"Why, land's the only thing in the world worth working for,
worth fighting for, worth dying for, because it's the only
thing that lasts." --Gerald O'Hara, "Gone With the Wind"
Ted Turner has obviously taken his favorite line from his
favorite movie (which he owns) to heart.
The colorful, controversial media billionaire and
environmentalist now owns 1.7 million acres, mostly
ranchland, in the U.S. He owns more land than any other
individual in the U.S.
His 2,600-plus square miles would cover more than half the
state of Connecticut. And the buying, which began in earnest
13 years ago, isn't over. In the past year alone, Turner has
purchased roughly 320,000 acres in Kansas, Nebraska and
South Dakota.
Even if all 13 of his major Western holdings cost him $20
million apiece, and they didn't, that's $260 million spent.
Turner, the vice-chairman and largest shareholder of Time
Warner, is worth $7 to $10 billion on any given day,
depending on the stock's price.
Most of his holdings are ranches and farms in New Mexico,
Montana, Nebraska, Kansas, South Carolina, Florida and South
Dakota. Many acres are devoted to providing pasture for
Turner's expanding 23,600 head of bison, easily the largest
herd in the world.
About 4,900 bison roam the 113,000-acre Flying D Ranch near
Bozeman, Mont. Turner, 61, spends most of his summers at the
secluded and modest (by billionaire standards) log home
tucked into a hillside above a 14-acre man-made lake.
It was there that we had breakfast with Turner. Russ Miller,
the general manager of Turner's far-flung ranching
operations, met us early in the morning near the Flying D's
main gate to lead us in.
Long before we see Ted Turner, we hear him. As we stand in
the dining room, the unmistakable voice buzzes loudly from
an interior office and master suite, where the founder of
the CNN and TNT cable networks is on a business call.
Something about several hundred thousand dollars, then some
sharp profanity from Turner.
Miller smiles at us and suggests we wait out on the deck. No
problem. The deck affords a stunning view of the Spanish
Peaks to the south. Several hundred buffalo can be seen
moving in the distant pastures.
Listening to Turner at breakfast, then later on the deck,
it's apparent that his land acquisitions are about more than
just bison. He outlines a rough agenda to keep as much of
his land in a natural state where wildlife, as well as
bison, can thrive. His properties are rife with
experiments� �� ��often in conjunction with federal wildlife
officials� �� ��to help endangered species, such as black-footed
ferrets, Mexican gray wolves and red-cockaded woodpeckers.
Further, the Flying D and Bar None ranches in Montana have
been placed in conservation easements to forever prevent
their development.
[PAGEBREAK]
Turner says he has thought about bison since he acquired
buffalo-head nickels as a wildlife-obsessed little boy.
As an adult with some money, Turner did something about his
fantasies. "When I got my first piece of property in South
Carolina 20 years ago, I got three bison," Turner says. "A
bull and two cows. I daydreamed about having a thousand of
them� �� ��as far as the eye could see."
Now, because that dream has been checked off the list,
Turner has decided that bison might actually turn a profit.
He doesn't, of course, have to count on it.
"Bison may be more profitable than cattle right now, but so
were ostriches once," he says. "The market can collapse
anytime because it's an exotic specialty item."
Turner has hedged his bets by joining the North American
Bison Cooperative based in New Rockford, N.D.
"I think, overall, the perception of Ted among our 270
members is positive," says Dennis Sexhus, executive director
of the North American Bison Cooperative. "His presence is
good. It lends confidence to people that he chose to join
us."
Turner is sold on the cooperative idea, citing what producer
groups such as Ocean Spray cranberries have done.
"Before, bison were marketed without standards," says
Turner. "Producers were selling mature animals as prime that
were tough. For a restaurant to put bison on the menu, you
have to have a reliable source of supply and quality
standards like beef has," he says.
The transition from buffalo hobbyist to bison businessman
hasn't come without a learning curve.
Take fences, for instance. When he first bought the Flying D
in 1989, Turner had more than 250 miles of fencing torn out.
He had a utopian vision of bison and other animals roaming
in a fence-free, as-near-to-natural 90,000-acre setting as
possible.
Wrong.
What they found out was that bison, like cattle, tend to
overuse riparian areas near streams and ignore some upland
regions.
So some fencing came back, beginning in 1997. The 90,000
acres is now divided into five pastures.
Turner also has had to adjust his environmental sights in
terms of weed control. Pockets of the Flying D have been
overrun with leafy spurge, a scourge in the West.
"I'll be very candid about it," says Miller. "Most people
can't afford to do what we do with noxious weeds." The
annual budget for weed control on the Flying D alone (much
of it spent on the chemical Tordon) is more than $100,000.
"We are working with biological and research projects to
wean ourselves away from chemicals," Miller is quick to add.
"To (Turner's) credit, he spends a ton of money on weed
control," says John Youngberg, director of member relations
with the Montana Farm Bureau. He then adds, "You can be very
environmentally sensitive when you have an unlimited
pocketbook."
If their ability to spray as much as they do along
fencelines helps their neighbors, Miller is glad for it.
There was more than enough suspicion in the area to go
around when Turner bought the Flying D and brought in bison.
"I think our neighbors know what we are about now," says
Miller. Roland Moore runs cattle on his 4,000-acre Cold
Springs Ranch adjoining the Flying D. He says Turner
Enterprises has been a good neighbor. "I've had more cows on
Ted Turner's land than he's had bison on mine," says Moore.
"It was no big deal when I couldn't get some animals off his
property for a couple of days once. They were very good
about it."
Continued herd expansion means more land. "Right now we have
the capacity for close to 20,000 mother cows," Turner says.
"And we're still looking for large ranches that can be
efficient."
That was the case with the Z Bar Ranch, a 38,000-acre spread
in south-central Kansas along the Oklahoma border that
Turner bought last year.
Hutchinson realtor Doug Wildon, who handled the sale, says
he has nothing but praise for the professionalism of
Turner's operation. "They are good neighbors. They are
straight shooters. They aren't going to hurt anything, and
they aren't going to take property off the tax rolls," he
says.
Although ranch efficiency is important, it's clear that
Turner's primary interest is in trying to establish and
maintain natural wildlife in a sustainable ranching
operation.
Coming up a draw on the Flying D, Russ Miller pulls his
pickup to a halt when a herd of elk is spotted on a ridge
300 yards to our left. At least 20 animals are moving away
from us. Earlier, we had spotted an even larger group.
Most, but not all, of what the elk consume from pastures is
recouped through an annual hunt on the ranch. Thirty hunters
pay $10,000 apiece to spend a week trying to bag a bull
elk� �� ��no guarantees, just the opportunity.
Turner also allows an elk cow hunt on the ranch, through a
drawing of area residents, at no charge. As many as 1,750
hunters have participated annually.
That most of his properties will end up in trusts and
foundations and the fact that someone like Turner can outbid
full-time ranchers for land doesn't sit well with many
folks.
"My opinion, really, is that these easements are long-term
acquisitions by the government," says Pat Goggins, one of
the state's best known cattlemen, who has taken issue with
Turner on several occasions. "It may take 50 years� �� ��after his
family is gone� �� ��but eventually I believe that's what will
happen."
Turner shakes his head when he hears this kind of talk. "I
don't know why anybody in the ag business would be worried
about easements," he says.
"Basically, when you put easements on, you guarantee the
land will stay in agricultural practice. It's something you
do voluntarily."
As for the long-term future of the land, even Ted Turner
admits some helplessness. "It's hard to dictate what happens
100 years from now."
That's not to say he isn't trying.
Editors Note: Progressive Farmer magazine is part of
Southern Progress Corp., which is owned by Time Warner, Inc.