What to do about dying forests
This is an archived article that was published on sltrib.com in 2011, and information in the article may be outdated. It is provided only for personal research purposes and may not be reprinted.

By Kirk Robinson

and Allison Jones

Reporter Brandon Loomis and The Salt Lake Tribune deserve an award for producing an outstanding example of what the newspaper described as "serious long-form journalism" that was intended to "change the conversation about climate change" ("Our Dying Forests," Sept. 25). We hope it does that.

Loomis's articles inform us that climate warming is exacerbating spruce and mountain pine beetle infestations that are killing native conifers at an alarming rate. No longer regularly killed off by severe winter cold snaps, beetles are reproducing more rapidly than before. Consequently, many forest stands that in recent memory were uniformly green now have huge, unsightly patches of red and gray (dying and dead) trees, particularly the more susceptible older stands.

What, if anything, should we try to do about it?

We are concerned that some within the Forest Service, as well as within state government and private industry, will try to exploit the specter of dead forests and catastrophic fires to scare people into accepting logging inside roadless areas on the pretense of promoting forest health and protecting communities.

Consider this statement by Fish Lake National Forest district silviculturist Terry Holsclaw, who blames "time-consuming battles with environmentalists and restrictions on road building" for beetle damage to stands of Englemann spruce: "Getting chain saws into the forest gives the survivors a greater share of the mountain's water and sunlight, and a fighting chance to create a sticky sap to push out invading bugs."

Not so fast.

It may be that a thinned forest will enable some of the remaining trees to better defend against invading beetles, but the important questions are whether it would retard the spread of beetles or reduce the risk of wildfire.

There is a growing consensus among professionals who study this issue that the answer to both questions is no. For example, one recent publication reviewed relevant studies up to 2010 and concluded that "the best available science indicates that outbreaks of mountain pine beetle and spruce beetle do not lead to increased risk of fire ... forests of lodgepole pine and spruce-fir forests are naturally prone to high-severity fires during drought conditions, regardless of the influence of bark beetle outbreaks." ("Insects and Roadless Forests: A Scientific Review of Causes, Consequences, and Management Alternatives," National Center for Conservation Science and Policy.)

While specific to Colorado, the 2010 report contains a number of important findings that pertain to Utah's forests as well:

• Ongoing beetle infestations are probably caused primarily by climate change.

• Insect outbreaks in roadless areas are not likely to heighten fire risk to adjacent communities.

• Tree-cutting inside roadless areas is not likely to control ongoing outbreaks of bark beetles or alleviate future large-scale beetle epidemics; nor will it keep communities safe from wildfire.

• Building roads into roadless areas is destructive to their ecological values, whereas dead trees have tremendously important ecological value.

• Insect outbreaks and fires have been part of the ecology of our forests for millennia and green forests will eventually return in most locations following beetle outbreaks.

So what is the appropriate response to beetle outbreaks inside roadless areas?

Apparently, it is to do nothing and let nature take its course.

Scarce funds would be better spent creating fire buffers around summer cabins and exurban communities.

What we might do instead of cutting down our forests — under the pretense that we are solving a problem — is to attack the real underlying and more threatening problem by reducing our greenhouse-gas emissions.

Kirk Robinson, executive director of the Western Wildlife Conservancy, lives in Salt Lake City. Allison Jones is a conservation biologist for Wild Utah Project and lives in Murray.

 
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