Sequim elk in urban squeeze

SEQUIM, Clallam County — Nothing defines this sun-soaked Olympic Peninsula city quite like its herd of Roosevelt elk.

Visitors to the town of 4,700 pass welcome signs adorned with a steel elk sculpture and metal elk silhouettes. Elk sit atop street signs downtown. There are elk-crossing signals on the highway, elk-viewing signs on the roads, elk figurines in shops and giant elk statues advertising strip malls.

But in the past two years, elk in Sequim have become such a pain in the buck that the nearby Jamestown S'Klallam Tribe last month asked the state to consider moving the herd dozens of miles away. And city officials are considering making the same request.

As more and more retirees discover Sequim, the elk are being hemmed in by all the development. Rather than migrate through the city on the way to and from the moss-draped forests all around, the 1,000-pound beasts now hang around town all year, eating crops, tromping through gardens and city parks, and ignoring biologists who have tried firecrackers and gunfire to scare them away.

"There are lots of good elk groceries there," said Scott Chitwood, natural-resources director for the tribe. "There's a lack of predators. No cougars. No deep snow. And plenty to eat. Why would you leave?"

At the moment, 35 development projects are in the works in the area, including some 1,100 new homes — many along the migratory path elk use between the city and the mountains. And that development explosion has only just begun. City planners expect the human population to balloon to 28,000 in the next two decades.

Even the elk, some suspect, aren't oblivious to the problem.

"A state biologist last year watched an elk chewing through survey stakes at a new development," said Jeremy Sage, a biologist for the Point No Point Treaty Council, which includes the Jamestown S'Klallam. "It pulled up a stake, spit it out. Pulled up another, and spit it out.

"They're smart animals."

Herd size doubles

Named for President Theodore Roosevelt, who established the precursor to Olympic National Park, the creatures are fast, large and notoriously big eaters.

The Sequim herd once numbered in the 40s and spent much of its time in the hills south of Highway 101, a few miles from downtown, working its way through old clear-cuts, each elk consuming the weight of a small child in plants each day.

But in 1992, heavy snows drove them down from the hills, and the herd found its way across the highway to town. The herd has since doubled in size — and decided to stay.

"What they found was definitely to their liking," said Jack Smith, a regional manager for the state Department of Fish and Wildlife. The state and the tribes co-manage the herd.

Retirees have also found Sequim to their liking. It sits in a rain shadow in an idyllic setting along the Strait of Juan de Fuca and can have 300 days of sun a year. Now 65 percent of the human population is over age 60.

These days, the town is filled with construction workers, too. Wal-Mart and Home Depot recently arrived, and a second Costco store is on the way. A new 314-home subdivision can be seen from Burnt Hill, where deer wander through yards.

"The elk are just being squeezed out," Sage said. "The area where they can reside is getting smaller and smaller."

Appetite for cauliflower

Much of that remaining area is at the smorgasbord of Gary Smith's third-generation farm just east of town.

On his land tucked among the trees along Sequim Bay, Smith raises dairy cows and grows alfalfa and high-dollar crops such as cauliflower, which can cost him up to $7,000 an acre.

The elk have chewed up corn and alfalfa. In a two-week period last fall, elk mowed down two full acres of cauliflower.

"We pretty much see them every day now," Gary Smith said. "The deer just wander through, but the elk stomp everything, and eat it all down to the ground."

He has submitted damage claims to the state, to the tune of nearly $50,000. But such large amounts can take nearly a year to work through channels.

The state and Smith still allow some hunting, but with so much residential land nearby, that gets complicated in a hurry.

And when biologists shoo elk away during the day, they just come back at night. Gary Smith and Sage even recalled someone firing a warning with a shotgun over the head of a bull elk. It moved a few feet, then wouldn't budge.

"We seemed to have pretty much exhausted our options on harassment," Sage said.

In fact, the elk now give birth in and around farmers' fields.

"Most of us really enjoy this elk herd," said Patricia Kasovia-Schmitt, who sits on the Sequim City Council. "They're magnificent. But how long will they remain healthy if they can't migrate?"

The city passed its comprehensive growth plan 10 years ago, long before the development boom, she points out. Now it needs to find a way to deal with the effects of the growth.

But that is far from simple.

Last month the Jamestown S'Klallam Tribal Council recommended moving the herd 40 or 50 miles away. It doesn't know precisely where the elk would go.

The city is considering its options, Kasovia-Schmitt said. Some residents have suggested keeping the elk near Sequim as a tourist attraction and charging fees to view the herd.

And Jack Smith, with Fish and Wildlife, remains skeptical about relocation.

"You have to have a place to locate them to, and where is that? Nobody knows," he said.

"The overall issue is: Are these elk going to have a home in that area, or is all their habitat going to be used up by people?"

Craig Welch: 206-464-2093 or cwelch@seattletimes.com