The Beast in the Garden

The Beast in the Garden: A Modern Parable of Man and Nature (2004) a non-fiction book by American author and science journalist David Baron, seeks to explain the reasons why large predators like mountain lions have ventured into suburban communities, specifically in Baron's home of Boulder, Colorado.

Since the 1980s, mountain lion attacks—though still relatively rare—have increased sharply. For example, since 1890, there have only been fourteen confirmed attacks on humans by mountain lions in California. However, nine of those fourteen attacks have occurred since 1992. The most obvious explanation is that, as humanity has continued to spread into the natural habitats of predators, these predators find themselves closer to our homes than ever before. However, Baron proposes a more startling explanation: mountain lions are learning to hunt humans, and it's all our fault.

Baron's story begins in 1991 with the death of an eighteen-year-old jogger outside Denver in the foothills of the Rocky Mountains. The boy's eviscerated body is found near the known stalking-grounds of a 100-pound male mountain lion, suspected to be the killer. Why, Baron asks, would a nocturnal and traditionally cowardly animal set upon a young man minding his own business in the middle of the day? Moreover, just thirty years ago, only 4,000 mountain lions—also called cougars—were thought to exist in America. As for Colorado, a scant 124 cougars were thought to survive the predations of humans who had killed the animals ­en masse to protect their livestock with the help of government-paid hunters. Grizzled mountain men hunters were known to eat the flesh of the cougar, superstitiously believing that doing so would imbue the eater with special cat powers, the better to hunt down these animals. Nor were the cougars safe in national parks where they were considered pests by government administrators who wished for their eradication.



However, over the following two decades, environmentalists gained political influence, and it was decided that forcing the majestic cougar into extinction wasn't a great idea. Nevertheless, despite their noble intentions, there was a major snag in their plan. In addition to slaughtering mountain lions, hunters had also been slaughtering the mountain lion's biggest predator, the wolf. In fact, in many parts of the country, wolves had been completely eradicated. Therefore, when steps were taken to preserve cougars across the United States, there was no apex predator in place to control the growth of their population. The demise of wolves—and grizzly bears, too—also led to an explosion in local populations of deer, one of the cougar's chief sources of food. Ironically, cougars were taking up residence in abandoned mines that, in earlier decades, employed prolific cougar-killers to protect these mining interests. Baron writes, "The early miners, who killed countless cougars and destroyed wildlife habitat while raping the foothills for gold, had left a legacy that helped the lions upon their homecoming a century later."

Nature-loving humans revel in the sight of a beautiful deer on one of their hiking paths or even in their own backyard. Unfortunately, wherever deer roam so do cougars. As deer become emboldened to munch on plants during the middle of the day in earshot of humans, the normally reclusive and nocturnal cougar follows. This poses a threat to humans; Baron describes a person who was cornered by two cougars until a deer walked by, distracting the predators into chasing more the familiar prey. Outdoor-loving house-pets are also greatly threatened by the rapidly changing habits of mountain lions.

Considering solutions, Baron does not advocate for a return to the mass-killing and slaughtering of cougars employed in the 1960s. Rather, he asserts there need to be more resources devoted to tagging or radio-collaring cougars whenever they roam too close to humans or civilization. Officials can then try to relocate these animals or "re-educate" them by, for example, siccing trained dogs on the offending creatures or shooting beanbags at them.



Most importantly, Baron says he wrote the book as a cautionary tale about the unintended consequences of well-meaning conservation efforts. In this sense, the book is a wildly successful parable on how unilateral human intervention—conservation and eradication alike—result in massive and unpredictable implications on our ecosystems.