Black Hills in the Balance

People who live and work in the Black Hills often serve as unlikely watchdogs of one of America's oldest conservation programs. At times they find themselves in conflict with how natural resources are stewarded. Other times they discover unexpected alliances and innovative solutions.

The issues often come down to one question.

"Who is this forest for?" 

We met with people of the Black Hills – those who live there, rely on its bounty for a living, breathe the air, drink the water - to get their answers.

Timber Case No.1

View near Horse Thief Lake in the Black Hills

Case No. 1 is the name given to the 1899 timber sale. It was the first official timber sale of a new nation. That makes the Black Hills National Forest the genesis of regulated forestry in the U.S. The program essentially saved the area from rapid deforestation during the gold rush. And it created something new: A forest managed and worked for profit.

According to the U.S. Forest Service, the annual harvest levels in the 1.2 million-acre forest have fluctuated between 100,000 to 250,000 hundred cubic feet, making the Black Hills National Forest one of the agency’s highest timber-producing forests in the country.

However, the landscape changed over the past 20 years due to wildfire, a mountain pine beetle epidemic and forestry programs - some of which were controversial. It's resulted in disputes over how much of the forest can and should be harvested.

A billboard in downtown Rapid City serves as a reminder of what can be lost. Paid for by the Norbeck Society, it features a photo from the Sundown timber sale in 2020/2021. This cut was part of the Black Hills Resilient Landscape (BHRL) program. The billboard urges people to consider whether the Black Hills forestry program is sustainable.

A billboard in downtown Rapid City serves as a reminder of what can be lost. Paid for by the Norbeck Society, it features a photo from the Sundown timber sale in 2020/2021. This cut was part of the Black Hills Resilient Landscape (BHRL) program. The billboard urges people to consider whether the Black Hills forestry program is sustainable.

Sacred ground, common ground

Mary Zimmerman leans down near a Case No. 1 stump. This tree was most likely harvested during the first federal timber sale in 1899 as part of America’s first forest conservation program.

Zimmerman walks around a ponderosa pine on U.S. Forest Service land near Nemo. This tree is around 200 years old and shows evidence of surviving wildfire.

Umbilicaria lichen (named for its belly-button shape) clings to rocks in the Black Hills National Forest. Zimmerman says in 1775 at Valley Forge, George Washington’s army made a mushroomy-tasting gruel out of this species to survive.

Mary Zimmerman is an artist. A self-taught ecologist. She’s a member of a conservation group called the Norbeck Society.

Zimmerman says she’s not an activist. She doesn’t even consider herself particularly outspoken. To her, each tree and flower and clump of lichen is a neighbor — a friend. She knows their names. Standing below a centuries-old ponderosa pine provokes both familiarity and curiosity. She says it’s hard for humans to comprehend everything an individual tree has survived.

"I don't want to come off as anti-logging. I mean, unless we all leave the forest and let the burning that would happen naturally occur. I've seen a lot of different management treatments on the forest service around me, and much of it's been really good and effective."
Mary Zimmerman

The Black Hills National Forest is a mosaic of federal, state, and private land. While she recognizes the importance of forest management, Zimmerman says not all logging and thinning projects are created equal.

The Black Hills Resilient Landscapes Project (BHRL) came on the heels of a massive pine beetle infestation. The project targeted overstory — many of the forest’s oldest ponderosa pine — to thin nearly 200,000 acres. One objective was to help younger tree stands thrive. But many of the forest’s iconic and most fire-resistant trees met the saw.

Zimmerman also notes a nearby parcel of forest that is privately owned. She says logging crews didn’t bother finding existing roads, they simply “bulldozed through the middle.” The logging company also failed to gather waste trees and branches into slash piles for future removal, creating large amounts of fuel that could potentially carry wildfire swiftly through the area. Invasive plants have taken root and are spreading quickly. Zimmerman says she’s concerned about the level of disturbance in this corner of the forest.

“The Forest Service does need to do something to the areas where conditions are ripe for fire and beetles,” she says. “But if we treat it all the same and remove all the big trees, that’s not a solution either. I’m very worried. I think we could lose it all.”

Zimmerman says this is an example of an "absolute debacle" of forest management on private land. Branches and logs left behind on the ground are potential fuel for future forest fires.

Chris Stover is a forest fuels specialist for the U.S. Forest Service. He plans and executes prescribed burns for the Black Hills National Forest Mystic Ranger District. He also fights fires in the forest.

Chris Stover is a forest fuels specialist for the U.S. Forest Service. He plans and executes prescribed burns for the Black Hills National Forest Mystic Ranger District. He also fights fires in the forest.

Chris Stover is a Forest Service fuels specialist. He knows how to use fire and how to stop fire. As he checks in on the Silver Mountain prescribed burn footprint just outside of Rapid City, he finds the ground blanketed in fragrant pine needles. It’s the remnant of an intense hail storm the week before. It gives the forest floor the color and cushion of a golf course.

Stover says it’s more common to fight unintentional fires ignited by lightning strikes and human sources than it is to plan and carry out a prescribed burn, but he prefers the latter. Preparing a burn prescription takes weeks, or even months, of planning. He considers dozens of inputs — topography, ground conditions, weather, rare plants, habitat, sun angle — before moving forward with a project. Then he carefully evaluates outcomes. He’d like to do more prescribed fire, and not just to protect not timber stands and new housing developments.

“This is my land, this is your land,” Stover says. “We are ‘multiple use’ — that’s our mandate. And that means we’re going to extract resources. We’re also going to recreate in it, and we’re going to run cattle in it, and we’re going to go fishing in it … I think that’s probably one of the greatest gifts we have in this country.”

This is the continuation of the Case No. 1 plan that began more than 100 years ago. Stover said the country is “blessed” to have had forward-thinking leaders.

“I honestly care about what's going on on the landscape. This is my home. I'm going to retire here and I'm going to pass away on the Black Hills. I'm not going to anywhere. So I want to continue to hunt and fish and ride my motorcycle and enjoy this place. So I mean, I do, I care about the outcomes here for sure. And I'm still in a position where I still have some effect on some of those outcomes, which is pretty cool. Not everybody gets to say that, so I'm pretty blessed.”
Chris Stover

Looking out over a private cattle range in the Black Hills near Rapid City. From this viewpoint, Stover says an experienced eye can see the interconnections of private property and public land, along with areas of forest that have seen fire.

An arrow embedded in a tree in the Black Hills. While it’s not advisable to leave equipment behind, the arrow serves as a reminder of the forest’s multi-use nature.

Stover planned and led a prescribed burn for this area of the Black Hills National Forest.

Stover analyzes the forest floor. It's a key part of his job as he surveys fire risks.

An area of forest where Stover designed and led a prescribed burn. While the fire left burn marks on trees - some of which are still visible - it left the trees standing while eliminating fuel on the forest floor.

In this photo, the ground is blanketed with fresh pine needles after a hailstorm. If fire came through here now, the pine needles would burn, but the fire would most likely not climb into the forest canopy.

The Heart of the People

The Cathedral Spires in the Black Hills

Richie Meyers, Ph.D., is a tribal relations specialist for the U.S. Forest Service. Sixteen tribes are affiliated with the Black Hills. Meyers works with tribal governments and treaty councils on co-stewardship projects.

Richie Meyers, Ph.D., is a tribal relations specialist for the U.S. Forest Service. Sixteen tribes are affiliated with the Black Hills. Meyers works with tribal governments and treaty councils on co-stewardship projects.

Richie Meyers, Ph.D., is a tribal relations specialist for the U.S. Forest Service. Meyers says the Black Hills National Forest is unique.

“The Supreme Court decision in 1980 affirms the theft of the Black Hills from the tribes,” Meyers says. “Many native people, and the tribes as wholes, view this land as theirs — and rightfully so — because the title was never given to the federal government.”

That case – United States v. Sioux Nations of Indians – found the federal government violated the 1851 and 1868 Fort Laramie treaties. The treaty guaranteed the Black Hills would be “set apart for the absolute and undisturbed occupation of the Indians.”

Meyers is working on a pair of co-stewardship projects aimed at strengthening the ability of tribes to protect their sacred land. One could open the door for tribal nation contracted workers to protect designated areas of the forest from human encroachment using management techniques all parties agree to. The other would reimagine the Pactola Visitor Center as a place where tribes tell the importance of this land and how different cultural viewpoints can alter the landscape.

Meyers says the ongoing work of education and understanding is essential. That understanding begins by confronting an uncomfortable history.

“First and foremost, the acknowledgement of that space as traditionally, historically, and legally not the property of the United States of America,” Meyers explains. “That’s a tough one for the country to stomach.”

“And there are pragmatic issues of anger. How do you not have some sort of little bit of bitterness at the very basic fact that your history has been trivialized and stomped out? It’s real hard to come back from stuff like that. But it makes it harder when people can’t acknowledge it in the first place.”
Richie Meyers

Tonia Stands lives in Rapid City. She and her family use the forest for ceremonies. She says tourists often misunderstand the presence of indigenous people in the forest.

Tonia Stands lives in Rapid City. She and her family use the forest for ceremonies. She says tourists often misunderstand the presence of indigenous people in the forest.

Tonia Stands is a mother and an Oglala Lakota tribal member. She doesn’t represent a nonprofit or a tribal government. She says she’s still finding her way around using her voice on behalf of her community. She lives in Rapid City and often sits overlooking the cityscape from the vantage point of Skyline Drive, where she prays and dreams and contemplates.

But she also is often pulled to the forest. She was taught the Black Hills are the “heart of the people,” the center of the universe.

“Just to be outside and take off my shoes and feel my feet on the earth,” Stands says. “I need to feel that connection and feel the shade of the trees, how the air smells, and the different plants that come back — you can smell them … It makes you feel loved and embraced by nature and all our relatives.”

"It’s in our creation story. Then it goes into when the White Buffalo Calf Woman came — and even before that, the Great Race around the Black Hills. There’s a lot of spiritual significance to the Black Hills and how we are to come back to these areas, these significant spiritual areas, that we are supposed to do ceremonies in. It’s a big thing. It’s always been a big thing for us. "
Tonia Stands

Rapid City as seen from Skyline Drive. It's a view Tonia Stands seeks out for contemplative moments.

Rapid City as seen from Skyline Drive. It's a view Tonia Stands seeks out for contemplative moments.

Like many vehicles in the Black Hills, Stands’ car holds camp chairs and coolers and cooking supplies. But hers is not a camping trip to “get away” for a weekend. According to Stands, spiritual camps are intricate and involve a complex cycle of pre-camp and after-camp planning. She says people in her camp have been harassed by Off Highway Vehicle (OHV) drivers.

“They come in packs, huge packs, like 40, 80 strong,” Stands says. "Here we are trying to barely crawl out of spiritual oppression, and we’re here camped. They go by, and I’m sure they’ve never seen Natives camping. There’s trails everywhere, and it just causes so much conflict with us because they’re so loud. They go anywhere they want.”

The Black Hills National Forest is a "multi-use" landscape. This photo was taken in Spearfish Canyon in the Northern Hills. Hundreds of Off Highway Vehicles carry people into the forest's trail system for recreation daily. Year-round residents say the buzzing of engines and evidence of unauthorized off-trail use is ubiquitous.

The Black Hills National Forest is a "multi-use" landscape. This photo was taken in Spearfish Canyon in the Northern Hills. Hundreds of Off Highway Vehicles carry people into the forest's trail system for recreation daily. Year-round residents say the buzzing of engines and evidence of unauthorized off-trail use is ubiquitous.

NDN Collective advocates for honoring U.S. treaties with tribal nations. Taylor Gunhammer (left) is a local organizer for NDN. Anpo Jenson (center) is an environmental engineer and NDN action organizer. Here they’re talking with SDPB’s Lori Walsh in the NDN Collective recording studio in Rapid City. (SDPB file photo)

NDN Collective advocates for honoring U.S. treaties with tribal nations. Taylor Gunhammer (left) is a local organizer for NDN. Anpo Jenson (center) is an environmental engineer and NDN action organizer. Here they’re talking with SDPB’s Lori Walsh in the NDN Collective recording studio in Rapid City. (SDPB file photo)

Anpo Jensen is a Stanford-educated environmental engineer who works with an indigenous-led group called NDN Collective. She says the lack of indigenous voices in environmental problem solving drew her deeper into her current work. She’s skeptical of policy that promises innovative solutions, particularly for a warming climate. What does Jensen want? She wants the land back for the tribes.

Jensen says the best way to protect the Black Hills is simply honoring the Fort Laramie treaties – and leaving management in the hands of the tribes.

“Everyone's looking for solutions in a way,” Jensen says. “People want answers and people do care. And I think that's what's inspiring too. But people also don't really know what a solution even looks like. As an environmental engineer and as a Lakota woman, I see it as clear as day that those solutions and that future exist. And people don't realize that our treaties are actually the first climate change prevention plans that ever existed.”

“It all returns to our people. We embody these solutions.“
Anpo Jensen

Scott Jacobson is a public affairs officer for the Forest Service. He says the makeup of the Black Hills has changed a lot over the past few decades. One of the main disruptions was a 20-year mountain pine beetle epidemic that lasted until 2016 and impacted roughly 75% of the forest.

One of the ways the forest service worked to slow the destruction was to increase logging in areas on the fringes of the infestation. This left less food for the beetles. It also created a decades-long boon for the timber industry.

That era has ended. So while the problem of the pine beetle has faded, it’s been replaced by a new dilemma – a cooling logging industry. The debate over how many trees should be cut down is discussed from Hill City coffee shops to the halls of the U.S. Capitol in Washington D.C.

Jacobson says the Forest Service needs more information to better balance forest management with timber industry needs. He says part of the answer is a new technology called Light Detection and Ranging – or Lidar. It allows planes to use ultraviolet rays to determine just how thick the forest is in various sections. The Forest Service is working to map the entirety of the Black Hills.

“That’s never been done before here in the Black Hills,” Jacobson says. “We’re going to fly the entire forest, basically map it out into grids. I believe there’s something like 1,700 grids. Then we’ll have teams of folks go out and ground truth to determine that the data that was collected in the plane is actually the data that’s on the ground. Hopefully that will help us moving forward to determine where we need to go next.”

An area in the Mystic Ranger District where various Forest Service treatments have kept the area clear and protected from wildfire.

An area in the Mystic Ranger District where various Forest Service treatments have kept the area clear and protected from wildfire.

The Nieman Lumber Company is the largest timber operation in the Black Hills. It has 280 workers, and contracts with many others. But the company is feeling the pinch. It closed a mill in Hill City in 2021, resulting in the loss of 120 jobs. Officials say they’re at risk of losing another.

It’s impacted people like Aaron Shockey. He’s an owner/operator who contracts with Nieman. He says now that the allowable harvest levels are down, he has fewer job sites.

“It’s hard to make a successful business when you’re not sure what the next move is,” Shockey says.

Aaron Shockey is a lumber industry contractor who has experienced firsthand what happens when tree harvest levels are reduced. (Submitted photo)

Aaron Shockey is a lumber industry contractor who has experienced firsthand what happens when tree harvest levels are reduced. (Submitted photo)

It’s not just the Black Hills. The timber industry is in flux across the country. Logging is ramping up in California and Oregon amid increased wildfire threats, but those areas sometimes lack infrastructure. So the Forest Service started a program moving logs to operations that don’t have enough. That’s why some of Nieman’s mills are processing timber from northern California.

Paul Pierson is Black Hills Forestry Operations Manager for Nieman. He says the program helps timber operations facing a lull stay alive.

“It is ironic to see all that timber burn in places where there is no industry,” Pierson says. “And then other areas in the country where there is a timber products industry because there’s not enough product. So, this idea was born between the forest service and industry saying ‘how do we move timber from areas of excess where we don’t have enough milling capacity?’”

A worker at Neiman's sawmill in Hill City before the mill closed in 2021. (SDPB file photo)

A worker at Neiman's sawmill in Hill City before the mill closed in 2021. (SDPB file photo)

The Black Hills National Forest is home to eight protected botanical areas, which is less than one percent of the land base. This Bicknell’s geranium was found in vicinity of Black Fox. The iron fen has been celebrated by botanists for the unique plants that grow in its perennially cold ecosystem.

Beth Burkhart traverses a creek near Black Fox in the Black Hills.

Beth Burkhart traverses a creek near Black Fox in the Black Hills.

A cypripedium parviflorum (yellow ladyslipper orchid) grows in the Englewood Springs Botanical Area in the Black Hills. The rare and protected plants are not suited for transplant or propagation.

A cypripedium parviflorum (yellow ladyslipper orchid) grows in the Englewood Springs Botanical Area in the Black Hills. The rare and protected plants are not suited for transplant or propagation.

Beth Burkhart has worked for the Forest Service and the National Parks Service. She’s a retired botanist now. She shows us around a pair of protected botanical areas in the Black Hills. At an area near Black Fox, she points out multiple signs of cattle intrusion into the protected area. There are piles of cow manure swarming with mosquitos and spaces of the fen flattened by bedding animals.

Cows are allowed in the forest, but the botanical areas are supposed to be free of grazing. Burkhart says it’s time to rethink the role of livestock grazing for the modern era.

“My thought, which would be a huge sea change for livestock grazing, would be to think about where cows are suited on the forest and make areas where you can make fences that keep them in there,” Burkhart says. “The default should be to have cows where you want cows and not everywhere else. But that would involve huge fence reorganization that could not be done easily or simply. It could very well mean fewer cows on the forest. But we need to balance our multiple uses. How many cows is ‘enough’ cows? I feel like we can do better.”

Cissie Englebert is program manager for Range, Botany, Invasive Soils, and Water on the Black Hills National Forest. When she talks about rare plants, she’s referring to plants federally listed under the Endangered Species Act. The forest has one endangered plant - Leedy’s roseroot, or rhodiola integrifolia - along with 13 Regional Forester Sensitive Species. There are also plants that might not be rare elsewhere, but are rare here.

Englebert says she is proud to have botanists on every ranger district so areas set aside for protection are considered anytime a project is planned. While some people look up in the forest, Englebert often has her nose pointed down.

“When I was a district botanist, I would come in from doing surveys and the silviculturist would ask me, ‘What do the trees look like out there?’ And my mind immediately went to ‘What trees?’” Englebert says. “When I’m in the woods, I’m looking at the ground. All the botanists are looking to the ground to see what’s blooming now.”

At the Englewood Springs Botanical Area, Beth Burkhart discovers a bright yellow dot on a rising hill. It’s a rare yellow ladyslipper orchid, or cypripedium parviflorum. Burkhart shares the story of Myrtle Kravig — the “Orchid Lady.” Decades ago, Kravig and her geologist husband found large populations of rare orchids in Englewood Springs. It wasn’t until her health began to fade in the 1990s that she alerted the Forest Service to their presence. While it eventually became a protected area, the story gives Burkhart pause.

“It's interesting that some people think they can protect things best by not telling anybody else. To me, that's kind of a sad statement about some of our management.”
Beth Burkhart

What's at stake

Local dog enjoys the shores of Lake Pactola in the Black Hills. The lake's watershed provides water for thousands of people - including Rapid City.

Local dog enjoys the shores of Lake Pactola in the Black Hills. The lake's watershed provides water for thousands of people - including Rapid City.

Lilias Jarding represents the Black Hills Clean Water Alliance. She says there are active mining claims on 284,000 acres of the Black Hills. A reminder – the entire forest is about 1.2 million acres. Under federal law, if someone finds something on their claim, they can mine it.

“I don't think there's ever been a time before when we had 20% of the whole Black Hills under active mining claims,” Jarding says. “That's a lot. And it's on three sides of Hill City, and four sides of Custer, and around Lake Pactola, around Spearfish Canyon. It's on some important cultural and spiritual sites and upstream from people's water supply, including Rapid City … There are so many claims that they are in some very important places.”

Jarding says there has been progress to protect water sources in the region, but there is more work to be done. Mining exploration has been paused near the Jenny Gulch area near the Pactola Reservoir after the Forest Service received widespread public opposition. People raised concerns over how it might affect the watershed for Rapid City and Ellsworth Air Force Base. But those living in less populated areas may have trouble drumming up enough public support.

Dan and Michelle Hutt have lived in the Black Hills for more than 30 years. Their land is near Custer overlooking a pond on Crow Creek, a tributary of French Creek. F3 Gold, LLC has proposed multiple drill sites near French Creek.

Michelle Hutt replaces the certificate of location for lode mining claim adjacent to their property.

The Hutts hold a notice of a mineral rights claim adjacent to their property near Custer.

This area of Forest Service land is near Custer, South Dakota. If the U.S. Forest Service grants what's known as a "categorical exclusion" to F3 Gold, the prospecting company can place drill pads in this area and begin exploratory mining soon.

F3Gold, LLC, a Minneapolis gold prospecting company, owns the mineral rights for this area of the Black Hills National Forest near Custer, South Dakota. If F3’s Newark project is approved, one of nearly 40 proposed drill pads to explore for gold could be placed here.

DDan and Michelle Hutt live near Custer. Their back yard is adjacent to the national forest. The sweeping view from the Hutt’s kitchen table includes thick stands of trees, green meadows, and clear blue water.

“I mean, water brings the wildlife. There’s just something about running water that's just precious,” says Dan Hutt. “So I thought, well, if I can buy this, I'm going to. And so, we did. It's a dream.”

The Hutt’s home is decorated with photos they have taken of nearby wildlife — from a hummingbird sleeping on a fence, to the badger who lives just down the hill. One day they found a stake inches from their fence line. It was a marker for a claim by F3 Gold, a Minneapolis-based prospecting company.

F3 Gold’s plans for the Custer area calls for as many as 39 drill pads on Forest Service land. The company would not agree to an interview with SDPB for this story, but its online mission statement says the company is interested in “testing our new science” to find gold and silver deposits hidden underground.

That worries some neighbors, including Dan Hutt. He says he’s not one who thinks the entire Black Hills should be a complete wilderness area. But he thinks it’s important to consider the long-term impact of projects in a multi-use national forest. The property beyond his fence is habitat for an elk herd. It’s accessible for hunting. It has trails used by four-wheelers and snowmobiles.

There are no aquifers in this landscape. Residents drill private wells to access water in the bedrock. The Hutts are concerned about bedrock fractures and water contamination from mining exploration. Dan Hutt says he has been frustrated by the company’s unwillingness to talk to the public and what he calls inconsistent communications. He’d like F3 to reveal more details about their plan, including to whom they would market sites where gold is discovered.

Hutt’s pickup truck rumbles along narrow, rugged service roads to check out other potential drill pad sights. He stops to take in the silence and clear air of an untouched landscape. If gold is hidden deep beneath our feet here — how far will people go to extract it?

"Well, the odds of them finding anything, any mineral of value enough to destroy what we're looking at, is highly unlikely. That's probably true,” Hutt says. “But I also know the history of mining in the Black Hills, and I know the Superfund sites. I know the economic impact of boom and bust. I know that depending on where you are, what we see here, what I worked 35 years for, I could see disappear in a short time.”

A superfund site is a contaminated landscape where the Environmental Protection Agency must clean up toxins that are risks to human health and the environment. South Dakota has two Superfund sites, including the Gilt Edge Mine. But cleanup efforts at the abandoned mine in the northern Black Hills are on standby. That’s because a company might want to reopen the Gilt Edge Mine.  You can read more about the project in this report.

AAs a high-ranking U.S. Senator, John Thune has more sway than most on many issues. That’s especially true of forestry concerns. Thune has a seat on the influential Senate Committee on Agriculture, Nutrition and Forestry.

Thune said he’s open to revisions on mining laws, noting the law that keeps 20% of the Black Hills under active mining claims was crafted in 1872. The Black Hills area was quite different then. But he said he needs more information before backing any widespread mining prohibitions.

Sen. John Thune, R-South Dakota, sits down for an interview at SDPB's Sioux Falls studio. (SDPB file photo)

Sen. John Thune, R-South Dakota, sits down for an interview at SDPB's Sioux Falls studio. (SDPB file photo)

In an interview, SDPB asked Thune about people facing situations like Dan and Michelle Hutt.

Lori Walsh: The people of Custer want to know that you believe their watershed is as important as the Rapid Creek watershed.

Thune: “Well, sure. I mean it’s arguably a small town in a relative sense, but compared to where I grew up, it’s kind of a big town. There are a lot of people, particularly between Mother’s Day and Labor Day, a lot of folks who are in Custer. It’s a great community, and yeah, the policies that would apply in a community like Rapid City or the expectations about water quality, they should be the same no matter where we live.”

KKevin Woster is a fly fisherman and columnist for SDPB News. The semi-retired reporter spent decades covering many topics in South Dakota – including conservation issues.

Woster says the friction point of a multi-use resource like the Black Hills National Forest is not only when one user’s needs collide with another’s. He says a more urgent problem is when one user’s desires diminish the resource itself.

The work of being watchful is far from over, Woster says.

“In 1973 Dan Rather spoke at SDSU,” Woster says. “I think it was ‘73 or ‘74 — Nixon was still in office and all kinds of stuff had happened and yet Nixon was still in office — and I asked him about that: ‘Do you get frustrated that you do all this reporting and it doesn’t seem to change anything?’ 

“And he said ‘It’s not my job to worry about whether it changes anything. It’s my job to keep telling the story.’"

“I’m 71. And it’s still my job, even though I don’t do it every day for eight or 10 hours, it’s still my job to keep telling the story. And hope it’s a worthwhile story. And hope people pay attention. And hope somehow it matters.”

The long, slow cast of Woster’s fly rod arcs overhead. The trout are fast and muscular. The stream races by, pushing against the fisherman as he moves slowly upstream, thigh deep. Woster pulls fish after fish out of Spearfish Creek. He releases each one from the line and watches them dart away in the water.

Journalist Kevin Woster has been reporting on conservation issues in South Dakota for decades. Here he takes a break to fly fish in Spearfish Creek.

Journalist Kevin Woster has been reporting on conservation issues in South Dakota for decades. Here he takes a break to fly fish in Spearfish Creek.

Black Hills in the Balance

Writer & reporter: Lori Walsh
Reporting contributor: Lee Strubinger
Editor: Kate Smith
Music: Scott Simpson
Producer & audio engineer: Karl Gehrke
Photography: Lori Walsh & Lee Strubinger
Production help & social media: Ari Jungemann & Ellen Koester
Digital production: Josh Chilson
Executive Producer: Cara Hetland
SDPB Director of Content: Twyla Olson
SDPB Executive Director: Julie Overgaard