2 January 2024
From the photograph, I knew instantly it was my neighborhood. With closer study, I could tell it was my block and a friend’s backyard.
There in the twilight image, captured by a motion-activated backyard camera, was a most unusual sight for us in the upper Midwest: a big cat, a very big cat, lithe, imposing, imperious. He was patrolling his new and foreign environment. Was he lost? Was he searching forlornly for a mate or simply for food? From the bloodied carcass of a raccoon found in his path, it seems he had some success on the latter front.
A cougar, a young male, came wandering, to Minneapolis, and I watched this story unfold as too many seem to. First, abject wonder and inspiration. Followed closely by hope but also creeping concern. Then to fear and nearly inevitable sorrow.
If at all like me, you were at once drawn into this story. You closely monitored your social media feed. You texted family and friends about the sighting, while feeling a deep sense of awe at the beauty of this intrepid animal. Where did he come from? How many hundreds of miles had he traveled? Where was he going? And you became an instant fan, rooting for him.
Perhaps as I did, you named him (“Charlie”) and hoped for him, that he would be rewarded for his courage and curiosity, that his superb feline instincts that had kept him alive on his odyssey to Minnesota would also allow him safe passage from our state, that he might find habitat to roam in, maybe even a mate, that he would beat the odds.
Of course, we know those odds were heavily stacked against Charlie.
Environmental journalist Ben Goldfarb writes about road ecology and reports that there are some 4 million miles of road networks in the U.S. and an estimated 1 million animals killed and maimed by cars … every day… in the U.S. alone.
The anecdotal and gruesome proof of this data is there for all Minnesotans to see as well, on any road out of the Twin Cities, in any direction, any day of the year. I have yet to become numb to the death toll I witness — heaviest on deer, raccoon, opossum and skunk, but also fox, bear, bobcat, lynx, wolf and moose — with every drive I make north to my cabin. The vast array of predator birds that feed on road carrion — eagles, hawks and owls — suffer mightily as well.
Against these odds, a cougar on the move in the Upper Midwest has little chance; Charlie had a target on his broad back. And sure enough, not more than 24 hours after the story broke, a motorist, undoubtedly startled by the vision of a mountain lion on the vast and flat expanse of Interstate 394, collided with and killed our intrepid explorer.
I am learning, though, that these stories need not follow the arc that we have come to think inevitable. Research and data are revealing that wildlife crossings, dedicated bridges and underpasses, can dramatically improve the odds for wandering animals of all sizes, allowing for at least a chance at safe passage and reconnection with habitat.
For example, Goldfarb also reports that a network of overpasses, underpasses and strategically placed fencing in Banff National Park has spared animals and humans alike by reducing vehicle collisions between them by more than 80%.
Animal crossings come in many designs, from grand overpasses to simple tunnels or culverts, but all, I understand, are expensive. Funding, however, is not the insurmountable barrier that it once was. For instance, the 2021 federal Infrastructure Investment and Jobs Act includes $350 million to build new animal thoroughfares. Some states, although mostly in the west, have allocated additional dollars, and private organizations are coalescing around this issue as well.
Appreciation of wildlife is an essential element of our state’s character, of the identity of all Minnesotans. We love this state perhaps most for its wild places and animals. Paradoxically, though, by building the roads and highways and driving the vehicles that allow us access to wilderness, we have also unwittingly created the greatest threat to wild things. What’s more, there will only be more, and not fewer, miles of road and cars on those roads in our future.
Given this prospect, aren’t we compelled to move from our passive appreciation of one courageous cougar, to more active preservation of all cougars?
There is no certainty, of course, that we could have altered Charlie’s fate. But his heart-breaking demise reminds us that, if his species is to survive, we must start somewhere. The environmental experts will have to weigh in on this, but it seems obvious from the growing body of evidence that, if we are to preserve Minnesota’s essential wild character, wildlife crossings may be among our best options.
Bill O’Brien lives and works in Minneapolis. He also appreciates every opportunity to go where the wild things are.