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Mountain Lion Foundation executive director Lynn Sadler is unconvinced. "Given that the bighorn sheep population is already enormously stressed," she says, "now is not the time to experiment with the removal of predators in hopes that it will solve the problem." With fewer lions, she suggests, the deer population might explode, and "suddenly the bighorn sheep could be competing for forage." Sadler also warns that removing lions might result in "mesopredator release," a proliferation of lesser predators, like coyotes, which might, she suggests, kill as many sheep as the lions. "Coyote, bobcat, gray fox, golden eagle, and domestic dogs have been known to prey on bighorn sheep," says the foundation. In response, Wehausen points out that of 75 Sierra Nevada bighorn documented to have been killed by predators in recent decades, only 3 were not by lions.

Even when cornered, however, the Mountain Lion Foundation is still able to brandish the large stick of public opinion. "If the [U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service] decides to contravene the twice-affirmed will of the people of the state of California that mountain lions not be killed within thestate," it warns, "the Service should at least be reasonably certain that its efforts will actually benefit the Sierra Nevada bighorn sheep."

Yet with bighorns so few that the loss of any individual threatens the species' survival, selective control of depredating mountain lions can only help. Only a handful acquire a taste for mutton, and those that do can be tracked in winter snows from the scene of the crime. For many conservationists, it is a bitter draught to contemplate the killing of a noble creature they once fought to protect. Yet once we start playing God-by exterminating grizzlies, introducing exotic breeds of sheep, or granting special protection to mountain lions-we seem obliged to continue. To so alter the natural balance and then throw up our hands and say, "Let nature take its course," might erase the Sierra Nevada bighorn from the book of life.

More forays into the mountains came up empty. Frank Green, the filmmaker, grew increasingly anxious: After a week in the field, he had only about a minute of useable footage. So on the last day, when we were presented with a choice between an easy hike in Lee Vining Canyon with its tiny herd and a monster hike to Mt. Langley with the possibility of encountering a much larger group, there was no question which we would choose. We wound for most of the day through whitebark pine, lunched at Muir Lake, and then embarked on a post-prandial forced march up the mountains to the east. Halfway through the sandy slog Chang spotted five ewes trying to decide whether to bed down or run. We set up the camera and started filming, then moved forward 50 yards for a better shot. Incredibly, we came upon a large group of sheep actually moving toward us (the usual view of a bighorn is its retreating white rump) to a small meadow not 40 yards away, where they paused for a few valuable moments, Green's camera whirring, before turning to flee uphill. We watched for half an hour until they dissolved into the gray rocks.

The inability of California Fish and Game officials to deal with lions preying on bighorn was a major impetus for the April 1999 emergency listing of the sheep as a federal endangered species (federal law trumping state law). That September, the California legislature passed a bill, nearly unanimously, that allowed for the limited taking of lions to protect sheep populations, and provided funds for bighorn recovery efforts. In January 2000, the endangered species listing was made permanent. Among the happy consequences is that the Forest Service finally stopped renting out domestic sheep pasture butting up against bighorn territory and the Department of Water and Power ended sheep grazing in the Mono Basin, greatly reducing any threat of disease transmission.

As for the mountain lions, only two depredating animals have been killed in the last two years, and even the Mountain Lion Foundation's Sadler admits that "things seem to be under better control." Luckily for all, the last two winters in the Sierra Nevada were extraordinarily mild, allowing the sheep to stay safe and high and still find good forage. In March 2000, Wehausen says, he was at 10,000 feet on Wheeler Ridge, and there was green grass growing. Overall, he counted at least 34 new lambs and 25 yearlings. The Wheeler Ridge group has been increasing at the rate of 30 percent per year. "That population is our hope for the future," says Wehausen. The state Bighorn Recovery Team is already considering using individuals from Wheeler Ridge to rebuild the depleted Mt. Baxter herd-the original source of the Wheeler flock. While it is still too early to declare victory, bighorn advocates are planning for the future rather than preparing for the end.

In planning that future, we bear the burden of the sins of the past. If hunting and disease had not decimated the Sierra bighorn, they might have been able to weather an uptick in lion predation. Had it not been for the decades of slaughter of mountain lions, there might never have been such a steep rise in their numbers. The only way the public could assert its support for the right of large predators to exist was through the blunt instrument of a statewide ballot initiative, which proved clumsy when applied to the unexpected plight of the bighorn sheep. Surely the voters didn't intend to champion one magnificent species at the cost of wiping out another, but it took the real threat of extinction to bring the situation back in balance. Here we teeter, as ever, trying to restore the order we have disturbed, trying, when in danger, not to run away, but to move up.

Paul Rauber is a senior editor at Sierra.

The Sierra Nevada Bighorn Sheep Foundation is at P.O. Box 1183, Bishop, CA 93514, http://www.sierrabighorn.org. The Mountain Lion Foundation is at P.O. Box 1896, Sacramento, CA 95812; (916) 442-2666; http://www.mountainlion.org.

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