument that by
"working" its own land it is
showing private landowners that business
ventures can prosper under an environmental
ethos, some of those landowners disagree.
"I would say it's the opposite, in
fact. It would be our view that they would
learn from us," said a spokesman for
Exxon Mobil Corp., Bob Davis, noting that
many of the environmentally sensitive
industry practices used by the conservancy
on its Texas City preserve had been
developed by Exxon and Mobil researchers.
But Davis said that the company supports
sustainable development and that the
conservancy's petroleum production on the
preserve is "admirable."
Some ranchers and property-rights advocates
said the nonprofit's deep pockets enable it
to take steps that private, for-profit
owners would find difficult—grazing fewer
cattle per acre, for example, or keeping the
animals out of stream beds during drought
years.
The larger question is whether working
landscapes actually provide protection for
fragile terrain and wildlife.
"The question is not whether working
landscapes are a good idea in the abstract,
but whether it's a good or a bad idea for a
particular species," said Michael Bean,
director of the wildlife division of
Environmental Defense. "I certainly am
not prepared to say it's always a good
idea."
But Bean said that the conservancy has an
"outstanding track record" of
preserving land and that, in specific cases,
research has shown the approach could work.
"The Nature Conservancy fills an
important niche. [It] accepts money from
large corporations and big polluters who we
could not take money from," said Robert
F. Kennedy Jr., head of the Waterkeeper
movement, which works to clean up U.S.
waters. "But it's possible to
compromise your ideology, your reputation by
making too risky choices."
Braun, the grouse expert, is more critical:
"The Nature Conservancy is speaking out
of both sides of its mouth: 'We can have
this wildlife, and we can make money too.'
... Well, that's not true," he said.
"They're exploiting the Attwater's
prairie chicken to make money."
At the conservancy's Texas City Prairie
Preserve, none of the more than $2 million
set aside to help in the bird's recovery had
been spent as of this spring. Conservancy
officials and others said the money will be
vital to fund captive breeding programs; to
try to persuade a host of other wary private
landowners to set aside additional habitat
for the birds; and to reseed prairie
grasses.
The homely bird once numbered about a
million, its habitat stretching across the
Texas and Louisiana coastal prairies. In
pioneer days, it was a familiar figure,
strutting across dusty farmyards and oil
fields, the males flapping and
"booming" loudly during the spring
mating season.
They are a Southern cousin of another bird
greatly reduced in number—the prairie
chickens of the Midwestern prairies.
Like them, the Attwater's has been pushed
almost out of existence by over-hunting,
overgrazing, farming, roads and other
development.
"Their habitat is now Houston, NASA and
Galveston," said Mark Klym, a biologist
who runs a fund-raising
effort—"Adopt-A-Prairie-Chicken"—for
Texas Parks and Wildlife.
The prairie chickens aren't the only ones
crowded onto this remnant coastal grassland.
Dozens of bird species are visible on a
given day—many of them raptors that could
wipe out the tenuous Attwater's population
for breakfast.
As for the drilling and grazing on the
preserve, conservancy officials insisted
that rigorous protections are in place and
that there is no evidence of harm from the
commercial activities.
Surface pumping is confined to small areas,
and drilling is limited to months when there
is no mating and nesting.
Close to 50,000 nonnative Chinese tallow
trees that threatened to choke out native
grasses vital to the chicken's survival have
been ripped out.
As for grazing, state fish and game
biologists said the cattle help to create
the clumpy patches of grassland that the
bird needs, much as bison historically did.
But even those who think that the
conservancy is making valiant efforts to
preserve the bird have misgivings.
Staff members at the Lone Star Chapter of
the Sierra Club, the Houston branch of the
Audubon Society and area federal regulators
said there always will be a risk, however
small, of a major pipeline blowout, a bad
spill or even the gradual sinking of the
bird's mating ground as natural gas is
sucked out from underneath.
And for all the intensive restoration work,
without the regular release of captive-bred
birds here and elsewhere, the species
probably would already be gone, said Braun
and others.
"The Attwater's prairie chicken doesn't
really exist anymore," said Braun,
noting that many of the introduced birds
have been crossbred with Midwestern prairie
chickens.
"They're not extinct, but that's in
name only," Braun said. "All I can
say is, it's a poor end for a fine American
bird."