Owl-on-owl smackdown
The ethical and ecological dilemma of killing one species to save another

Barred owls are acting like bullies of the forest in the Northwest, driving their smaller cousins, the northern spotted owl, to the brink of extinction. Once barred owls start colonizing old-growth forests, rare spotted owls no longer have a home.

Friedman

The survival of spotted owls meant a lot to me as a young environmental activist. In 1985, I spent days living on a plywood platform perched high in the canopy of an Oregon Douglas fir. The tree was majestic, more than 8 feet wide at the base – just one of many in a stand hundreds of years old.

 If you’re a certain age, you might recall the banners: “GIVE A HOOT: SAVE THE SPOTTED OWL.” They spawned a bumper sticker in what became a culture war: “SAVE A LOGGER, EAT A SPOTTED OWL.” 

My 40-year career as a conservationist began in those Northwest timber wars as I joined other protesters to halt the logging of gigantic old-growth trees. 

The threatened survival of federally endangered spotted owls in the region’s forests became the central issue in a storm of litigation. In 1994, the dispute finally led to President Clinton protecting 24 million acres of ancient forest housing the owls. But even then, barred owls were invading from Eastern states, stealing a prey base of small animals from the spotted owls. The numbers of spotted owls continued to plummet. 

Last August, the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service signed off on a controversial Barred Owl Management Strategy that relies on hiring sharpshooters to kill up to 16,000 barred owls a year at a cost of up to $12 million. The plan aims to give spotted owls a chance to survive.

During the 1990s, President Clinton’s sweeping forest plan to save the owls by saving old-growth forests was among many highlights of my conservation career. But I also recall numerous low-lows. The first was when I learned that loggers had chain sawed that huge tree I’d occupied. 

Mostly, I’ve managed to be hopeful about conservation, no matter the grief from accelerating losses on the ground. But here’s the dilemma: How are we to process the steady decline of the spotted owl? Conservationists won an epic battle against logging because of these owls, only to see their habitat becoming the arena for an owl-on-owl smackdown. 

Must the solution be that we shoot one species to save another? The plan is based on research overseen by the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service, whose experiments showed that removing barred owls in limited areas could help spotted owls survive. 

When the federal agency’s plan was announced, animal welfare interests sued to block it, arguing that it would fail. They also claimed the costs would add up to more than $1 billion over three decades. Officials at the agency say they will start small and demonstrate the plan’s effectiveness and affordability.

Mixed feelings like mine are shared. Madeleine Cameron, who was part of a University of Wisconsin team involved in experimental removals of barred owls, told the Seattle Times: “I personally did not decide to do owl work thinking this is where my career would be. You get there through watching all your favorite owls disappear.” Meanwhile, some biologists foresee adaptation and hybridization. “Sparred” owls already exist in the Northwest, filling the niche of displaced spotted owls.

Reluctantly, I support killing some barred owls. But like Cameron, this is not what drew me into conservation. And now the whole issue might be academic as the Trump administration disrupts scientific research and agency continuity. 

Elon Musk’s cost-cutters fired more than 400 U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service employees in March, an action the Supreme Court upheld April 8. With voluntary retirements and further reductions in force likely, it’s a real question whether the agency will have the funds or staff to carry out the shooting of barred owls. 

Meanwhile, the real bullies of the forest are winning.

Mitch Friedman is a contributor to Writers on the Range, writersontherange.org, an independent nonprofit spurring lively conversation about the West. He heads Seattle-based Conservation Northwest, which he founded in 1989 after years with Earth First! His book, “Conservation Confidential: A Wild Path to a Less Polarizing and More Effective Activism,” is about to be published.