Quote:

Defenders Magazine Summer 2005 Toughing It Out in the Badlands Black-footed ferrets battle for survival in the nation's heartland. By Paul Tolme © Jeff VanugaWith one hand on the steering wheel and the other controlling a spotlight on the roof of his pickup, biologist Travis Livieri drives through a bumpy, windswept stretch of South Dakota prairie. It is 3 a.m., and Livieri is searching for one of North America's most endangered land mammals: the black-footed ferret. He rotates the spotlight, scanning a 200-yard radius of the Conata Basin for the distinctive eye-shine of the nocturnal ferrets. "Searching for ferrets is like looking for a needle in a haystack," says Livieri, director of the nonprofit Prairie Wildlife Research, which contracts with the federal government to study and help protect the rare animals. After nearly eight hours in the truck, we have spotted pronghorns, coyotes, a rare swift fox, great horned owls and a flock of sandhill cranes -- but no ferrets. Livieri, who sometimes sees 20 on a good night, is antsy. "Come on you little weasels," he jokes, chugging a caffeine-laden soda to stay alert, "where are you?" Black-footed ferrets once inhabited grasslands in 12 states across the interior West, along with two Canadian provinces and northern Mexico, but today just 500 survive in the wild -- all of them reintroduced. Including the ferrets housed in captive-breeding programs, there are only about 800 in existence. Conata Basin, a 70,000-acre prairie in the Badlands area of South Dakota, holds more than 200 ferrets -- the nation's largest population. But even here, the species' future is tenuous. A key reason: black-footed ferrets are completely dependent on another grassland resident, the prairie dog, for their survival. And the squirrel-like prairie dogs are one of the most despised critters on the western range because they eat grass desired by cattle. Some states categorize them as vermin. Ranchers poison and shoot prairie dogs, and until a decade ago the federal government subsidized efforts to eradicate the large colonies, or "dog towns," that also shelter and feed ferrets. Today, prairie dogs occupy less than 5 percent of their historical range. A five-year-long drought in the Dakotas has intensified the competition for grass and raised anxiety among ranchers, who blame prairie dogs for destroying their livelihoods. Pressured by South Dakota politicians, the federal government is developing a plan to kill prairie dogs on public lands near private ranches. Last November, the U.S. Department of Agriculture and state workers poisoned a 3,000-acre dog town by spreading a mixture of rolled oats and zinc phosphide, which expands in the stomach. (The poison is not believed to harm ferrets because they are carnivores and won't eat the mixture.) Wildlife groups sued, and the Bush administration agreed to halt future poisoning until a comprehensive study is completed. Livieri, a stocky and jovial 33-year-old, tries to remain above the fray. "We can't force people to want prairie dogs on their property," he says as we tour the poisoned area during the day. Unlike healthy dog towns nearby, this is a ghost town. Ferrets probably feasted on the dead carcasses initially, then moved on or starved. "It certainly didn't do them [ferrets] any favors," Livieri says. Black-footed ferrets, so-named because of their dark legs, weigh about two pounds and measure two feet from tip to tail. Related to mink and otters, they are North America's only native ferret (and a different species than the ferrets kept as pets). Their closest relatives are European ferrets and Siberian polecats. Researchers theorize polecats crossed the land bridge that once linked Siberia and Alaska to establish the New World population. The animals breed in March and April, when males roam the night in search of females. Mothers typically give birth to three kits in June, and raise their young alone in abandoned prairie dog burrows. Ferrets stalk and kill prairie dogs during the night. Using their keen sense of smell and whiskers to guide them through pitch-black burrows, ferrets clamp a suffocation bite on their sleeping prey -- an impressive feat, considering that the two species are about the same weight. Coyotes, badgers and owls in turn prey on ferrets, whose lifespan in the wild is often less than two years. "It's a tough and quick life," Livieri says. Habitat loss, prairie-dog poisoning campaigns and disease introduced by European rodents were thought to have wiped out ferrets by 1974. Then in 1981, a Wyoming rancher's dog returned home with a strange critter. When a taxidermist identified it as a black-footed ferret, biologists mounted a search and discovered a remnant population of about 120 ferrets near Meeteetse, Wyoming. Disease decimated these animals between 1984 and 1986, so the 18 surviving ferrets were captured and a breeding program was initiated under the auspices of the federal Endangered Species Act. Seven of the survivors successfully reproduced, and every black-footed ferret alive today comes from those founders. Later this year, a new National Black-Footed Ferret Conservation Center is scheduled to open in Fort Collins, Colorado, where about 180 ferrets will be housed. Five zoos including the National Zoo in Washington, D.C., also have captive-breeding programs. Re-establishing a species, however, is no easy task. When the first captive-bred ferrets were released in 1991 in Shirley Basin, Wyoming, survival rates were low. "There was no textbook," Livieri says. Researchers have since raised survival rates by conditioning young ferrets to hunt in large outdoor pens before they are released into the wild. In addition to the Conata Basin area, reintroduction sites include two Sioux Indian reservations in South Dakota; the Charles M. Russell National Wildlife Refuge, Fort Belknap Indian Reservation and a Bureau of Land Management parcel in Montana; and sites in Wyoming, Colorado, Utah and Arizona. A recovery site in northern Chihuahua, Mexico, also marked the first reintroduction of an endangered species in that country. Federal plans call for 1,500 adult, breeding animals to be re-established in 10 locations. "It doesn't look good," says the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service's Mike Lockhart, who oversees the ferret recovery program. "We just don't have large enough blocks of land set aside at the present time to reach these recovery objectives." Livieri is working hard to brighten the ferrets' prospects. Every summer, he and a team of researchers capture and tag new kits with tiny transponders -- electronic devices that identify each animal. During the fall he surveys the population to see how many survived. The work requires him to stay awake all night for weeks at a time, but he loves it. "This is when I'm most at peace," he says, swiveling the spotlight as we continue our nighttime search. "Out here, looking for these guys, there are no distractions, no ringing phones or e-mail." Alas, there are also no ferrets in sight, and I wonder whether my night awake will be for naught. Then, at 3:45 a.m., we spot a pair of emerald-green eyes 100 yards away. "I see you," Livieri says, driving toward the ferret. The animal stands still until we are 50 feet away, then ducks into a prairie dog hole and "periscopes" out for a look before disappearing. Tossing me a flashlight, Livieri jumps from the truck and places a circular transponder reader over the hole. Suddenly, the ferret pokes its head out and stares directly into my eyes. I instinctively hop back -- but with its mask-like face and round eyes, the ferret looks adorable, and I feel foolish for my momentary cowardice. Livieri marks the location with a reflector, takes a GPS reading and we drive away, then watch as the ferret hops up and bounds off, its sleek body arching and elongating. "See ya, pal," says Livieri. "These are my babies," he adds. Livieri later identifies the ferret as No. 055-041-115, a male born in 2003. He was last seen on Dec. 6, 2004, and has spent his entire life on the same 850-acre prairie dog colony -- moving just 40 yards from his previous capture. On this plot, for now at least, the ferret has reclaimed his birthright. "We're at a crossroads for ferret recovery," Livieri says. "We need to find areas where prairie dogs and ferrets can coexist. For that to happen, the social acceptance of prairie dogs has to change." There are hopeful signs. To reduce landowner animosity, the Fish and Wildlife Service has started a program to pay ranchers for maintaining prairie dog habitat. Billionaire environmentalist Ted Turner also hopes to reintroduce ferrets on dog towns being established on his ranches. But even under the best scenario, the once-widespread ferret is forever consigned to small corners of the Great Plains. "Human activity has pushed these beautiful animals to the brink," Livieri says, "so we owe it to them to give it our best shot."

http://www.defenders.org/newsroom/defenders_magazine/summer_2005/toughing_it_out_in_the_badlands.php?ht=badlands%20badlands

How frikkin' cute is this:

Poor little critters.

_________________

Nobody else get the Corner Gas refe....oh... ya, you're Americans...

http://www.thefutureschannel.com/dockets/realworld/the_blackfooted_ferret/