Montana
Dispatches from the Wild: Montana’s wild inheritance at risk | Explore Big Sky
Steve Pearce and the future of the BLM
By Benjamin Alva Polley EBS COLUMNIST
If you care about hunting elk in crisp October air, floating a clear-running river for cutthroat trout, or simply taking your kids camping beneath a sky unspoiled by drill rigs, you should be outraged that Steve Pearce was ever considered to run the Bureau of Land Management.
The BLM is the largest landlord in the West. It oversees nearly 245 million acres of public land—millions of those acres in and around Montana’s most cherished places. This land is the backbone of our elk and mule deer herds, our sage grouse leks, our pronghorn migration routes and our blue-ribbon trout streams. It’s also the stage on which Montana’s hunting, fishing and outdoor recreation economy plays out.
Putting someone with Steve Pearce’s environmental record in charge of that land is like handing your cabin keys to the arsonist who’s always hated it. In the four months since Pearce was first nominated, it emerged that, if confirmed, he and his wife would divest from more than 1,000 oil and gas leases in Oklahoma to address potential conflicts of interest. While some senators strongly support his “active forest management” approach, he still faces opposition from groups alarmed by his record on public land transfers. On March 4, the Senate Energy and Natural Resources Committee voted 11-9 to advance his nomination, despite concerns from conservation groups.
Pearce’s track record is no mystery. He has consistently sided with extractive industries at the expense of wildlife, habitat and public access. He has supported opening more public lands to oil and gas drilling, weakening bedrock environmental safeguards and undermining science-based management. His votes and public statements have signaled again and again that he sees wild country as an obstacle to be overcome, not a legacy to be stewarded.
For Montana, that posture is an existential threat. Our big-game herds rely on intact winter range and unfragmented migration corridors across BLM lands. Aggressive drilling, poorly planned roads and relaxed reclamation standards shred those habitats. Once you carve up a landscape with pads, pipelines and traffic, you don’t get solitude—or mature bull elk—back with the stroke of a pen.
Anglers should be just as alarmed. Headwater streams and riparian corridors on BLM ground are the life support system for native bull trout, cutthroat and wild trout. A BLM director hostile to environmental safeguards is far more likely to greenlight development that increases sediment, degrades water quality and depletes the cold, clean flows our rivers depend on.
If Pearce takes office, outdoor recreation—and the rural economies built around it—will not be spared. In Montana, hunting, fishing and outdoor recreation pump billions of dollars into local businesses, guiding operations, gear shops and main-street cafes. People travel here precisely because of the open space, healthy herds and functioning ecosystems that BLM lands help sustain. When those landscapes are sacrificed to short-term profit, we don’t just lose scenery; we lose jobs, identity and a way of life.
This is not a partisan issue, especially in Montana. Public lands are one of the few things we truly share: ranchers who graze allotments, tribal communities with cultural ties to these places, hunters and anglers who’ve long defended habitat, and families who just want a place to pitch a tent. A BLM director should be a careful, science-driven steward accountable to all Americans—not a politician with a history of dismissing environmental protections as red tape.
Montanans know what’s at stake. We’ve fought bad ideas before—land transfers, giveaway leases, rollbacks to bedrock conservation laws—and we’ve won when we stood together. Steve Pearce’s nomination should have been dead on arrival. The fact that he was even on the list tells us how vigilant we must remain.
Our outrage must translate into action: calling elected officials, packing public hearings, writing letters and voting as if our public lands are on the line. Truly, they are. The BLM needs a director who sees these landscapes the way Montanans do: as sacred ground, not a balance sheet.
Anything less is a betrayal of the wild inheritance we’re supposed to pass on.
Benjamin Alva Polley is a place-based storyteller. His words have been published in Rolling Stone, Esquire, Field & Stream, The Guardian, Men’s Journal, Outside, Popular Science, Sierra, and WWF, among other notable outlets, and are available on his website.
HAMILTON, Mont. — By the turn of the 20th century elk populations in North America were at desperately low levels.
Years of unregulated hunting had decimated elk numbers.
But there was a healthy population of elk in Yellowstone National Park.
In 1912, a herd of elk from Yellowstone were transported to Hamilton.
Now mounts believed to be from the original Yellowstone elk are being celebrated at the new fire hall.
Taxidermist Kurt Kohn has restored the mounts of two of Hamilton’s most famous bull elk.
NBC Montana met the taxidermist at his shop where he showed us his work.
He restored one of the trophies in 1998.
He just completed the restoration of the second one.
Both bulls are believed to be important touchstones in modern elk populations.
“The elk were hunted to near extinction at the turn of the century,” said Kurt. “I had the rare privilege to restore one of the most historic elk in the United States, certainly in Montana but probably the United States as well. This is believed to be one of the original elk that were reintroduced to the Bitterroot Valley in 1912.”
To restock elk numbers in the valley, sportsmen and supporters initiated an ambitious effort in 1912 to transport dozens of elk from the park to Hamilton by train.
The first transport ended tragically when curious crowds stressed the already nervous elk.
“The first one was a failure,” said Kurt. ” A lot of the elk were killed due to a stampede and a crowd that was in Hamilton, Montana. It became a public spectacle.”
The next transport was successful.
“They let them go in the middle of the night,” said Kurt. ” Nobody else knew that it was happening other than the people involved in the reintroduction.”
The elk were held in an enclosure at the Bitter Root Stock Farm to become acclimated,” said Kurt, “before being released into the wild.”
The animals dispersed to the east in the Sapphire Mountains and propagated new generations of elk.
Kurt said it’s believed the elk he remounted are likely forebears of the elk we see today.
Pointing to the new mount he said, “this elk is important because it’s a piece of history. Generally, all the elk in Montana are probably related to this elk in some way.”
“There’s likely to be a strong connection to this elk,” he said,” and the elk introduced in the Bitterroot to all of the elk in Montana, and around the United States.”
The trophies had been mounted at Hamilton’s old fire hall for as long as anyone can remember.
Those mounts were treasured by generations of firefighters.
But the force outgrew the historic building downtown, and moved to a new location across town.
Since then, both mounts have been in Kurt’s taxidermy shop, waiting for transport to the new fire hall.
Hamilton Fire Captain Travis Walker helped Kurt move the mounts from Kurt’s shop to their new home in the new fire hall.
Travis calls the mounts a “memento to the fire department.”
Moving the bulls from the taxidermy shop was a delicate process.
The men had to be careful to make sure the elk’s racks were protected.
They loaded both mounts into the pickup, securing the elk so they wouldn’t be jarred on the trip.
After arriving at the hall, Kurt wrote a dedication on the back of a mount.
“That will be here for the next hundred years,” he said.
The mounts were installed on the kitchen wall, where crews spend a lot of time.
The elk have been mascots to fire crews for well over a hundred years.
“The Bitterroot is known for its big game species of hunting and most of the guys on the fire department are big hunters as well,” said Travis. “They would be our mascots. They’re part of our heritage of being firemen and the hunting part of the Bitterroot. “
Kurt said we don’t know exactly what happened to these elk, whether they were harvested in a hunt or died by other means.
The only parts of the mount that are original are the antlers and the skull plate.
Kurt’s son Kameron Kohn provided the cape for one of the elk.
It came from his successful bow hunting trip.
“I think it’s a really cool way to be able to honor the history of elk in the Bitterroot Valley,” said Kameron. ” It’s a great way to honor the memory of that hunt with me and my wife. It came from a similar sized bull and it’s a beautiful cape.”
“I think they needed to move with their fire people,” said Travis of the mounts, “They were lonely.”
Now, the Yellowstone bull elk are finally home, to be cherished at Hamilton Fire Department headquarters.
Imagine a long expanse of pristine sand slipping into calm, lapping, crystal-clear waters. The occasional chunk of driftwood juts out as mountains cut an elegant outline in the distance. Forced to guess which state you’re in, you might draw a blank — the mountains are a bit of an anomaly. Yet such a place exists in Montana. It’s called Somers Beach State Park, an underrated gem sitting on the northwest shore of Flathead Lake. Its sandy shorelines and wide-open space provide plenty of room for swimming, birding, and a few trails.
The 106-acre beach rests along Flathead Lake, one of the largest freshwater lakes in the U.S. The 200-square-mile blue gem has been lauded by visitors and sites like Lake.com as being the 10th-cleanest lake in the country, earning a spot on the list of U.S. lakes that are unbelievably clean and clear. The surroundings aren’t that bad either. Visitors who hit the beach often relish its view of the Swan Mountains stretching across the horizon. The park is still evolving: Montana acquired the property in 2021, opened the beach a year later, and has been building up its facilities and amenities ever since.
The key to visiting Somers Beach State Park is timing. Because its size changes with Flathead Lake’s water levels, many visitors have come away confused, underwhelmed, or plain old angry to find a rocky, windy stretch of shoreline. Fair enough, since Somers Beach’s sandy shores have a knack for disappearing in the summer. Instead, they emerge when Flathead Lake’s water dips between fall and spring, only to rise up with the temperatures.
Swim, hike, bird, and scope out the surroundings
For those looking to take a dip in Somers Beach’s waters, there comes a compromise. You can have warm waters — or you can have a sandy shore. You can’t have both. How much swimming you actually get done while there will depend on when you visit. During the summer, the shallow portion of the beach can stretch for several hundred yards, leaving you wading through waist-deep water for an interminably long time. “It’s fun because the lake isn’t as high and there’s quite a long stretch of beach to play in the water or just bask in the sun,” one local wrote in a Google review. “It’s a beautiful place to see Flathead Lake and the mountains.” Visiting outside the summer carries its own set of issues, as Flathead Lake’s water temperature tends to plummet. Bring hiking boots and binoculars instead.
As a relatively young state park, Somers Beach doesn’t have a formal trail system. All the better, as you then have a chance to just wander about. The nearby town of Somers contains plenty to see to the west, while to the east are wetlands and a grassy area north of the shore. Birders will have plenty to enjoy as well. The Flathead Lake Waterfowl Production Area east of the beach provides habitat for over 200 species of birds. (Authorities close off access to the area during nesting season, between March and July.) If you time your visit right, you can spend a day with sand between your toes. The drop in water level creates a half-mile expanse of sandy shoreline worthy of a peaceful stroll.
The logistics of visiting Somers Beach State Park
Flathead Lake’s proximity to Glacier National Park makes Somers Beach accessible by several modes of transportation. Glacier Park International Airport is only half an hour’s drive away. While the beach alone may not justify a long-haul flight, it pairs well with other destinations around the lake. That includes Yellow Bay State Park, a crowd-free paradise surrounded by cherry orchards. Together, they can fill an entire weekend with adventure.
Unfortunately, you can’t pitch a tent right on the beach; the state park is day-use only. Fortunately, finding a place to sleep nearby isn’t much of a hassle. A ring of accommodations orbits Flathead Lake, including luxury cabins costing several hundred dollars per night. The highly-rated Somers Bay Cabin Lodging is minutes away as well, with log cabins that have lake views, ranging in size from studios to two-bedroom units. Despite the rustic exterior, the interiors still have all the modern conveniences you’d expect, from Wi-Fi to heating.
The beach’s home alongside Flathead Lake makes it adjacent to several must-see areas, chief among them Flathead Valley. The unexpectedly up-and-coming wine region — yes, a wine region in Montana — with its excellent wineries and nearby orchards, provides an ideal bookend for a trip to Somers Beach. If you visit during the warmer months, be sure to bring bug spray to keep the mosquitoes at bay. If you plan on hauling a boatload of supplies with you — inflatables, coolers, or chairs — bring a wagon. The jaunt from the parking area to the beach can be longer than it looks.
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