The Beast in the Garden
David Baron (Norton)
Reviewed by Roger Hainsworth

THERE ARE BOOKS so thought-provoking that you interrupt your reading to get up and pace the floor, muttering to yourself. This book is one of them. On one level it has a familiar plot. The hero perceives a dangerous situation developing which nobody in authority will admit is a problem. He collects data. He consults experts but they will not accept the danger is real. Then finally his worst fears are realised: tragedy strikes. It makes a good story. Indeed this book may be filmed – I hope it is because the book’s warning would reach the wider audience that needs to ponder it. On a deeper level, the book addresses serious environmental issues, particularly the clash between advancing civilisation and a wilderness that folk mistakenly think is unchanging and should be preserved as it is. They love the idea of the Wild Wood next to the suburbs, not realising that the Wild Wood is changing too. Folk should remember that wilderness (in Old English) meant “the haunt of wild beasts”.

Boulder, Colorado, in the late 1980s, was a city of 82,000; 19th century pioneers had set down on this treeless plain surrounded by mountains. The foothills were rich in deer, the favourite prey of cougars (a.k.a. mountain lions). The pioneers and their descendants over the next century hunted the deer for food and sport and, encouraged by bounties, slaughtered cougars to extinction in the Boulder region. Meanwhile, the desert plain had been transformed into a green oasis by diverting Pacific-bound water from the Rockies eastward, and at least 300,000 trees had been planted. The foothills were greener than ever before (partly because naturally-occurring forest fires were curbed). Boulder’s liberal-minded citizens voted to tax themselves to buy up more and more land outside the city before developers or industry could get their hands on it, and created “wilderness” areas, complete with walking trails – and more trees.
This new “wilderness” provided better grazing conditions for deer than the forests on the foothills (where imported noxious weeds and too many trees left the deer hungry), so herds of deer moved into the new wilderness. They quickly discovered the joys of lawns, shrubs and flowers in the neighbouring suburbs. Citizens were ecstatic at the sight of Bambi in the back yard. Garden lovers who grumbled about lost petunias were angrily told to go live somewhere else. This was “Wilderness come to town”, folks. But not only the deer came visiting.

One day a suburban housewife found a cougar in her back garden. It even climbed on the back deck and peered in at her, displaying no fear of humans. She called the police with no result. Parks and Wild Life also did not want to know. Cougars simply followed deer. They never attacked humans and ran away at the sight of them. Cougars were now a protected species. If a few gradually returned there was no cause for alarm. This was the official line and Boulder’s citizens agreed. Even when Bambis turned up disembowelled in secluded suburban corners, even when cats started to disappear, the citizens were entrenched in their “wilderness” dream. Then it was dogs, and bereaved dog owners began to wonder when it would be a child.

All the while, a rather isolated figure, Michael Sanders, had been collecting data on Boulder-area cougars for a university scientist called Jim Halfpenny. Sanders was employed by Boulder to assist citizens with wildlife problems. Having previously studied grizzly bears and how continuous close contact with humans could dangerously change their behaviour patterns, he became concerned about the increasing incidence of cougar sightings. He was aware that some experts had calculated there might now be as many cougars in North America as in the days of Lewis and Clarke – and they were steadily moving east under population pressure. Sanders noted that deer near Boulder had changed their behaviour, feeding at midday in gardens instead of lying up in forests until evening. Cougars were apparently changing their crepuscular feeding habits to fit their prey. That meant that cougars were around when humans were around and when carnivores became habituated to humans they lost their fear of them – and recognised them as potential prey.

The preying on dogs was itself sinister. Cougars had been traditionally terrified of all dogs, presumably because of their fear of wolves. Modern cougars knew nothing of wolves, so dogs could no longer protect humans. Halfpenny shared Sander’s fears but neither could persuade countrywide scientists gathered at conferences, or Boulder authorities, or the State Wildlife Service, that the cougars were becoming dangerous. In the end, a young woman endured a very narrow escape (after being treed for hours by a cougar pair), and then an 18-year-old jogger was killed and eaten. Only then could the Boulder and Colorado authorities accept the reality of the danger – tragically too late.