The Detective of the Tetons

Grand Teton National Park in autumn is a study in transition. The cottonwoods along the Snake River ignite in gold, elk begin their rut in the sagebrush flats, and grizzly bears enter hyperphagia — the pre-hibernation feeding frenzy that drives them across the landscape in search of calories.

My work that fall focused on grizzly bear-human interactions along the park's trail system. Using GPS collar data, trail camera networks, and backcountry use permits, we built a spatial model predicting where and when bears and hikers were most likely to encounter each other.

The model revealed something counterintuitive: the trails with the most bear sign were not the ones with the most conflict. Conflict clustered at intersections — places where trail design, topography, and vegetation combined to create surprise encounters. The bears were not the problem. The landscape architecture was.

This insight shifted our recommendations from bear management to trail management. Instead of closing areas to human use, we proposed redesigning sightline corridors and adding early-warning infrastructure at high-risk intersections. It was a small shift in framing with enormous practical implications.

The detective work of ecology is like this: you follow the evidence, and it rarely leads where your assumptions predicted.