Mason Adams:

Central Appalachia reintroduced the species to restore wildlife habitat—and help devastated economies. Here’s what happened next.

The camera wasn’t where it was supposed to be. Clad in chest waders and camouflage, Kyle Hill stepped into the pond, reached into the shallow water, and lifted it from the post where it had been mounted. “They got it pretty good,” he said.

A few hundred yards away were the culprits: Rocky Mountain elk, lurking at the interface between scrubby woods and sparse grassland. Overhead, patches of clouds moved briskly across a blue November sky in southwest Virginia. The sheared ground of this former strip mine was unnaturally flat and a sharp contrast to the crinkled mountain ridges of late-autumn brown that stood layer upon layer on the horizon. The animals were slowly fading into the pine and autumn olive, leaving just one who boldly remained in the open—a large bull with antlers reaching more than three feet from its head.

Hill is a senior environmental science major at the University of Virginia’s College at Wise. He was here with biology professor Wally Smith to study the impact of the elk in the area.

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