I see no reason to like APR

It’s been several months (a couple years, even?) since I first started reading letters to the editor about the APR — American Prairie Reserve — and started learning people’s opinions about what its presence in central Montana meant for our rural communities. I have to admit, when I first heard of them, I was intrigued. The idea of hiking and recreating across millions of acres of open prairie land did — and still does — appeal to me. What could be so wrong about this group that seemingly shares so many of the same values that I do?

You see, I’m a little bit of everything. I’m the proud daughter of a farmer from out southeast of Big Sandy, and I married into a ranching family that hails from what I consider a little slice of heaven nestled between Lewistown and Grass Range. I’m also an avid backpacker, hiker and, as of late, trail runner. I’m a self-described “hippy” trying to instill in my children the values of respecting all lands — both private and public — and the critters — both wild and domesticated — that inhabit them. I also own a bow, and have for some time now. And some day, I will be successful at harvesting something with it, however, that day has eluded me thus far.

Anyway, I set off to learn everything I could about the APR. I thought that maybe I could be a mediating voice between this group and the agricultural populace of Lewistown, the town I now called home. I wanted to like you, APR.

After reading through their website a bit, I decided to listen to a podcast of an interview with Sean Garrity, the president of the APR, and Steven Rinella of the Meateater. It’s podcast 148, for those of you who are interested, and initially aired in December 2018. I was dismayed by a lot of what I heard. I could write paragraphs about the absolute ludicrousness of parts of this interview, but what was the most disturbing to me was Mr. Garrity’s complete dismissal of our way of life as small, agriculture-based communities. His tone was quite patronizing as he said “there’s already an underlying sadness” within our small towns that we are, essentially, on our way out. The APR looks to capitalize on what is basically already happening.

He also pointed out quite sanctimoniously that the prairies of the days of Lewis and Clark were much different than what you see now — teeming with an abundance of plant and wildlife unseen today. It “sometimes saddens me that people go out there and see what’s out there now, and they think it’s good. I don’t think it’s good.”

To hear Mr. Garrity tell it, you’d think I was looking out my back door every morning at an agricultural wasteland, a landscape destroyed by domesticated animals and mere human existence. I would describe what I see much differently. I see acre upon acre of land well-loved and well taken care of by the generations of farmers and ranchers who have literally tilled their blood, sweat and tears back into the soil. I myself would like the final resting place for my ashes to be across the top of 8 Mile Bench, the farm on which I spent my youngest years and my father tilled until his later ones. I doubt many members of the APR could fathom a connection to the land so deep.

And another thing about human influence changing the land — you know an area of Montana that looks nothing like what it did in the days of Lewis and Clark? The Gallatin Valley. How about we start a group to return that area to the lush mountain valley it once was? Hmm . . . no support on this one from big “Montana” donors? I wonder why ... .

If you are taking the time to read my letter, chances are you have read others about the APR and know all about their transgressions. I won’t waste your time listing what has already been talked about. Instead I’m going to give you a very personal example of the kind of neighbors and “friend” the APR really is going to be.

The 8 Mile Bench, my family’s farm outside of Big Sandy, is directly across the Missouri River from what used to be the PN Ranch, which is now APR land. Earlier this spring, a female member of the APR drove herself as well as several other APR affiliates in a couple pickup trucks and SUVs through our private land to reach the BLM land that looks down into the breaks. Once there, they flew a drone and took pictures, wanting to see what the PN looked like from the “other side” of the river. They were indeed on BLM land when discovered, but the rutted tracks in the springtime mud left no question about the trespassing that had to be done to get there. However, when asked whom they got permission from to be there, the woman gave her business card and insisted that permission was not needed because this is the almighty public land … .

I really wish that woman had done what any responsible hunter or backcountry hiker would have done — take a 10 minute trip to the BLM to make sure that the land and roads she wanted to go on were truly “public.” I wish she would have called and asked permission when she found they were otherwise. Honestly, we would have let her on without issue. I feel most landowners would agree that a simple respectful phone call can go a long, long way when asking for access. I wish Sean Garrity hadn’t been so condescending. I wish his interview with Mr. Rinella had given me hope for these inevitable new neighbors. I wanted to like you, APR, but so far, you really haven’t given me one single reason why I should.

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Ashley Moes Descheemaeker grew up on a farm near Big Sandy and now ranches near Lewistown.