Buffalo, Water, and Climate: How Fort Belknap Faces the Climate Crisis Through Indigenous Stewardship
Photos by Beau Dahler
On the Fort Belknap Reservation in northern Montana, home to the Assiniboine and Gros Ventre Tribes, grazing agriculture is a primary industry due to the predominant arid grassland ecosystem that spans its 670,000 acres. The patchwork of fenced pastureland, combined with the increasing climate challenges of extreme heat, cold, and drought, has placed significant strain on the two herds of buffalo that hold profound spiritual and cultural significance for the Tribes.
I found myself on these far northern plains, less than 50 miles from Canada, twice this summer, both times for agricultural field projects. During my visit in August, I was invited onto Fort Belknap by Jayme Lamebull, Tribal Land Director, and Mitchell King, Range Conservationist, to learn how climate change is impacting their rangelands and the economics of agriculture on Fort Belknap.
“I don’t think a lot of people know how to deal with this climate because we have two extremes. We have the coldest place in the lower United States and probably one of the hottest,” Mitchell told me as we leaned against his pickup truck, looking out over one of the pasture units where two bull buffalo grazed 100 yards out in front of us.
Over the years as an athlete, farmer, and agricultural media director, I catch myself saying, “It depends on the weather.” This is the quaint but true fact that all industries dependent upon natural resources have in common, including agriculture and adventure sports, in which I have firsthand experience. I suppose all of our work depends on the weather because we all depend on the health of the planet to sustain us.
At Fort Belknap, Tribal members face severe challenges from a changing climate. Rising temperatures and shifting precipitation patterns are leading to more frequent droughts, which directly affect the natural resources the Tribes depend on. The land has long been central to the Tribes’ way of life, with agriculture, livestock grazing, and traditional food sources like buffalo, elk, and native plants being essential. However, as water sources dry up and the seasons become more unpredictable, the health of these ecosystems is degenerating, threatening the food security and livelihoods of the community.
In the Tribal Land Office, Jayme spread out a series of maps on the conference room tables. The detail on the maps was a grid of colors laid over topographical features. I was struck by the intricacy of the maps but also the level of detail in each map and its corresponding legend. “This office manages home sites, leases, range units, easements, mineral rights, and water development. The green is Tribal land; blue are the State (US government) sections.” She traced her finger along one of the maps, showing me where we had watched the buffalo grazing.
“With how dry it was last year and how little plant growth we had, this place almost looked like a parking lot,” Mitchell told me. “There was very little forage out here other than the sagebrush and the greasewood, and that caused the buffalo to wander.” He explained that buffalo go wherever they want, and fences do not contain their grazing patterns. If they don’t have access to grass or water, they will jump any barrier. While this sounds like a free-spirited idea, buffalo grazing outside of their designated units can lead to buffalo getting into cattle pastures and sometimes being shot by ranchers on State land. This means that the grazing patterns of the buffalo are what we would call in range science a lagging indicator of ecological health.
Ahead of my trip to Fort Belknap, I caught up with Chad McNutt, PhD, who worked on a drought monitoring and mitigation response plan with Jayme and a committee of Tribal Council members, farmers, and ranchers. Their project was funded by the USDA to build out the steps Fort Belknap could take in early drought stages, including water restrictions, fire bans, and instituting water hauling efforts. “Drought is a slow-moving disaster,” Chad told me, “but it happens by degrees. So you need an early warning system, a system that can handle a slow-moving disaster. It can be hard to see it coming because it is slow.”
After completing his PhD, Chad joined NOAA, working out of the Earth System Research Laboratory in Boulder, where he helped develop a drought program created by Congress. The program’s main goal was to establish an early warning system for drought. “I started at NOAA in 2005 during the second Bush administration. I worked with the CCSP, the Climate Change Science Program—it’s now the Global Change Research Program. There was a lot of pressure under the Bush administration to make sure the science was correct or even be better than it actually could be. It was like, it’s got to be the best it can be; we’ve got to really stand behind it. There’s thinking that science is a very clean process, and it’s actually very messy, and it’s through a lot of iteration.” Chad has now shifted his focus more directly to agriculture, leaving NOAA to start his own business centered on agricultural climate adaptation.
Water is central to life on Fort Belknap, and the Tribes have long fought for their water rights. However, climate change-induced droughts and reduced snowpack in the region threaten both the quantity and quality of water availability. Tribal leaders have voiced concerns about how state and federal climate policies, or the lack thereof, are failing to adequately address these water crises. While some climate policies promote water conservation or infrastructure development, Indigenous communities often find themselves left out of decision-making processes. This exclusion exacerbates the water insecurity already affecting Fort Belknap and underscores the need for policies that prioritize Indigenous sovereignty and the tribes’ traditional knowledge of land and water stewardship.
As Jayme and I drove down a dusty gravel road between the buffalo units and the Tribal office, I asked her about the haziness in the sky, which I assumed was wildfire smoke. “No, this is dust from farmers haying their fields,” Jayme told me as she pointed to a trail of dust on the horizon. “They’re all trying to hurry up and harvest so they can seed their next crop because the Milk River is low. Next year they’re not going to get much irrigation water. A 100-year-old siphon broke upstream on the St. Mary River Canal.” Jayme went on to tell me the St. Mary River Canal System failure will impact not only Fort Belknap, but the over 121,000 acres irrigated by the project and the 18,000 residents of Montana’s Hi-Line dependent on the water.
Indigenous farmers are increasingly recognized for their knowledge of sustainable land management, which could play a vital role in global climate solutions. Tribal leaders like Jayme and Mitchell are advocating for policies that not only address the immediate impacts of climate change but also center Indigenous values of respecting ecosystems and long-term stewardship. The Assiniboine and Gros Ventre Tribes are calling for greater inclusion in climate policy discussions at both state and federal levels, where they can bring their expertise and perspectives to the table. As they face the brunt of climate impacts, their leadership is crucial to creating more equitable, inclusive, and effective climate policies.
“We have almost 100-year-old infrastructure on these reservoirs. Considering this is one of the better ones we have, it’s only a few years from failing and there being no water up here.” Mitchell and I stood on the bank of a reservoir, which unlike our common connotation of reservoirs evoking an expansive amount of water with a dam system, was more of a pond with a willow shading one shore. “The livestock come and take a drink. There is no infrastructure to take it anywhere else. Things like rotational grazing aren’t really feasible here. This is one of our largest range units, but it is also one of the only units without a year-round running creek or any wells.”
As Jayme and I drove past the Fort Belknap water tower painted with Indigenous art, she told me about the challenges of getting resources. “Finding funding for improving our water infrastructure really isn’t in anyone’s job description. It just takes someone who cares about the lessees and animals on Tribal land to go out and look for grants.” She went on to say how she has taken on the role of going out and finding water solutions. “Working on our drought mitigation plan put me in a position where I could look for funding and find opportunities. I was able to find a grant through BIA (Bureau of Indian Affairs), and we were awarded a million dollars to rehab existing wells in all of these range units. We started implementing that last year.” Though the wells will be rehabilitated, the irrigation systems to manage and transport the groundwater will be another project.
I am constantly confronted with the fact that everything in the climate conversation eventually loops back on itself. When Mitchell and I stood at one of the buffalo units, he told me, “If you take something, you’re always supposed to give something back to the land.” At the time, he was teaching about the tradition of leaving an offering of tobacco, but I now see how this is a metaphor for how our ecosystems have become so out of balance.
The situation at Fort Belknap highlights a deeper issue that goes beyond local agriculture and wildlife—it reflects the urgent need for climate policies that prioritize Indigenous communities and their traditional knowledge. As climate change exacerbates water scarcity, threatens ecosystems, and endangers livelihoods, the exclusion of Indigenous voices from key policy discussions only deepens the crisis. Leaders like Jayme and Mitchell have shown how vital Indigenous stewardship is in managing land and water sustainably. Without political will at the state and federal levels to invest in inclusive, long-term solutions, the sustainability of these ecosystems and the cultural heritage they support remains at risk.
Author: Jonnah Perkins
Jonnah Perkins is a trail runner, writer, and photographer based in southwest Wisconsin. She found trail running after the birth of her first child and was soon podiuming ultra-distance races across the country. Perkins is also an organic farmer and has been working alongside her family for over a decade. Through her work in agriculture, […]
