Trophy hunting
Some view modern-day bison hunting
as sport. Others see it as a threat to wildlife conservation.
Story by Jackie Wallace
The horizon of the rolling plains, the mystique of riding horseback behind a herd of the
largest land mammals in North America, the thrill of circling and then moving in for the
kill: This is what draws modern big-game trophy hunters to Alberta and Saskatchewan. That,
and the trophy they carry home to mount on their walls: the majestic head — flared
nostrils, curved horns and dark brown mane — of a plains bison.
A handful of privately owned ranches in the two provinces offer hunters, around one quarter
Americans, the chance to legally stalk and kill their own bison. Big-game hunters see a bison
head as a welcome addition to their collections, but those who oppose trophy hunting contend
that the practice is unethical.
"Bison are a symbol of the prairies," says Rob Sinclair, who campaigns for ethical
hunting practices on behalf of the International Fund for Animal Welfare. "[They were]
hunted virtually to the edge of extinction by unethical hunting practices."
Adam Ranch, located near Grande Prairie, Alta., offers bison-hunting vacation packages
on thousands of acres to customers whom ranch manager Brian Olfert describes as "die-hard
big-game hunters" Many, he says, have hunted "in Africa and all over the world
and are looking for something they have never hunted." For $3,000 (U.S.), visitors to
the Adam Ranch are equipped for a three-day hunt with a horse, accommodation on the ranch — and
the guarantee of a successful result. The ranch offers hunters a selection of 30 to 60 bulls,
of its herd of a thousand-plus, from which to choose a quarry. The hunter spends the first
two days of the hunt inside one of the ranch’s two fenced enclosures — one covering 8,000
acres, the other, 10,000 — scouting the selected herd for the one they wish to claim. On
the third day, the hunter shoots the bison.
Hunts usually take place in winter, when the cape, or hair, of the bison looks the most
attractive to trophy hunters. Once the animal is killed, guides take it back to the ranch,
in pieces, on snowmobiles or trucks. The ranch isn’t responsible for the taxidermy of the
trophy head, which costs approximately $1,200 to $1,500 and can take up to two years. This
work is contracted out locally, as the trophy cannot be transported legally across the border
until it is completed.
"It’s an impressive trophy," Olfert says, "and it is challenging to the
hunter and fair to the animal."
Sinclair takes issue with any form of fenced hunting, regardless of the size of the enclosure,
which he says varies from large, such as the Adam Ranch, to small pens. "Any type of
fencing restricts natural habitats, and not just of the bison but of other animals in the
area," he says. "Bison are a wild animal and they belong in the wild."
The root of Sinclair’s objection to this form of hunting is the money. "These hunters
have already broken the first rule of hunting in North America: conservation," he says. "By
privatizing it and selling a kill, with the money going in one pocket, these operations defy
the very nature of wildlife."
The Adam Ranch does not allocate specific funds to be put toward conservation, but Olfert
sees the experience of hunting on his ranch as an introduction for visitors to the beauty
of the area. "Every rancher is concerned about conservation," he says. "We
depend on the land as part of what we do. We think of ourselves as stewards of the community,
and conservation is innately part of that."
Sinclair has monitored different forms of big-game hunting across Canada, and in his opinion
the demand for bison hunting has dropped in recent years. "Bison are getting a third
of what they used to bring," he says. "Operations have been shutting down. Sooner
or later, in two or three years, they will all be gone."
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