The Cost of Coexistence—or the Cost of Control?

Behind the headlines of wolf-related ranching losses lies a deeper truth about land use, power, and the price of ecological restoration.

Another week, another round of fear-mongering headlines about wolves.

This time it’s a Drovers article—amplifying the American Farm Bureau Federation’s latest talking points—claiming that even “modest wolf impacts” in the Southwest can slash ranching income by 28%. The piece, which leans heavily on a University of Arizona study funded by the Arizona Cattle Industry Research and Education Foundation, is meant to make readers gasp at figures like $1,336 per lost calf, $60 million spent annually on “conflict avoidance,” and a whopping $128 million total cost to U.S. ranchers due to wolves.

But as with any emotionally charged number tossed into the policy arena, we need to ask: compared to what? And who’s paying the price for what kind of land future?

Let’s unpack what the piece doesn’t tell you.

Coexistence Isn’t the Problem—Public Lands Ranching Is

Wolves don’t roam the manicured pastures of New Jersey or California’s Central Valley. The so-called “cost of coexistence” applies almost entirely to a small subset of ranchers operating on public lands—millions of acres of federally (and publicly) owned, ecologically sensitive rangeland managed by the U.S. Forest Service and Bureau of Land Management.

These lands are leased at rock-bottom rates—just $1.35 per cow-calf pair per month. That’s not just below market value—it’s taxpayer-subsidized by a factor of 20 to 30 times compared to private pasture.

In other words: many of the ranchers now portraying themselves as victims of wolves are already beneficiaries of one of the most subsidized forms of agriculture in America. The public pays twice—once to lease the land, and again to kill the native predators ranchers don't want to share it with.

Modeling Assumptions vs. Measured Reality

Photo by Dima Yakovlev on Unsplash

The 28% revenue loss widely cited in the article isn’t a measured statistic. It’s a projection—modeled from a “representative” Arizona ranch under worst-case assumptions: 2% calf loss, 3.5% weight reduction, and standard management costs.

What the article doesn’t mention is that under more typical conditions, the study found impacts closer to a 7% revenue loss. Even with moderate spending on deterrence measures, it maxes out around 19%.

And the real kicker? The study’s own survey showed that over half of Arizona ranchers reported little or no wolf-related impact at all. Just 9 of 24 said they’d experienced any direct depredation. Yet somehow we’re being sold a $128 million crisis extrapolated to the entire livestock industry.

The Real Cost of Ecological Collapse

While the article fixates on what ranchers might lose, it ignores what the rest of us have already lost in terms of thriving ecosystems and natural biodiversity.

Wolves are ecological engineers. Their presence regulates elk and deer populations, protects vegetation along creeks and rivers, supports beavers, songbirds, and pollinators, and can even improve water quality. This is restoration—not risk.

And the public overwhelmingly supports restoration. A 2020 poll from Colorado State University found that 84% of Coloradans supported wolf reintroduction—even after learning about potential livestock losses.

When we only tally what wolves cost to ranchers and not what they provide to the rest of society, we get a warped picture driven by special interests, not science—or values.

Who’s Really Bearing the Costs?

Coexistence does require effort. And yes, some ranchers are impacted. But state and federal programs have provided millions in compensation and prevention funding—covering everything from carcass removal and fladry to range riders and radio collars. In fact, the study notes that in many years, more money was spent on preventing depredations than paying for confirmed ones.

There are even provisions now for compensating “probable” depredations—where a carcass may be missing or scavenged before investigation. Ranchers can receive up to $250 just for removing a carcass that might attract wolves. Yet the Drovers article treats all this as if it doesn’t exist.

Meanwhile, the ecological and financial expense of degraded landscapes, biodiversity collapse, and the destruction of native predator populations? That falls squarely on the public.

A More Honest Conversation

Photo by Fabrício Severo on Unsplash

Let’s be honest: this isn’t about balance. It’s about control. The Farm Bureau isn’t making a good-faith argument for rural resilience—it’s laying the groundwork for killing more wolves, faster, with fewer questions asked.

It’s asking us to mourn every calf, while saying nothing about wolves poisoned, trapped, or gunned down from helicopters. It wants us to forget that we’re talking about a species still listed under the Endangered Species Act. A species that, after more than two decades of recovery efforts, still numbers just a few hundred in the Southwest.

Yes, coexistence costs something. So does drought. So do volatile markets, disease, heat waves, and wildfires. That’s part of ranching. And so is sharing the land.

The question is whether a handful of subsidized producers should get to veto an entire region’s ecological recovery. If wolf presence makes some business models non-viable, maybe it’s time to rethink the business model—not the wolves.

Coexistence isn’t free. But extinction is far too costly.

Let’s stop letting industry groups frame predators as economic villains. Let’s talk instead about what kind of future we want for the West—for its wildlife, its public lands, and the people who live among them. Because if we want wolves in the wild—and most Americans do—then we need policies that reward adaptation, not eradication.

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Grace Kuhn is the Digital Director for Western Watersheds Project. grace@westernwatersheds.org