Arrival of Owl Stirs a Hornet’s Nest

Not everyone was thrilled the day the pygmy owl came to call. When the diminutive fledgling took up residence in a saguaro cactus in the midst of a sprawling high-end residential construction project two years ago, all hell broke loose, and it hasn’t stopped since.

The presence of the muffin-sized bird, a member of the elite endangered species list, brought the multimillion-dollar Dove Mountain development to a sudden halt, as it had previously to construction of a high school and nearly a billion dollars worth of state highway projects. By last summer, the shy owl had put a stop to so much development that it had become the poster pet for the state’s anti-growth movement. Then pro-growth and conservation forces sat down and began to find common ground.

The story of how the bird named the cactus ferruginous pygmy owl has gone from unwanted guest to impetus for dramatic change in the manner in which fast-growing Pima County intends to expand is a tale of cunning and perseverance (to say nothing of the role of humans). More than two years of gingerly negotiations have led to the fashioning of an ambitious growth plan that seeks to accommodate developers’ urge to build on virgin desert land and the federal mandate to protect endangered species.

Officials say the county’s Sonoran Desert Conservation Plan, which has yet to be formally adopted, would be the largest one of its kind in the country, encompassing an area 10 times the size of the groundbreaking multi-species plan forged in San Diego. It represents a rare urban application of the Endangered Species Act, which seeks to avoid the confrontations that arise as wildlife and humans increasingly share habitat.

The broad outlines of the compromise have been agreed upon, and officials say it’s likely to serve as a template for other cities and counties around the country. The plan comes at a time when this traditionally pro-growth state is beginning to put the brakes on unchecked development. Republican Gov. Jane Dee Hull last year announced a “Growing Smarter” initiative that will set out a statewide plan for harnessing sprawl. Today, growth management programs in Arizona enjoy surprisingly bipartisan support.

The federal law protects cute white-tailed deer and slithering snakes equally, but, in fact, it is the cuddly critters that usually best serve the interests of conservationists. In this case, the owl has been cast by some as the villain--the fist-sized bully that has kept country-clubbers from their tee times.

It amazes some that a six-ounce creature carries such political muscle, but the 1973 federal law was designed to pack a wallop and now offers near-total protection to about 1,200 plants and animals.

For this reason, some ranchers and landowners in the West stealthily drive off--or worse--endangered creatures such as the gray wolf, lest their presence bring an end to a family’s livelihood. Developers rue the day an Endangered Species Act-listed life form is found on land they mean to blade. In an instant, an investment is endangered until it can be determined if the bird, insect or lizard is a full-time resident or is just passing through.

As the law has evolved, particularly under Interior Secretary Bruce Babbitt, the intertwined goals of biodiversity and ecosystem protection have grown in importance. This philosophy suggests that to save the endangered species, it is necessary to preserve the entirety of the world in which it lives.

For the pygmy owl, that means the 9,000 square miles of Pima County will be covered by the plan, which envisions the county buying key parts of its habitat and letting building continue in most other places. It falls to Maeveen Behan, the energetic assistant to the county administrator, to shepherd the plan through a 90-member steering committee, scientific, cultural and economic study groups, more than 1,000 “data layers” and the attention of an impassioned public. As evidence of residents’ interest, Behan notes with astonishment that her office’s highly technical hydrologic reports are sold out at 40 bucks a pop. Final approval of the plan is expected to take two years.

One feature of the plan would utilize special permits to allow some development to occur in habitat areas that otherwise would be off limits: Section 10 of the Endangered Species Act specifies that building is permissible if an acceptable habitat conservation area is created.

Officials also are taking the opportunity to streamline a byzantine building permit process. It is not unusual for a contractor wanting to build in northwest Tucson to be required to obtain permits from the city, the county, the state, state Fish and Wildlife, the Environmental Protection Agency, the Army Corps of Engineers and the state office administering the National Historic Preservation Act. The plan would provide a single entity to dispense the permits.

Additionally, the plan will spell out once and for all where building may take place so that, unlike the Dove Mountain experience, millions are not spent to begin developing a site that will become a no-build zone. Some estimates say nearly half a million people will relocate to Tucson in the next 20 years, many in the northwest, where retirement communities and high-end subdivisions enjoy unimpeded views of the desert and foothills.

While planners for years hashed out various long-range plans, this is the first time all the parties have been forced to come to the table. The discussions have been heated, but most involved believe this process will set out mutually acceptable rules of engagement.

“I’ve never seen an opportunity like this before,” Behan says. “I’ve found that it’s easier to do big things than small things. It seems paradoxical. There is an odd alignment of interests here. We’re trying to turn a problem into a solution. We have to. What we’re left with is not acceptable--to have policy decided at the extremes, projects dealt with in court. There’s been too much conflict.”

Some opponents suggest that developers embrace this approach because they fear the criminal implications of running afoul of the law and because the plan affords them environmental protection to build.

“You only get religion when you think you are going to die,” says Rich Gensler from his unique vantage both as a Tucson developer and president of the city’s Sierra Club. “Builders have wanted to overturn every ruling there is, from the beginning of time. Only now the public is not standing for it.”

The Dove Mountain project is typical of the area’s vast subdivisions. A handful of developers is building on 5,600 acres and had received approval to put in 9,000 homes, four golf courses, three resort hotels and numerous shops. One lawsuit, filed by Defenders of Wildlife, was settled out of court in December. The agreement allows all land that has already been cleared--about half--to be developed.

This subspecies of pygmy owl, usually 7 inches from beak to tail, also is found in Texas and is common in Mexico. According to one estimate, there have been only 165 recorded sightings of the bird in Arizona in 125 years. It was listed as endangered in 1997, and, according to a survey conducted in 1999, there were 70 to 78 pygmy owls in the entire state.

Biologist Scott Richardson would like nothing better than to watch the bird all day. When scientists call the reddish-brown bird secretive, they are not anthropomorphizing. Richardson, who works for the Arizona Game and Fish Department, is an amiable tour guide around the known pygmy owl habitat--the contours of which are protected even from intrepid birders. He jokes, “If you see one, I’ll have to kill you.”

He offers an admiring if grisly example of the fierce bird’s problem-solving skills: He once watched a pygmy owl kill a huge lizard with its powerful, oversized talons. But after several attempts, the owl found the creature too heavy and unwieldy to carry off. The owl puzzled over this, cocked its head, and with dispatch opened his sharp beak, cut the reptile in half and took off--coming back for a second helping.

Richardson is the first to admit that next to nothing is known about the bird. Its habitat tends to be classic Sonoran desert--ironwood, Palo Verde trees and mesquite--that is also the home to the fastest-growing section of Pima County.

Hull weighed in during the height of the debate and chided the Interior Department, saying, “Some day the federal government will realize jobs are more important than small animals.”

With a $1-million injection from Interior, work has just begun on a minute inventory of plants, insects and animals. That first step toward adopting a comprehensive plan may take until midyear, but for those who have seen decades of rancor, the first step is sweet.

“What we have now is an imperfect process, with snarling on all sides,” says Carolyn Campbell, coordinator for the Coalition for the Sonoran Desert Protection Plan, a group of neighborhood and environmental organizations. “Developers don’t want to get into a situation where they have to stop everything because a bird flew in. We want to protect the bird and its ecosystem. This is about self-interest. We see the pygmy owl as the canary in the coal mine. We must save it.”

Times researcher Belen Rodriguez contributed to this story.