**Reframing Native Knowledge, Co-Managing Native Landscapes: Ethnographic Data and Tribal Engagement at Yosemite National Park**

#### **Rochelle Bloom and Douglas Deur \***

Department of Anthropology, Portland State University, Portland, OR 97207, USA<EMAIL_ADDRESS>**\*** Correspondence<EMAIL_ADDRESS>
Received: 25 August 2020; Accepted: 18 September 2020; Published: 22 September 2020

**Abstract:** Several Native American communities assert traditional ties to Yosemite Valley, and special connections to the exceptional landmarks and natural resources of Yosemite National Park. However, tribal claims relating to this highly visible park with its many competing constituencies—such as tribal assertions of traditional ties to particular landscapes or requests for access to certain plant gathering areas—often require supporting documentation from the written record. Addressing this need, academic researchers, the National Park Service and park-associated tribes collaborated in a multi-year effort to assemble a comprehensive ethnographic database containing most available written accounts of Native American land and resource use in Yosemite National Park. To date, the database includes over 13,000 searchable and georeferenced entries from historical accounts, archived ethnographic notebooks, tribal oral history transcripts and more. The Yosemite National Park Ethnographic Database represents a progressive tool for identifying culturally significant places and resources in Yosemite—a tool already being used by both cultural and natural resource managers within the National Park Service as well as tribal communities considering opportunities for future collaborative management of their traditional homelands within Yosemite National Park. We conclude that the organization of such data, including inherent ambiguities and contradictions, periodically updated with data provided by contemporary Tribal members, offers a rich, multivocal and dynamic representation of cultural traditions linked to specific park lands and resources. Indeed, some Yosemite tribal members celebrate the outcomes as revelatory, and as a partial antidote to their textual erasure from dispossessed lands. In practice however, as with any database, we find that this approach still risks ossifying data and reinforcing hegemonic discourses relating to cultural stasis, ethnographic objectivity and administrative power. By critically engaging these contradictions, we argue that one can still navigate pathways forward—bringing Native voices more meaningfully into the management of parks and other protected spaces, and providing a template useful at other parks for collaboration toward shared conservation goals.

**Keywords:** Yosemite National Park; ethnographic databases; ethnography; National Park Service; cultural resource management; tribal co-management; Southern Sierra Miwuk; Mono Lake Paiute

#### **1. Introduction**

Since the advent of national park creation, United States national parks have provided a globally influential template for the preservation of preeminent natural landscapes. Simultaneously, the U.S. experience with parks underscores fundamental inequities and contradictions that animated these early conservation efforts. Initially, park-boosters such as John D. Rockefeller, Jr. and Theodore Roosevelt supported early park development to set aside lands for their sublime scenic values and recreational potentials for America's leisure class—shaping the priorities and the policies of the early National Park Service [1]. Guided by a historically inaccurate concept of "wilderness" and treating large swathes of

the American landscape as terra nullius, the U.S. set aside keystone parks such as Yellowstone, Yosemite, Grand Canyon and Crater Lake—places long inhabited by Native peoples. Abruptly, these landscapes came to be managed by non-Native peoples like they were uninhabited wild spaces. These were "imagined wildernesses" [2], for they were "inhabited wildernesses" [3]. Nonetheless, federal policy shaped by this colonizing logic contributed to Native displacement, and in turn, Euro-American concepts of wilderness came, over time, to be manifest on the land.

While Native American archaeological sites might be treated as objects of touristic interest in the young National Park Service, as at Mesa Verde, the presence of living Native people was often perceived as an obstacle to national park goals. Indeed, some have suggested that the creation of U.S. national parks was an act of "ethnic cleansing"—a national project that removed people from the landscape, all the while eradicating the memory of their history within these unique places [4]. This phenomenon of physical and textual displacement has been documented among national parks globally [3,5] as well as in specific U.S. parks, with Yosemite National Park being an oft-cited example [2,6,7]. Such displacement of Native peoples from park lands has been said to disrupt human lives and longstanding anthropogenic ecologies within park lands, and to undermine the cultures of Native communities and the heritage of the American nation writ large [8,9]. In response, Native American tribes, as well as academic and administrative writers, have called for an effort to "restore a presence"—not only restoring a material presence of Native peoples and their traditional practices to park lands, but also restoring the knowledge, power and textual representation of Native peoples relating to dispossessed park lands [10]. Through the late 20th and early 21st centuries, this call has reflected not only broad ideological shifts in US public thought and governance, but increasingly practical necessities as well. For in recent decades, the U.S. National Park Service (NPS) has been transformed, becoming the lead agency legally responsible for implementation of several cornerstone federal laws protecting Indigenous cultural sites and the rights of Native people—from the protection of Native American graves, to the protection of "Traditional Cultural Properties" such as sacred sites as part of the National Register of Historic Places. With a retooled mission and a new sense of urgency, the agency has grappled with the meaning of this responsibility and has sought mechanisms to meet it.

Turning to Yosemite National Park, the written record makes it clear: despite 130 years of park management and the gradual removal of all Native residents, Native presence and Native imprints on the landscape endure at Yosemite [11–13]. Several Native American communities—descendants of the park's resident peoples—still assert traditional ties to Yosemite Valley and particular connections to its landmarks and natural resources. Traditional activities such as plant gathering continued in the park for generations after park creation, sometimes openly, but often clandestinely. In recent decades, park managers have demonstrated increasing interest in and recognition of the role that native peoples have had in shaping the landscape. This has been reflected in changing park interpretation, consultation and management efforts. Throughout the late 20th and early 21st centuries, Native American tribes have gained political leverage and attained important roles in influencing park policy. In this period, the NPS has hired a greater number of Native American staff, increased consultation with tribal governments, and explored opportunities for the collaborative management of certain parklands and resources with tribal partners [2] (pp. 16–17). Resource managers have begun incorporating Indigenous perspectives into research, recognizing connections to plants and landscape, and often seeking ways to achieve positive outcomes that achieve both scientific and cultural purposes.

While the tribes possess rich oral traditions of Yosemite, the written record of human activity has been understandably diffuse. Ironically, the written record is now in high demand. In this internationally visible park with its many mandates and constituencies, tribal claims to particular sacred places or plant gathering areas, for example, require substantiation from a written historical record to meet the terms for access set by federal laws and policies. The National Park Service has found itself with an awkward mandate to "restore a presence", including a textual presence, of peoples displaced by the park's creation.

Addressing the need to assemble a written record of Native presence, the authors, in collaboration with the National Park Service and park-associated tribes, directed a multi-year project to assemble a comprehensive ethnographic database containing available written accounts of Native American land and resource use in Yosemite National Park. This tool is already being used by cultural and natural resource managers within the National Park Service, as well as tribal communities, as they consider collaborative management of their traditional homelands within Yosemite National Park and the sharing of Native history with park visitors.

Initially, the NPS approved the development of the Yosemite Ethnographic Database to facilitate basic ethnographic research for park planning, and to identify significant cultural features and culturally significant natural resources that might be legally protected in the course of park planning. In time, however, park managers found less conventional applications for its use. The specific design of the database and the way the data has been organized makes it particularly appealing to natural resource managers who can readily access cultural information in a format familiar to them. The ease of access and newfound perception of cultural data as being approachable and "functional" has supported multidisciplinary research and collaboration and introduced natural resource staff to new perspectives on resources. While the database has proven useful, there are inherent dangers in forcing cultural data into a positivist framework. The database was originally designed as a tool for cultural resource employees with a background that would allow them to comprehend the data, in context; significant challenges arise when this database is used without regard to its context or complexity, and when subjective interpretations are accepted as objective truth.

Databases are at once powerful and increasingly popular tools to support the integration of Native voices, values and knowledge into park management, while being a significant threat to such efforts if used unadvisedly. Therefore, we offer our experiences developing, managing and sharing the Yosemite database as a potentially instructive reference point for other parks and protected lands —at once providing the database as a model, while also seeking to problematize the concept of database production generally. We do so recognizing that natural scientists increasingly seek to adopt ethnographic data in innovative ways, and that other national parks in the United States and beyond now seek to develop their own databases. In these efforts, Yosemite's experiences with both the opportunities and pitfalls of incorporating ethnographic data into park land and resource management prove informative.

Though the quantification of cultural data makes it more accessible to natural resource managers, promoting multidisciplinary studies and facilitating identification of sites for compliance projects, this approach risks ossifying data and reinforcing hegemonic discourses related to cultural stasis, ethnographic objectivity and administrative power.We conclude that contextualizing the data, including its inherent ambiguities and contradictions, by periodically updating it with data from contemporary Tribal members, offers a richer, more multivocal and dynamic representation of cultural traditions linked to specific park lands and resources. Indeed, we recommend employing the database only in conjunction with such a hermeneutic approach—especially in consideration of the weaknesses of other databases and issues within the specific cultural and historical context of Yosemite National Park. A more culturally relativistic and historically contextualized representation of cultural data serves as a partial antidote to the textual erasure of tribal communities from dispossessed lands. Herein, we will discuss both the general issues confronting the use of a positivist framework for using and interpreting cultural information, and will analyze specific issues inherent in such a methodology as it pertains to Yosemite National Park. By critically engaging these contradictions, one can navigate the complex path of bringing Native voices more meaningfully into the management of parks and other protected spaces while simultaneously enhancing opportunities for collaboration toward shared conservation goals. Specifically, the following discussion summarizes pitfalls inherent in adoption of cultural data without attention to nuance, as well as opportunities to incorporate data in useful and meaningful ways both to perform innovative conservation work and to build and foster relationships between resource managers and tribal communities.

#### **2. Materials and Methods**

Without a clear written record of their connections, however, tribes and tribal organizations often struggle to meet the legal standards to develop plant-gathering agreements, recover human remains unearthed by park development, and the like—not only at Yosemite, but at other national parks across the nation. Additionally, in the absence of clear mandates and funding sources, U.S. national parks have highly variegated systems for documenting information regarding Native American uses of lands and resources within parks. Most have maintained paper files in various stages of development, often scattered somewhat unpredictably between multiple offices relating to different aspects of Native-park relations; in more recent times, GIS databases and electronic files have taken shape.

In initial efforts to create databases, the NPS has developed a Cultural Resource Inventory System (CRIS) oriented more toward basic compliance and resource management needs. CRIS offers useful but perfunctory data for resource managers regarding the location and identity of specific identified sites. It contains technical data such as location, site condition and resource type. Separate subunits of the database include such basic information for archeological sites, specific built features in the cultural landscapes, ethnographic sites and historic structures [14]. Nuanced ethnographic information is a poor fit for the existing CRIS model and is poorly represented in this format. So too, academic databases such as the Human Resources Area Files (HRAF) provide database tools and models; the database tools and models are maintained by Yale University with contributions from a range of researchers, HRAF indexes and codes covering vast stores of ethnographic knowledge across over 400 cultures with the intention of supporting cross-cultural comparison and study [15]. NPS staff seldom access the HRAF system, however, as this database's general focus on cultures writ large, with few geographically specific details, seldom speaks to the specific needs of park managers.

In this context, within almost every national park, ethnographic data has been aggregated on an ad hoc basis. Certain specific projects, such as infrastructure development in a particular corner of the park, often drive the development of files relating to a particular topic or area within the park. Other topics or places remain unexamined—and, all too often, separate sets of files are spread between multiple offices with no clear way to identify or reconcile them. In this context, the basic CRIS database has been of little use. Anyone seeking to document tribal interests in a particular national park typically has to embark on a significant reconnaissance: moving from office to office within the National Park Service, seeking what information can be found in each, before identifying substantial data gaps that must be filled by recourse to collections outside of the park and to Native knowledge holders. Until recently, this was the case even at Yosemite—among the most visible flagship parks in the U.S. and the world.

Clearly, this situation has been less than ideal. The significance of lands within Yosemite National Park to certain Native American tribes and tribal organizations extends into the deep past and persists into the present. Many Native American communities have ancient and historic associations with landscape features, cultural sites and natural resources within the modern park boundaries. Importantly, these features remain highly significant to park-associated many tribal members to this day. Robust oral traditions demonstrate the enduring significance of traditional ceremonial and plant-gathering sites, of places that were venues for ancestors' activities such as former villages sites, and geographic features associated with precontact tribal oral tradition for example. These oral traditions demonstrate a degree of continuity in precontact activities, and enduring connections not only for entire tribes but for specific Native American families and individuals with direct ties to places within Yosemite. Today, Yosemite National Park recognizes these enduring connections, engaging in legally mandated consultation with seven "traditionally associated" tribes and tribal organizations: the Tuolumne Band of Me-Wuk Indians, the Bridgeport Indian Colony, the Bishop Paiute Tribe, the North Fork Rancheria of Mono Indians, the Picayune Rancheria of Chukchansi Indians, the Mono Lake Kutzadikaa and the Southern Sierra Miwuk Nation (a.k.a. the American Indian Council of Mariposa County). In this context, the absence of a single, coherent organization of ethnographic data has been a serious impediment to

tribal consultation, and to the engagement of tribal interests in the management, preservation and interpretation of places within Yosemite National Park.

This situation inspired the creation of the Yosemite Ethnographic Database, a comprehensive collection that provides easily accessible Yosemite-specific ethnographic data designed to address resource management and research needs. A combination of models inspired the Yosemite database. These include a Bureau of Ocean Energy Management (BOEM) database created in collaboration with the Makah Tribe, Confederated Tribes of Grand Ronde Community of Oregon and Yurok Tribe to address the potential effects of offshore energy development on culturally significant places [16,17]; and comprehensive ethnographic data compilation efforts undertaken by Douglas Deur, Fred York and others for certain Pacific-West regional parks. Deur and an architect of the BOEM database, Eirik Thorsgard, co-managed the initial development of the Yosemite ethnographic database, with much of the work of database design and construction being undertaken by Rochelle Bloom, Mary Feitz and other interns recruited with the support of the National Council for Preservation Education (NCPE). Shared with tribes and park managers alike, the Yosemite Ethnographic Database has brought new transparency to efforts at natural and cultural resource planning, added a potential tool for collaborative park-tribes interpretive and planning efforts, and potentially contributed to broader shifts in park-tribes relations.

The Yosemite Ethnographic Database is a particularly useful tool for conducting research into Native American uses of lands and resources in Yosemite National Park. A broad review of ethnographic and historical literatures facilitated its development, incorporating ethnographic notes and notebooks, tribal consultation records and other materials currently housed in park collections and other repositories. In compiling the database, researchers systematically reviewed written sources for references to lands and resources used, visited or identified by tribal members as significant in Yosemite Valley. From references gathered from over 575 sources, the database comprises over 13,000 entries. It includes data derived from historic reports, early historic accounts written by visitors to Yosemite, ethnographies, ethno-ecological studies, oral histories, historical and contemporary newspaper articles and more. The collected data relates either specifically to Yosemite National Park, to the immediate surrounding area, or represents general regional data related to tribes traditionally associated with the park. Significantly, it is a living database, meant to reflect the dynamic nature of tribal culture. Therefore, information is derived through tribal consultation, and new research is added regularly. The data is largely qualitative and stored in an Excel spreadsheet, with the intention of making it easy to use by a variety of people with differing levels of database and research experience. The database is intended for in-house use and not for global distribution, and though linked to particular landmarks, does not georeference its contents with precise geographical coordinates.

The database provides a wide range of searchable data including information on archeological, hydrological, botanical and other natural and cultural resources with traditional cultural significance to the American Indian tribes and groups traditionally associated with the Park. Some of the specific resource categories include culturally significant and utilized plant and animal species, plant gathering areas, traditional ecological knowledge (TEK) and management (TEM), landscape features described in oral traditions, village sites and other habitation areas, historical and ceremonial sites, bedrock mortars and other archaeological site features, burials and cremation sites and trails. While the database includes references to archaeological sites and material culture, it is not intended to be an archaeological database. These sites and items were included because of their enduring cultural importance to modern tribal communities. In fact, one of the many important functions of the database is to indicate to resource managers that such material sites should not solely be considered relics, but as loci of enduring meaning within living Native societies.

Among the most unique aspects of the database may be its suitability to the needs of the ethnographic data, rather than the reverse. Categories and sub-categories were amended and added to better reflect data collected, allowing inquirers to access it more accurately. As a result, various specific, as well as general, sub-categories were tailored to account for how ethnographic information is presented in the literature. A breakdown of the different sub-categories can be found in Table 1. The taxonomy for entering resource information involves a narrowing classification scheme: *Resource Type*→*Resource Subtype*→*Resource Name*→*Resource Component.* Entered into the database, an example of this might be: *Flora*→*Tree*→*Oak, Black*→*Acorn.* Table 2 summarizes the various resource types included in the database. Entries can be searched, filtered and sorted by any of the individual subcategories. Entries provide full quotations with relevant information and citations referencing source material. Table 3 provides a sample database entry to demonstrate how information derived from the text is organized into different fields.

**Table 1.** Excerpt from Ethnographic Database Metadata with Description of Field Content [18].

**Table 1.** *Cont.*

#### **Table 2.** Summary of Resource Types [18].

**Table 3.** Sample Entry in Database Demonstrating how Information Derived from the Text is Organized by Field.

**Table 2.** *Cont.*

**Table 3.** *Cont.*

The database also contains columns with checkboxes for the presence or absence of certain attributes, making it easy to filter results for specific topics of interest, or for types of information relevant to research and management decisions. This permits researchers to limit their queries to entries containing certain types of information, such as first-person accounts, traditional ecological knowledge (TEK), harvesting locations, oral traditions, maps or sensitive information necessitating differential access.

While the concept of an ethnographic database is certainly not new, the Yosemite Ethnographic Database offers a unique level of nuance and comprehensiveness for a specific study area. It performs a different function than most, bridging the divide between academia and applied anthropology. In contrast to earlier database development efforts, such as CRIS, the Yosemite Ethnographic Database gathers the majority of all available data on a specific study area and its associated people, organizes it, and makes the associated text searchable. Due to cultural sensitivity, access is limited according to security level, yet the database has applications for both research and compliance. It is intended for use by NPS cultural and natural resource staff, tribal communities and qualified researchers.

#### **3. Results**

#### *Current and Potential Uses for Resource Managers*

Originally developed for cultural resource staff, the Yosemite Ethnographic Database was intended for conventional and routinized uses of ethnographic data in a public land management context. For example, NPS staff have often used the database to assist in preliminary research to facilitate formal and informal discussions with Native American tribes and organizations regarding lands that may be affected by proposed agency activities. Database applications have included cultural affiliation studies, Traditional Cultural Property (TCP) studies and review of Section 106 undertakings for potential impacts to cultural sites. In addition to being useful to resource staff, the database proves useful in assisting park interpretive staff to locate ethnographic information toward the goal of educating park visitors. Interpretive research requests have included those related to Indigenous placenames for park landmarks, and information needed to contextualize online museum artifact descriptions.

The database has been useful in identifying landmarks within proposed areas that are known or likely to be of significance for contemporary tribal members. The types of information considered in these analyses are diverse. Oral tradition, combined with the archaeological record, provides insight into the distant past—a period undocumented in most post-contact historical and ethnographic literature. Then ethnographic data, mostly in the form of past ethnographic studies, have been useful in providing accounts of Native life at the time of Euro-American contact and in subsequent years. Additional information on the contact era and its aftermath comes from firsthand accounts of early settlers, park visitors and park employees dating from the late 19th century to the present. These perspectives within the database are then combined with consultations with contemporary tribal members, providing their recollections on life, traditions, and family associations within the park over

the past century. Finally, information derived from analyses of historical photographs and paintings depicting village sites and tribal members has augmented evidence for the identification of known or culturally important locations that would otherwise be less accessible.

It soon became evident that the format and usability of the database made it uniquely valuable for natural resource management and multidisciplinary research, beyond being useful for cultural resource management. The database presents a range of opportunities for assisting with protected area and species management, research and decision making; it has been used to incorporate Native perspectives on management of natural resources and entire natural landscapes, and not just resources conventionally designated as "cultural" such as archaeological sites. In part, this reflects the evolution of federal policy, such as National Register of Historic Places guidance on the protection of "ethnographic landscapes" and "traditional cultural properties. It is also a reflection of the growing academic and public appreciation that Native peoples hold the entirety of the landscape and associated species to be significant, while also possessing unique insights into their management.

Biologists and ecologists often wish to incorporate ethnographic information in their studies, as it provides them with a stream of evidence in support of their research, potentially providing insight into species and landscapes predating that provided by recorded scientific studies. Early ethnographic accounts of resource use, as well as descriptions of material culture, lend insight into the presence of, or access to, certain species historically. This has assisted with identification of historical species' presence within study areas, and of historical landscape conditions. Oral traditions have been used to identify both landscape features and animal and plant species that hold significance for associated tribal members. They also provide information on how landscapes and species were utilized and managed, and on cultural beliefs associated with them. The most prominent example of this in recent times is the incorporation of Indigenous information in the form of traditional ecological knowledge (TEK) for ecological restoration projects [8,9]. The ethnographic data within the database provides valuable insight into various techniques that Native resource managers employed to tend different species, as well as the seasonality of these activities.

As it has reframed cultural data in a positivist framework, the database represents the rigorous application of scientific methods to create an objective understanding of the past, thus making it appealing to natural resource managers. Because it more closely correlates with their own quantitative data, they can more easily incorporate this data into their projects. While obviously not a substitute for research or consultation, such tools are useful for facilitating research and aiding in accelerated acquisition of reference material before initiating consultation. It is therefore particularly useful for researchers unfamiliar with the available ethnographic material who would need several months, if not years, to search and synthesize, or even find data relevant to their projects. The database potentially provides researchers with information they might not know how to find, allowing them access to sources they might not otherwise encounter, thus allowing them to approach problems from a different perspective.

#### **4. Discussion**

#### *4.1. Caveats and Contradictions*

While the database represents the most comprehensive collection of available ethnographic data on Yosemite and has a wide range of applications for cultural and natural resource management, it is important to acknowledge the limitations of this research tool. The development and use of the ethnographic database are rooted in the tenets of positivism that dictate how anthropology can be used in a resource management framework. As is often the case when finding ways for culture to be "useful" within the positivist framework favored by the NPS and other government agencies, it is typically necessary to reframe qualitative and often intangible heritage to make it more readily understood within a Western scientific framework. The emphasis has been on practical applications, turning away from historical understandings of the past to create generalizations about human behavior [19]

(pp. 767–769); [20] (p. 408). By finding ways to make cultural data "quantifiable," it can therefore meet the needs of a compliance driven framework in which objective, scientific rules and generalizations can be formulated [21] (p. 20). This derives from the early days of the discipline when scientific rigor was needed to provide anthropology with legitimacy and acceptance by the wider scientific community.

Assumptions of the ethical neutrality and objectivity of such approaches are rooted in frequently unexamined empiricist paradigms, contributing to the belief that "data can speak without intervening theory" [19] (p. 773). Empiricism requires an unquestioning assumption of the similarity of different cultures and that contextualization and interpretation of data is not necessary. It does not account for the different ways cultures experience and interpret events; it tries to subsume them under a single perspective [21] (p. 19). It also assumes a collection of detached, objective data without the need for interpretation, failing to identify the bias necessarily injected by ethnographers in the construction of data [22] (p. 495); [21] (p. 19). This is particularly problematic when those biases are not explicitly identified and collected data is accepted uncritically.

However, empirical data, with all of its limitations, is more familiar to natural resource managers, and is thus more readily understood and adopted, allowing for incorporation of cultural data among a more diverse group of researchers and in multidisciplinary research. Resource managers tend to want unambiguous, quantifiable data with concrete boundaries that can easily be entered into GIS for mapping. Ambiguous and contradictory information, a hallmark of ethnographic research, does not fit neatly into the framework most Western scientists operate within.

While the database is useful for providing natural resource managers and compliance personnel with a quantitative version of cultural data that is more easily reconciled with the needs of a Western scientific framework, certain characteristics of ethnographic data must be considered and used in a proper manner. Unlike the natural sciences, which allow for unproblematic application of empirical observations, cultural information requires a hermeneutic approach. Though the material manifestations of cultural actions can be observed, social phenomenon are only meaningful through the interpretative lens of relevance to the associated community [22] (p. 495). Using cultural data in an uncontextualized manner ignores underlying contradictions, complexities, and ambiguities, and does not account for theoretical underpinnings. Additionally, disregarding differing perspectives and failing to identify bias results in the creation of false coherent narratives. With access to a tool like the Yosemite database, resource managers risk using only the information that easily "translates" into quantitative data, thus privileging those categories of ethnographic knowledge while ignoring less quantifiable, intangible information not readily engaged or validated by Western science. Complicating this further, even the notion that Indigenous information must be validated through the methods of Western science can be deeply offensive to Indigenous peoples.

The dangers of uncritical imposition of positivism on ethnographic data within certain databases, and the underlying assumptions inherently held by many who create and use such data, can be demonstrated in the criticism of the Human Relations Area Files (HRAF), mentioned earlier in this paper. Wax [21] (p. 19) specifically calls out the Human Relations Area Files (HRAF) as an example of the issues involved with forcing ethnographic data into a positivist framework, referring to it as the "positivistic project par excellence of cultural anthropology." Some of the criticisms are similar to what we have discussed. The HRAF assumes that ethnographers are capable of sufficient detachment to record data objectively, and that the cultures were static and atemporal, permitting creation of a universal system in which different cultural elements could be delineated and organized [21] (p. 19).

Rather than assuming the neutrality of the data, information must be approached critically, without making assumptions about accuracy or "authenticity." Cultural relativism is therefore necessary when considering how to apply ethnographic data, and it is then necessary to "translate" between cultures [19] (pp. 773–774). Particularly in sharing cultural information with personnel who specialize in the natural sciences, it is important to convey the necessity for critical interpretation of data and for rejecting unquestioning empiricism, or the tendency to force data into performing certain functions.

Listing ethnographic data in a database also raises the risk of ossifying it, thus treating it as the final word on resource significance. This may be particularly problematic when the database is employed by natural resource managers tempted to use Indigenous cultural information as they would use natural data. The discipline of anthropology has for generations confronted this tendency, which is rooted in racist assumptions. The issue is often manifested through assertions of the authenticity of only pre-contact traditions, privileging older ethnographic data over information shared by contemporary tribal members and giving the views and interpretations of Euro-American ethnographers primacy over those of tribal members.

It is therefore necessary to avoid reinforcing past prejudices by using ethnographic data in the manner in which one would use natural data. This practice often relates to the historical tendency to equate Native peoples with nature, as represented by the storage of their material culture in natural history museums, by extension imagining their culture as unchanging [20] (p. 187). Connotations of the "noble savage," depicting Indigenous peoples as a part of nature, unchanging and leaving no impact on the landscape, have long been a feature of the discourse at Yosemite [23] (p. 554); [24] (p. 146); [7] (p. 34). The racist view of Native peoples as inherently primitive and culturally static, denying their cultural dynamism, was particularly influential in the nineteenth century and survived into the mid-twentieth century. This belief that their technologies and cultures remained unchanged throughout prehistory allowed for easier ethnographic analogy and projection of interpretation into the distant past [20] (pp. 179, 189, 191). As such, it is important to note that the data recorded in the Ethnographic Database is not the final record of sites and resources significant for Traditionally Associated Tribal peoples. Significance is not static. Rather the database is meant to assist in contextualizing and supplementing information provided by tribal members in consultation, incorporating new data to provide a richer pool of information.

It is also necessary to recognize that this database, like any database concerned with organizing data for resource management, is a fundamentally Western tool of data management; it is first and foremost a research tool intended to facilitate resource management, as well as to support academic study and tribal cultural documentation within the park. While useful to Tribes to supplement their own research relating to traditional resource use, genealogical studies, federal recognition or other actions within a Western framework, it is not in any way meant to replicate or supplant Indigenous methods of knowledge transmission. The database primarily represents a method of packaging data in a way that makes it accessible to park resource managers and permits integration with bureaucratic and scientific management frameworks [25] (p. 10). This has necessarily involved distilling and conveying knowledge using language, epistemologies and methods of transmission through which it was never originally intended, separating it from its cultural context [26] (p. 5).

Certain characteristics are typically ascribed to Western science and Indigenous Knowledge in order to distinguish between the different epistemological frameworks: Western science tends to prioritize hierarchically categorized information that is quantitative, analytical, product-oriented and transmitted textually, while Indigenous Knowledge generally tends to organize information in contexts that are holistic, qualitative, intuitive, process-oriented and transmitted orally [25] (p. 9); [26] (pp. 75–76). In general, the method of transmitting knowledge is different in Western and Indigenous cultures. Western learning involves asking questions and obtaining information from written sources. In contrast, Indigenous learning is undertaken through participation and observation over long periods of time, and is typically transmitted through generations by way of oral tradition that places information in layered social, ecological, and historical contexts [27] (p. xxii); [26] (pp. 23, 33–36). The database takes a compartmentalized approach to organizing knowledge, permitting entries to be entered, filtered and sorted according to ever-narrowing categories of classificatory schemes. This compartmentalization is a key feature of Western frameworks [25] (pp. 5–7). This contrasts with the more holistic, integrated, "gestalt" way of knowing in Indigenous thought, in which different elements cannot be understood separated from the greater whole [27] (p. xxii). Also, while the database allows for new information to be recorded, it conveys written forms of oral traditions and other forms of knowledge that was

traditionally conveyed in oral form. This separates knowledge from the context which gives it meaning and translation from its original language can result in inaccuracy and the inability to articulate certain Indigenous concepts [28] (p. 4); [26] (pp. 69–75); [29] (p. 134). The contents of the database can therefore serve as touchstones, and as points of entry into Indigenous knowledge systems, but are scant representations of the larger whole. Native American representatives using such databases generally perceive both the limitations and the opportunities of such tools—which provide points of entry into discussions of traditional knowledge, rather than meaningfully replicating the vast and interdependent domains of Native knowledge relating to park lands.

Also, importantly, by virtue of being recorded in a government database, one must acknowledge that there is a risk that a database, with its tangibility and academic imprimatur, can become the authoritative reference rather than the original Traditional Knowledge holders [28] (p. 4); [30] (pp. 5–6). In some cases, databases invite the risk of displacing Native ways of knowing, and Native knowledge-holders. Underscoring this point, Stevenson [30] (p. 5) notes:

The most common practice is to take specific elements of [Traditional Knowledge] that are of interest to the conservation bureaucracy out of context and then insert them into the dominant framework of western scientific knowledge. This procedure almost always entails sanitizing and rendering [Traditional Knowledge] into a form that is palatable, recognizable, and usable to the dominant culture.

As such, byits very nature, this framework risks perpetuating unequal power dynamics and privileging Western knowledge and Western scientific reconceptualization of Indigenous Knowledge [25,28].

#### *4.2. The Context of Ethnographic Study at Yosemite*

While it is instructive to offer criticism of positivist frameworks for cultural data in the abstract, an in-depth analysis of the opportunities and constraints at Yosemite offers deeper nuance and insight. An overview of the complexity of Yosemite's cultural data, the park's early historical context and the biases impacting the recording of ethnographic data illustrate the necessity for caution when using the database. This overview entails a discussion aimed at demonstrating the limitations and dangers of selectively harvesting "useful" data that conforms to certain scientific characteristics without an understanding of the deeper context.

The Yosemite database contains early ethnographic data, including a significant amount collected in the mid-19th and early 20th centuries, beginning as soon as Euro-Americans entered Yosemite. Though some might assume the early date of cultural recording mean that are indicative of pre-contact conditions, it is dangerous to use accounts with unknown accuracy or potentially impacted by unknown historical events as direct analogies for the more distant past.

For example, Lafayette Bunnell, a doctor who in 1851 accompanied the Mariposa Battalion, authored the first account describing Yosemite Native lifeways, providing a useful firsthand account of the events and circumstances at contact [31]. In 1851, the Mariposa Battalion, a militia unit, was sent into Yosemite Valley to launch a campaign against its Native inhabitants, an effort representing the first official entry of Euro-Americans into the future park [32] (p. 26); [13] (p. 9); [33] (p. 25). While Bunnell's account included the Native names of geographic features he obtained from translators, the locations of Native trails and the identities of villages he observed on the valley floor, his perspective was much skewed by his role in military operations against the valley's inhabitants. As with many of the early, and even later, recorders of Native lifeways in Yosemite, Bunnell lacked the expertise to reliably comprehend the nuances of the culture he recorded. His lack of fluency in the relevant Native languages and overreliance on potentially untrustworthy translators compounded his shortcomings as a cultural interpreter.

Furthermore, tribal identity itself has long been a complex matter in the Yosemite region. Well before direct Euro-American contact, people from many tribal communities converged at Yosemite. Tribal peoples from east and west of Yosemite Valley—Paiutes, Miwok, Yokuts, Western Mono and

others—often gathered there, married, and shared other long-term economic, social, and kinship connections. With the advent of the Gold Rush and increasing Euro-American settlement of the surrounding region, the population and lifeways of Yosemite associated tribes were impacted—this long before the physical arrival of the newcomers participating in the Mariposa Battalion. Disease had accompanied the influx of Euro-Americans to the wider California region before the military incursion, spreading indirectly into the Yosemite area to decimate Native populations [34]. Major tribal shifts in the generations prior to 1851 are likely to have occurred. Indeed, as an ancient site of Native American settlement, Yosemite became a refuge for families displaced from other parts of California—the new families often integrated into preexisting villages and social networks within the valley [35] (p. 78); [7] (p. 31).

The official arrival of Euro-Americans to Yosemite Valley in the mid- to late nineteenth century further complicated matters, ushering in a period of violence, disease, and displacement of Native peoples throughout the region. In particular, after the entry of the Mariposa Battalion a series of events rapidly impacted and further disrupted the lifeways of Yosemite associated tribal communities—namely a series of violent altercations, some deadly [32] (p. 27); [36] (p. 503). In the early 1850s, attempts had been made to forcibly remove Yosemite's Native inhabitants to the newly created Fresno River reservation [32,33]. This proved unsuccessful, however, as the removed peoples quickly returned [32] (p. 27). But soon after the arrival of the Mariposa Battalion in 1851, Euro-American visitation and settlement flooded the Yosemite region, dramatically affecting Native life and the character of the valley. The latter half of the nineteenth century was thereafter marked by drastic reductions in Native populations, relocation, restrictions on gathering and traditional landscape management and many other changes to social, ceremonial and economic life [32] (p. 27). In 1864, Yosemite Valley was placed under the administration of the state park commission, and then established as a national park in 1890. In short order, further changes came to the people of the valley—especially restricting traditional mobility, access to certain locations, and traditional resource practices like gathering, hunting and landscape management [37] (p. 11); [38] (pp. 16–19); [39] (p. 2).

As subsistence and other cultural activities were relegated to the margins of ancestral lands, Native villages were soon displaced and consolidated into more restricted enclaves. Over the course of the 20th century, the NPS increasingly made residence in the valley contingent on tribal members' employment with the NPS or its concessionaires, with tribal members increasingly engaged in paid employment for collecting and cutting firewood, overseeing maintenance work, assisting in construction, working as interpreters of Native culture, and in other roles. Well into the 1990s, a small number of individuals continued to reside in the valley, allowed to stay by virtue of their status as NPS employees [13] (pp. 105, 111–113); [40] (p. 49); [41] (pp. 205–206).

For these and other reasons, elucidating Yosemite Native identity requires a nuanced approach —an approach obviated by the frequent oversimplifications and misrepresentations within the original ethnographic text. The concept of what constitutes a "Yosemite" Native person has been contested from contact to the present. As early as 1851, Lafayette Bunnell remarked upon the complex nature of Yosemite tribal identity, writing in *Discovery of the Yosemite* [31] (p. 199) that the "Yosemites were a composite band, collected from the disaffected of other bands in that part of California, and what is now Nevada." He further related that Major James Savage, who knew elements of local dialects, asserted that "the dialect in common use among them was nearly as much of a mixture as the components of the band itself, for he recognizes Pai-ute, Kah-we-ah and Oregon Indian words among them."

Early writers passing through Yosemite without this historical context conveyed much more simplistic views of tribal associations with the park, often referring generically to "Yosemite Indians," without attention to specific tribal designation. Alternatively, they simplistically assumed that all tribal peoples belonged to the Southern Sierra Miwok without further comment or clarification. Consequently, even in more recent times, NPS interpretation has continued to accentuate Southern Sierra Miwok in their public depictions of tribal history, with relatively little mention of other communities or the great

complexity of this history. A result of these developments and others has been a persistent uncertainty and debate regarding the identification of tribes historically linked to the park.

Notably, even the name "Yosemite" represents a mistranslation and misunderstanding of the Native people inhabiting the valley. Bunnell originally suggested naming the valley for the Native occupants, whom he understood to be called the "Yosemites." He, and some subsequent observers, later learned the tribe identified themselves as the "Ahwahnechee"; but by then it was too late. The incorrect name was already adopted [36] (pp. 503–504). A diverse set of explanations have been offered regarding what "Yosemite" actually denotes, with possible suggestions including "grizzly bear," "killer," "great hunter" or relating to tribal moieties [35] (p. 4); [42] (p. 59); [43] (p. 2). In general, however, sources agree it was not the name of the tribe.

As database entries are solely a review of available literature, they reflect the biases contained within original source materials. The database employs terminology used in the original sources and makes no assumptions about the accuracy of accounts. As a result, it contains oversimplifications of tribal identity and associations as well as racially insensitive language and stereotypes. Early writers ignored the complexity of both nineteenth and twentieth century tribal identity, erasing the significant presence of various tribes in the park and projecting simplistic understandings into the distant past. In particular, the park has faced accusations of underrepresenting Paiute and other connections to Yosemite Valley. Attempting to use the data to definitively and uncritically identify tribes can have potentially disastrous results. Particularly dangerous implications exist if data is misused to assert affiliation in a way that disenfranchises or misappropriates cultural traditions or connections, potentially erasing complex tribal identities and denying tribal communities rights or recognition based on biased readings of the material.

The information contained in the database also reflects gaps in the ethnographic record. Notably, the written record is incomplete regarding lands and resources of concern to Native American communities. Relevant to this discussion, Anderson [44] (pp. 112–115) details the limitations of ethnohistorical descriptions of California Indian plant species identification, which necessarily impact the available information within the database. Few of the early ethnographers and travelers who documented early resource use among Yosemite Native peoples were trained botanists or ecologists. As a result, much of the recorded information was incomplete, oversimplified, ignored or inaccurate. Early ethnographers often grouped plants together in generic categories since they were unable to identify species. Furthermore, many of these researchers undertook their field work at settlements instead of at traditional resource gathering or management sites and missed crucial details. They often relied upon remembered descriptions from interviews instead of first-hand observation. Another key issue with available plant data is that much of the field work was undertaken exclusively by men who failed, by interest or access, to obtain key information from female Native consultants on a wide range of topics associated with women's knowledge, from gendered social and ceremonial knowledge to the traditional procurement and use of plants.

The database is also especially weak in documenting perspectives of contemporary tribal members whose enduring attachments to Yosemite Valley are essential to understanding the significance of Yosemite Valley resources. In addition, facts that past generations of tribal members viewed as too sensitive to share, or that were simply difficult to convey across cultures, are often omitted from their accounts. Accordingly, available information tends to focus on material objects, underemphasizing intangible values and the deeper cultural importance and meaning of those objects to Native American people.

As a result of both the availability of information and the funding for the project, Yosemite Ethnographic Database materials are largely focused on Yosemite Valley at the expense of other parts of the park. A combination of factors—including accessibility, weather conditions and the absence of certain notable landmarks—mean that other park areas receive less visitation and, consequently, less written attention historically and today. The comparatively scant record of early cultural activity in more remote parts of the park compounds the skew of data toward tribes closely associated with the western portion of Yosemite.

Furthermore, the ambiguous, conflicting, dynamic, and holistic nature of cultural information does not conform well to a positivist framework. The identification of individual culturally significant lands and resources by consulting itemized entries in the database is inherently reductionist, and must be done advisedly. As Native American communities hold the entirety of Yosemite to be significant, a holistic review would typically indicate that no land or resource within the valley may be deemed culturally *insignificant*. By extension, tribal representatives may reasonably suggest through consultation that the entire valley be construed as one large, contiguous area of significance without differentiating between specific "contributing resources" therein. Again, it is critical to avoid the assumption that places or resources not identified as significant within the database, that the gaps in the maps of such places, are by definition "insignificant." Such matters require a broader understanding, aided by direct engagement with tribes through consultation.

It is also important to recognize the implicit ambiguity of most ethnographic site boundaries, particularly in attempting to assign them distinct spatial locations in a manner conforming to expectations of quantitative data. Many categories of ethnographic sites, including village areas, gathering sites and trails, did not possess distinct boundaries. Perimeters sometimes changed depending on environmental factors and seasonal conditions, differing habitation patterns, and personal preference. As a result, ethnographic villages tend to possess amorphous boundaries that do not necessarily represent the structural components of sites and material culture associated with them. While overlap may exist with archaeological sites, which do have definite boundaries, they are not necessarily the same. Reoccupation of certain desirable sites was inevitable in view of the long occupation history of the valley—especially when combined with the small size of the region and preference for areas with exposure to sunlight, flat ground and proximity to key resources. Additionally, the ethnographic sites listed in the database represent the names and locations as recorded in the late 19th and early 20th centuries, or within living memory of tribal consultants at the time, and do not necessarily represent their identity throughout antiquity.

Plant harvesting areas represent another site category that is difficult to quantify. Gathering patterns have been impacted by a variety of changes since Euro-American settlement and the ensuing creation of Yosemite National Park. Changes in hydrology, construction of park infrastructure, prohibition of traditional ecological management, proliferation of tourists and federal gathering restrictions have altered both the quantity and quality of plants, as well as the locations in which tribal members can gather. The desire to avoid tourists and heavily trafficked areas causes many tribal members to shift their gathering to margins of the valley where they face less scrutiny. This has sometimes meant shifting to less productive or less desirable areas. As such, when harvesting locations are identified within the database, the sites represent preferences of specific tribal members at a specific point in time. While useful for identifying species, personal attachment and cultural continuity, they do not infer static locations, delineated boundaries or the extent of all areas in which plant species are found and gathered. Notably, in past studies and consultation, tribal members were adamant that sites for plant gathering should not be mapped, suggesting that while patterns of plant gathering were intense throughout the valley historically, they must now be highly dynamic in response to changing vegetation conditions and the impacts of park infrastructure, management and visitation on gathering opportunities [45]. To identify and map specific sites in this context may constrain the geography of harvesting options and, by extension, undermine tribes' resource resiliency. Thus, tribal members have indicated that for purposes of plant gathering, the entire valley floor must be considered as one large and integrated whole. As such, in an effort to better reflect the cultural and historical realities of these sites, it is typically more appropriate to provide qualitative descriptions of site locations where necessary, demonstrating their amorphous and dynamic nature.

The use of information contained in oral traditions is also done advisedly. In many cases these were written and transmitted by early visitors to the park or early residents, such as hotelier and magazine owner James Hutchings, who sought to sensationalize the park and its Native inhabitants [46] (pp. 103–106); [47]. Oral traditions compiled by Hutchings and others [48–51] were often embellished and romanticized, incorporating fantastical elements that would appeal to Western readers. The reality is best exemplified by the response of Choko, Stephen Powers' Yosemite Native consultant, to such versions: "White man too much lie" [52] (p. 368). Furthermore, it is necessary to accept the necessarily ambiguous nature of oral traditions even when they are faithful retellings. By their nature, oral traditions are emblematic of the dynamic nature of culture. Rather than provide a static account, individual storytellers transmit cultural knowledge through the generations with changes that reflect the particular recounting. As such, while the core narrative might provide insight into species presence and management, geological changes, and historic events through creation stories and cautionary tales, direct analogy is inappropriate.

#### **5. Conclusions**

Since its inception in 2016, the Yosemite Ethnographic Database has proven to be one potentially useful way to "restore a presence" in national park settings [10]. The database permits specific queries about a variety of topics, such as: information on the identity and enduring significance of archeological sites, the use and significance of culturally significant flora and fauna on park lands, the significance of particular landscapes or places to tribes, specific ceremonial or oral traditions that explain the intangible value of the park and its places to tribes or the places and circumstances of historic events in the park involving Native communities.

With such information in hand, National Park Service managers are able to avoid development impacts on culturally significant sites, negotiate collaborative solutions for plant community management and envision interpretive opportunities with much enhanced speed and clarity. The framework of the database has allowed greater access to information and to an audience beyond National Park Service staff. Additionally, to the extent possible within the protocols for sensitive data, the database democratizes access to knowledge regarding the cultural significance of park lands—returning this knowledge to Native peoples and, at their discretion, a wider range of researchers and interested parties. With roughly 13,000 independent entries on numerous topics, the database brings into any park planning process an unprecedented level of cultural detail—a richness of data about tribal interests that would have been impossible in more conventional planning and tribal consultation efforts. Some tribal members, too, find the database to be an astonishingly useful tool, bringing the knowledge and perspectives of many elder consultants, assembled across the generations, to bear on particular topics in a way few living individuals could offer. Presently, a number of other NPS units in the western United States have requested that the team that constructed the Yosemite Ethnographic Database begin constructing similar databases for their parks as well.

While this approach to Native American historical and cultural data provides tribes and park managers with a powerful tool, it is a tool both unwieldy and potentially hazardous if used without attention to its limitations and sensitivities. Placing so much potentially sensitive cultural information in one place, where it can be immediately beheld and transmitted, is fundamentally problematic. In Yosemite's case, negotiations regarding who may hold or access the database is fraught with uncertainty and enduring distrust. Tribal communities express delight in receiving the database, but fear its diffusion, for example, into the hands of private promoters or potential looters of archaeological sites. In this respect, databases demand negotiated agreements as to restrictions to guide sharing and distribution of information. Prior to Yosemite's database construction, those with nefarious intent had to undertake extensive research, often in multiple collections with their own safeguards, and even the most motivated pillagers often were not successful. Today, they might gain access to a world of information with a few keystrokes. Formal agreements between parks and Native communities are required, and in the case of Yosemite, imminent, if all parties are to provide consent for long-term database development, use and sharing.

While much of the database is derived from publicly accessible materials, some of it is not. Therefore, the Yosemite database contains sensitive data, such as information regarding tribal religious practices and the locations of culturally significant sites. This information cannot be shared with the public, and in many instances perhaps might not be shared with park staffs who have not been granted explicit approval. It is therefore necessary to develop a system and protocol ensuring different levels of access and securing the data. At Yosemite, the data is encrypted and stored on a federal government network; access is limited to specific cultural resource personnel with accredited professional credentials who have been granted clearance. Yosemite tribal partners also have copies of the database. If natural resource managers wish to gain access, they may submit a request for use of a database version without sensitive information. Parks wishing to extrapolate from the Yosemite experience might consider this structure of multi-tier access; alternatively, parks can produce two-tier databases, with highly sensitive information not present in the version that is widely available.

For ease of access, a tool like the Yosemite database has forced a great deal of complex cultural information into a crudely positivist framework. The tool's ease of access therefore requires particular cautions. Certain agency contrivances, such as maintaining standing lists of "ethnographic resources" to be managed on public lands, are useful for compliance with federal laws, but are not an accurate representation of cultural realities. We find that agency database users, such as park resource managers, tend to perceive the items in the database as if they represent the sum total of all Native interests—the alpha and omega of what is of value and must be protected. They tend to focus on static objects of cultural interest—for example, landscapes, archaeological features and plant gathering areas—in curious isolation from the dynamic context of their significance, which is the complexly evolving realities of Native engagement and attachment with park lands. In worst case scenarios, databases can provide land managers with false confidence, and a plausible excuse for not directly engaging Native communities and forming relationships of mutual trust.

Indiscriminate use of the database also risks ossifying ethnocentric biases in the historical and ethnographic written record and privileging the past as recorded largely by Euro-Americans. Using terminology from original texts without interpretation, the database contains recorder bias, even racially insensitive terms, concepts, and stereotypes that cannot be accepted uncritically. In an attempt to address this, the Yosemite database contains a column that includes recorder's notes, allowing for a degree of clarification, though this too is often insufficient and potentially subject to bias. These risks are aggravated when such a tool is employed by an audience with little or no prior exposure to the topic of Native American cultural values and practice, many of whom are likely unaware of the existence of these epistemological problems, let alone of how to navigate them.

Any park or protected area that seeks to produce a database must consider these challenges, then, and develop enduring procedures and guidelines to accommodate Native knowledge and practice within the management and interpretation of park lands. While such tools are meant to simplify and synthesize data for the sake of intelligibility and accessibility, tribal members and anthropologists must be vigilant, contextualizing the data, highlighting its complications, contradictions, and nuances, and anticipating its misuse with proactive policies, procedures, and metadata. In some respects, then, tribes and anthropologists must simultaneously construct and problematize the database.

In doing so, it is necessary to critically examine and openly discuss the specific political, cultural, historical, and theoretical contexts that created the data within the database. The accessible written record is incomplete and does not represent the full extent of issues, values, and places of concern to Native American communities. In many cases, tribal members have deliberately chosen not to share information due to reasons of sensitivity. Moreover, tribal cultures, traditions and preferred locations are dynamic and certain practices, values and cultural geographies change over time. However, explaining these complications to park administrators requires a delicate balance. Contextualization, acknowledging the ambiguity and complexity of ethnographic data, may undermine park managers' trust and use of the database if not conveyed in terms that speak pragmatically to management tradeoffs. For example, simply resorting to academic explanations of the "crisis of representation" can (and has) undermined NPS use of ethnographic databases and ultimately undermined Native interests in park lands [53]. Conversely, utilizing a database as a tool that parallels broader ongoing conversations between park managers and Native American tribes, facilitated by anthropologists or other cultural resource specialists to provide context, has proven more effective than use of a database alone. A database does not obviate the practical and legal imperatives for direct tribal consultation. Furthermore, through direct engagements tribal members may make contextually appropriate decisions about what is proper to disclose, what is relevant, and what is inadmissible within the context of an ongoing exchange between park managers and park-associated tribes.

Responding to many of these concerns, the Yosemite database has been designed as a living record of cultural significance. It contains both historical and contemporary data and—funding and staffing permitting—continues to be updated with information emerging within ongoing tribal consultation, reflecting the dynamic values and guidance of park-associated tribal communities. Thus, when identifying plant harvesting locations, managers can account for the gradual transformation of those places in the context of climate change, emerging tourist pressures and dynamic tribal plant uses and needs. Indeed, tribal members at Yosemite have resisted mapping of such sites—not so much because of the sensitivity of the data, but because they express a concern that this will "lock them in" to particular gathering areas when the actual pattern of plant gathering has been highly dynamic and adaptive to changing environmental conditions, tourist pressures, and cultural preferences of Native peoples [45]. A place that was good for gathering when anthropologists arrived in the early 20th century, they note, might not be a suitable place for gathering today. In lieu of mapping sites, these tribal members suggest active engagement and ongoing data collection to protect plant gathering interests writ large—a goal achieved by maintaining the ethnographic database continuously over time and allowing the contents to evolve as the cultures and landscapes also evolve. If park staffs collaborate with tribes actively, reviewing database protocols and outcomes together, such databases and their use can be improved over time—eliminating such sources of error and continuously calibrating these tools to fit the cultural, legal and ecological realities of protected lands.

By sincerely seeking to engage Native communities, and by maintaining a pragmatic view of ethnographic data—duly balancing respect for and critique of that data—parks may develop databases with confidence. While recognizing that Native communities as well as landscapes change even as certain relationships endure, databases can be constructed as living documents continuing to evolve over time. Certainly, forcing the particulars of very long-term human relationships with park landscapes into a crude positivist framework is a fraught exercise. Nuances are surely lost in translation, facts become ossified and sensitive information is aggregated in ways laden with both threat and opportunity. Conversations between park managers and tribal representatives therefore must be direct and ongoing regarding places and resources of significance, their meanings, their importance within Native societies and the right ways to document and share this information within and between organizations. Approached in this way, the Yosemite Ethnographic Database has begun to demonstrate the potential for innovative uses of ethnographic data in resource management. While not comprehensive, it encompasses a vast amount of information, allowing for ongoing efforts to incorporate Native values and needs into park planning. The accessibility of the data has facilitated multidisciplinary conservation and restoration undertakings, promoting meaningful collaborations between park resource managers and tribal communities. Critically, the database places tribal interests in a much richer historical and cultural context. It can be used to address longstanding grievances and to meaningfully build long-term relationships between park staffs and Native peoples. Developed as a collaborative tool, the database now helps bring a much enhanced understanding of the significance of Yosemite's resources and landscape to management and conservation efforts—for the benefit of future generations, Native and non-Native alike.

**Author Contributions:** R.B. and D.D. conceptualized and designed the study and both contributed to designing the database. Both authors analyzed the data and wrote the paper. Both authors have read and agreed to the published version of the manuscript. All authors have read and agreed to the published version of the manuscript.

**Funding:** This research was funded by the USDI National Park Service through Cooperative Ecosystem Studies Unit agreements with PSU under Cooperative Agreement H8W07110001.

**Acknowledgments:** We would like to express our gratitude for the time and assistance of the many park staff, tribal partners and others who made this research possible: Mary Feitz, Kristin Herrick and Katie Donlan; Eirik Thorsgard and Scott Carpenter; Tricia Gates Brown; Jason Lyon and four anonymous reviewers; the Tuolumne Band of Me-Wuk Indians, the Bridgeport Indian Colony, the Bishop Paiute Tribe, the North Fork Rancheria of Mono Indians, the Picayune Rancheria of Chukchansi Indians, the Mono Lake Kutzadikaa and the Southern Sierra Miwuk Nation (a.k.a. the American Indian Council of Mariposa County) for their participation in the original research.

**Conflicts of Interest:** The authors declare no conflict of interest.

#### **References and Notes**

© 2020 by the authors. Licensee MDPI, Basel, Switzerland. This article is an open access article distributed under the terms and conditions of the Creative Commons Attribution (CC BY) license (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/).

*Article*

## **Accessing Local Tacit Knowledge as a Means of Knowledge Co-Production for E**ff**ective Wildlife Corridor Planning in the Chignecto Isthmus, Canada**

#### **Jessica L. Needham \*, Karen F. Beazley and Victoria P. Papuga**

School for Resource and Environmental Studies, Dalhousie University, P.O. Box 15000,

Received: 30 July 2020; Accepted: 15 September 2020; Published: 20 September 2020

Halifax, NS B3H 4R2, Canada<EMAIL_ADDRESS>(K.F.B<EMAIL_ADDRESS>(V.P.P.)

**\*** Correspondence<EMAIL_ADDRESS>Tel.: +1-(705)-344-5509

**Abstract:** Inclusive knowledge systems that engage local perspectives and social and natural sciences are difficult to generate and infuse into decision-making processes but are critical for conservation planning. This paper explores local tacit knowledge application to identify wildlife locations, movement patterns and heightened opportunities and barriers for connectivity conservation planning in a critical linkage area known as the Chignecto Isthmus in the eastern Canadian provinces of Nova Scotia and New Brunswick. Thirty-four local hunters, loggers, farmers and others with strong tacit knowledge of wildlife and the land participated in individual interviews and group workshops, both of which engaged participatory mapping. Individuals' data were digitised, analysed and compiled into thematic series of maps, which were refined through participatory, consensus-based workshops. Locations of key populations and movement patterns for several species were delineated, predominantly for terrestrial mammals and migratory birds. When comparing local tacit-knowledge-based maps with those derived from formal-natural-science models, key differences and strong overlap were apparent. Local participants provided rich explanatory and complementary data. Their engagement in the process fostered knowledge transfer within the group and increased confidence in their experiential knowledge and its value for decision making. Benefits derived from our study for conservation planning in the region include enhanced spatial data on key locations of wildlife populations and movement pathways and local insights into wildlife changes over time. Identified contributing factors primarily relate to habitat degradation and fragmentation from human activities (i.e., land use and cover changes caused by roads and forestry practices), thereby supporting the need for conservation measures. The generated knowledge is important for consideration in local planning initiatives; it addresses gaps in existing formal-science data and validates or ground truths the outputs of existing computer-based models of wildlife habitat and movement pathways within the context of the complex social-ecological systems of the place and local people. Critically, awareness of the need for conservation and the value of the participants' shared knowledge has been enhanced, with potential influence in fostering local engagement in wildlife conservation and other planning initiatives. Consistent with other studies, engagement of local people and their tacit knowledge was found to (i) provide important insights, knowledge translation, and dissemination to complement formal, natural science, (ii) help build a more inclusive knowledge system grounded in the people and place, and (iii) lend support to conservation action for connectivity planning and human-wildlife co-existence. More broadly, our methods demonstrate an effective approach for representing differences and consensus among participants' spatial indications of wildlife and habitat as a means of co-producing knowledge in participatory mapping for conservation planning.

**Keywords:** local tacit experiential knowledge; participatory mapping; conservation planning; connectivity conservation; wildlife movement pathways; ecological corridors

#### **1. Introduction**

Connected systems of effectively protected and conserved areas are considered critical to addressing both biodiversity and climate crises [1–5]. Ecological connectivity allows for genetic flow and is imperative to maintaining natural ecosystem processes [6,7]. Discontinuous and fragmented habitat can restrict the movement of wildlife and gene flow with adverse effects on populations and the persistence of species [8,9]. Connectivity facilitates genetic exchange among subpopulations [10–13] helping to maintain genetic diversity and metapopulation viability [14,15], which support species resilience to changes such as disease and climate [16–19].  As temperatures rise, connectivity can enhance the ability of species to move in response to range shifts by utilizing ecological corridors [19–22].

Given the importance of connectivity, and on-going threats to it, conservation measures are warranted to maintain and restore key ecological corridors [2,5,23]. With competing demands on a limited land base, however, any plans for additional protected or conserved areas need to be grounded in rigorous evidence and supported by local people [24–27]. Conservation issues are multi-faceted and involve complex social and natural systems that require both the natural and social sciences to solve [28]. For effective conservation decision-making processes to occur, there must be a mobilization of diverse forms of knowledge and ways of knowing. Knowledge systems that combine social and natural sciences, including local perspectives, are often difficult to generate and mobilize [29–33]. Yet, the importance of local and inclusive knowledge in conservation planning is increasingly recognized [34–36].

This paper accesses and generates local tacit knowledge of wildlife locations, movement patterns and landscape features that represent opportunities and barriers for connectivity conservation planning. The study area is the Chignecto Isthmus, a primarily rural region that serves a critical landscape linkage function in the eastern Canadian provinces of Nova Scotia (NS) and New Brunswick (NB). While the local findings and outcomes are important in their own right, the work contributes to the growing body of conservation planning literature that demonstrates the value and utility of local tacit knowledge as complementary, accurate information for decision making in diverse contexts. The generation of local experiential knowledge in study regions where formal-natural-science data and resources are sparse may represent a particularly important source of relevant data to address data gaps, validate or ground truth modeling studies, and weave in important social and ecological knowledge particular to the place and people. Even in areas where formal-science data are available, the engagement of local people and their tacit knowledge is important to opening up research to different ways of knowing, breaking down western-scientific notions of science and whose information counts. At the same time, inclusion in the research process may increase awareness and potentially mobilize locally influential participants to engage in associated planning and management initiatives. In our case, the research process may foster consideration of wildlife and key wildlife movement pathways in government efforts to identify engineering solutions to protect infrastructure from sea-level rise and engagement in on-going collaborative wildlife conservation initiatives in the Chignecto Isthmus.

The Chignecto Isthmus is a narrow strip of land (currently ~25 km in width, ~19 km as dry land) that connects NS and southeastern NB to the rest of mainland North America. It is threatened by sea-level rise [37–39], storm surges and flooding [40], along with increasing human developments such as roads, railways, and energy and communication infrastructure [41,42]. Effective mechanisms to conserve wildlife movement patterns are critical to biodiversity conservation and climate resilience and adaptation for species in this region. Although previous conservation planning studies have identified the region as of critical importance to species at risk and broader ecological connectivity [43–45] there have been relatively few empirical and spatial analyses. Most assessments of wildlife habitat and connectivity have been based on computer-based models [46–48], often at larger provincial and eco-regional scales [43–45]. In their 2005 study, Macdonald & Clowater noted that scientific knowledge of local species distribution in the region is lacking, making it difficult to assess habitat connectivity [46]. This situation remains at present. Wildlife monitoring and management by provincial government

agencies is not coordinated across NS and NB and the empirical wildlife data that do exist remain provincially specific and not readily accessible or compatible for application across the Chignecto Isthmus region [46]. Recent predictive modelling by the Nature Conservancy of Canada (NCC) has identified high-probability wildlife movement pathways between protected areas in the region, with the recognized need for model verification and more detailed assessment of identified 'pinch points' to assist in future land management and conservation in the region [47,48]. Some model validation has occurred through roadside surveys of wildlife roadkill [49,50]. Capacity for wildlife research is limited in the area, with a lack of financial and other resources for field studies across the entire region.

To date, regional efforts to mobilize knowledge have largely focused on natural science and nature conservation, rather than on local tacit experience and perceptions. Yet, local forms of knowledge and ways of knowing are as important as those generated through formal natural sciences and models. It is likely that there is a strong base of knowledge of the land and wildlife in the region, given long-standing traditions, livelihoods, and pastimes associated with living off the land, seasonal hunting, trapping, and fishing in the area, and other natural resource uses. Indigenous peoples—the Mi'kmaq—have lived here, in their ancestral and unceded territory—Mi'kma'ki, for 15,000 years and Euro-American settlements began in the 1600s.

Realizing that human factors have been largely neglected in conservation science [51–56], our work aims to enhance the generation and use of local tacit knowledge for connectivity-conservation planning and broader norms of human-wildlife co-existence in the Chignecto Isthmus. More specifically, our study seeks to address data gaps and limitations by engaging in participatory research with local knowledgeable people as a means of garnering important insights on wildlife habitat locations and movement patterns that are likely not adequately represented in the existing empirical and spatial data. At the same time, we hope to enhance the participants' support and engagement in conservation planning initiatives. In doing so, we aim to contribute to a more inclusive knowledge system and capacity base for potential infusion of local knowledge into conservation and other land planning initiatives in the region. Beyond the study area, our research contributes to the growing body of literature related to conservation planning, particularly for wildlife connectivity and the use of public participatory geographic information systems (PPGIS).

#### *1.1. The Chignecto Isthmus in Context*

The Chignecto Isthmus is a unique study region as it plays a critical role in landscape connectivity [43–46] (Figure 1). Recognized nationally and internationally as a high priority corridor, both for wildlife movements and linear human infrastructure such as roads, railways and energy pipelines, this region is key to maintaining connectivity between NS, southeastern NB and continental North America [48,57,58]. Its ecological importance is recognized through designation as one of Canada's 15 Community-Nominated Priority Places1 [59]. Enhanced local awareness of its role in species' population persistence has been raised through NCC's 'Moose Sex' project [60,61]. Several challenges emerge, however, in understanding, maintaining, and restoring connectivity for wildlife and other ecological processes through this narrow region, particularly in the context of complex networks of roads and other human infrastructure. Bounded by the Northumberland Strait and the Bay of Fundy, the Isthmus is fragmented by seven two-lane roads that transect the region [46,50] and the Trans-Canada Highway and Canadian National Railway that transverse the region [42,62].

<sup>1</sup> NS and NB—'A community of practice to protect and recover species at risk on the Chignecto Isthmus': Nature Conservancy of Canada and partners (e.g., Birds Canada, Community Forests International, Fort Folly Habitat Recovery Program, Confederacy of Mainland Mi'kmaq-Mi'kmaw Conservation Group) aim 'to build and strengthen community relationships, develop a conservation plan, build public awareness and deliver programs benefiting species at risk. The project will benefit 20 listed species at risk ... and 20 additional species of concern. It will occur in the Chignecto Isthmus region of both Nova Scotia and New Brunswick, covering 739,596 hectares.' [59].

**Figure 1.** The Chignecto Isthmus Region in NS and NB, Canada. The region is delineated as a level 2 watershed [48]. Protected areas are from the Canadian Protected and Conserved Areas Database [63] for terrestrial protected areas and other effective area-based conservation measures, compiled by Environment and Climate Change Canada.

Sea-level rise [38,39], storm surges, and flooding [40,64] threaten terrestrial connectivity across the Isthmus, compounded by habitat loss and fragmentation [41,42]. Drivers include urban and rural development; transportation, energy and communications infrastructure; forestry and agricultural activities; and climate change [46,58,65]. At times, historically and during the Saxby Gale in 1869 [66,67], the Isthmus has been inundated with waters from the Bay of Fundy [37,68]. Storm surges funnel up the Bay of Fundy—a dynamic marine system with the highest recorded tides in the world (16.3 m)—culminating in the Chignecto Bay [69–71]. The elevation of the entire region is less than 90 m above sea level and is dominated in the southern region by low-lying salt marshes, wetlands, and bogs [46]. Beginning with French Acadian settlement in the late 1600s, large areas of salt marsh were transformed into dykelands for agricultural use [69,72]. The northern portion of the region is at higher elevation and relatively better drained, supporting mixed forests [46]. Higher elevations also occur towards the Northumberland Strait, rated by Canada's Climate Change Impacts and Adaptation Program as of 'medium' sensitivity to sea-level rise compared to areas of 'high' sensitivity in the Isthmus' southern portion [58].

Projected sea-level rise2, extreme weather events and storm surges threaten to breach the dykes, flooding parts of the Isthmus including the towns of Sackville, NB and Amherst, NS [38–41,73]. Over the past two centuries, major storm events have breached the dykes and caused extensive flooding around the perimeter of the Bay of Fundy [73]. Flooding threatens the Trans-Canada Highway and

<sup>2</sup> An average measure from tide gauge records at Saint John, NB, estimates sea-level rise as 22 cm over the past century in the Bay of Fundy. This suggests that the current level is approximately 32 cm higher that at the time of the Saxby Gale when a storm surge breached the dykes, causing flooding that temporarily severed NS from NB [73] (p. 9). Historic trends and modelled projections show that even in the absence of climate change an increase in tidal high water in the order of 0.3 m can be expected in the Bay of Fundy over the next century. Combined with the influence of climate change, "high water in the Bay of Fundy is predicted to rise on the order of 0.5 m over the next 50 years, and on the order of 1 m by the end of the century" [71] (p. 274).

the Canadian National Railway, which move an estimated 50 million CAD per day in trade [58], potentially causing detrimental economic impacts [74]. As climate change adaptations become necessary, human infrastructural demands could put increased adverse pressures on wildlife habitat across a narrow five-kilometer-wide strip of higher elevation land at the NS-NB border [48]. Further fragmentation of habitat would restrict the movement of wildlife, with negative consequences for the persistence of populations of wide-ranging, sensitive and vulnerable species [8]. Alternatively, carefully planned adaptation measures could potentially provide opportunities to mitigate barriers and pinch points to wildlife movements. Conserving connectivity would facilitate geneflow between subpopulations of species, helping to maintain genetic diversity and species resilience in response to climate and other changes [8].

NCC's recent predictive modelling [48] of high-probability wildlife movement pathways in the region may serve to identify priority areas for conserving connectivity. They modelled habitat suitability and least-cost paths for 15 terrestrial species selected to capture a range of territory sizes and habitat requirements3. Their analyses identified routes predicted to require the least energetic cost, providing the lowest risk to mortality, thereby minimizing risks to movements among habitat patches between five protected areas in NS and NB. The predictive modelling of potential corridors and pinch points has provided key information for future land management and conservation in the region [48]. Subsequent roadside surveys and roadkill hotspot analyses have helped to validate some of the model outputs [49,50]. Yet, further validation and consideration of areas outside of modeled and field-surveyed sites are warranted.

At the same time, there are increasing pressures to protect human infrastructure in the Chignecto Isthmus from impacts of climate change. In January 2020, the Province of NB sought professional assistance to explore climate mitigation solutions for the transportation corridor [75]. An engineering firm is leading, with the Provinces of NB and NS and the federal government, a 700,000 CAD feasibility study, with the aim to design engineering adaptations that are resilient to climate change and protect the trade corridor by preserving roads, dikes and infrastructure [76]. A previous cost–benefit analysis of adaptation measures to mitigate the impacts of sea-level rise and storm surges included scenarios of reinforcing and raising dikes and barricades, building new dykes further inland, and relocating and re-routing current transportation routes [77]. The need to 'engineer' new 'solutions' provides a potential opportunity to infuse an ecological lens into the mix, such as by considering opportunities for maintaining wildlife connectivity. It is imperative to identify and accommodate critical areas of ecological significance, especially if there is the need to relocate infrastructure and mitigations that could impact wildlife, positively or negatively. Critical areas should include pathways that are important to wildlife, as the Isthmus plays an essential role in not only trade and transportation but wildlife connectivity between the provinces. Successful implementation of any such conservation solution or initiative, however, will require political support, including engagement and buy-in by local communities.

#### *1.2. Conservation Planning and Local Knowledge*

Over the past 20 years, there has been a shift in the way science has been used in conservation planning [24,25], recognizing the importance of considering social factors along with ecological ones [78]. The social and natural sciences are now seen as complementary, with the challenges now being how to bring them together without privileging one over the other and how to infuse them into conservation planning and practice [34,78,79]. As such, conservation planning has begun to draw on transdisciplinary approaches from human geography, social-ecological systems, PPGIS and others. Such concepts are

<sup>3</sup> The 15 focal species in NCC's Chignecto Isthmus connectivity analysis are moose, black bear, red fox, bobcat, snowshoe hare, fisher, northern flying squirrel, Barred Owl, Northern Goshawk, Pileated Woodpecker, Yellow Warbler, Brown Creeper, Ruffed Grouse, Boreal Chickadee and Blackburnian Warbler [48].

commonly applied in mapping and modeling studies of human-environment relationships, such as spatial patterns of land use and land cover [79]. Core principals are that conservation efforts ought to be systems oriented and cognizant of dynamic social-ecological interconnections between humans, culture, wildlife and ecosystems that are influenced by broad scale political, economic and biogeochemical conditions [28,34,80–82]. Ideally, both society's and science's perceptions of conservation issues should be collaboratively considered [28,83–85]. As such, conservation planning is challenged to apply innovative models through engagement of diverse communities, facilitate co-learning about conservation and derive solutions through the co-development of knowledge and practice [79,86,87]. Accordingly, there is a growing interest in engaging local people and diverse forms of knowledge to help interpret, frame, verify4 and otherwise complement knowledge gained through formal-natural-science methods, including addressing its gaps and limitations [88–90].

There is ongoing debate about the use of the term 'integration', referring to the inclusion of both local knowledge and scientific knowledge within environmental management [91], with important relevance for conservation planning. While the value of including local knowledge has been acknowledged, studies focused on knowledge 'integration' can struggle with considering which forms of knowledge are being privileged, sometime favouring scientific over local knowledge [56]. Differing epistemological beliefs about what and how things are known may constrain researchers' abilities to engage fairly with the process of integration [56,91]. Challenges may also arise with distrust among researchers and local knowledge holders and through institutional power dynamics and privilege [55,56]. Such issues are inherent in attempts to 'validate' local or traditional knowledge with science. The desire to validate can derogate the legitimacy of local tacit and experiential knowledge, especially when the forms of knowledge and ways of knowing derive from fundamentally different epistemological systems, such as with traditional and scientific knowledge [92,93]. To acknowledge and address these challenges and barriers, conservation planning approaches are needed that facilitate the co-production of knowledge, engage more inclusive knowledge systems, and represent different forms of knowledge.

Connectivity conservation is a subset of conservation planning in which inclusive and collaborative efforts are particularly necessary, as it aims to address the conservation of public and private lands and Indigenous territories between protected areas [5,94–96]. The broader landscape is often highly contested space, with multiple demands and claims over a limited land base. Nonetheless, it is important to maintain and restore connectivity across human-dominated landscapes because habitat fragmentation is a key cause of wildlife decline [5]. Linear human developments such as roads are increasingly recognized as predominant impediments to habitat connectivity [97–101]. Yet, there are few studies that address wildlife and linear development patterns at broad-regional scales, despites calls for such attention [102–105]. There is also growing recognition that, particularly in coastal areas, responses to sea-level rise will require adaptation measures such as relocations of linear and other infrastructure from low-lying areas to higher elevations, with potential risks of further incursions into wildlife habitat and disruptions to wildlife movement patterns with implications for population persistence. In order to protect and maintain ecological connectivity, appropriate conservation planning strategies must be developed at local, regional, and national scales underpinned by an understanding of species distribution, barriers to movement and threats to their persistence, consideration of complex social-ecological contexts, and broad support of local people.

Given the challenges inherent to considering multiple, diverse layers of natural and social information and landscape spatial patterns in conservation planning, computer-based GIS are often

<sup>4</sup> Terms such as 'validate' and 'verify' can be contentious when talking about bringing together formal science and local tacit knowledge. Such words can imply a privileging of one form of knowledge over the other in terms of veracity, value, etc. What we mean by 'verify' is a form of 'ground truthing' based on local experiential and tacit knowledge, to identify areas of agreement and disagreement, which may then be further explored. In light of such concerns, we at times use 'verify' and at others 'ground truth', although we have not done ground checks in the field.

used to facilitate data compilation and analyses [80,106]. The mapped outputs of such analyses are powerful tools for communication and decision support, yet they are strongly influenced by the choices of input data and the rules around interpreting it, such as in setting goals and targets for conservation modelling. These technologies, data sets and decisions about objectives and rule setting have been dominated by formal-natural sciences. To make these systems more inclusive and transparent, PPGIS approaches have been developed [107]. While helping to democratize the planning process and enrich the data, questions remain as to how best to reach consensus and how to accommodate and incorporate differences in knowledge and values [108]. Methodologies for representing differences and building consensus in participatory mapping are needed. This is especially important given that including local knowledge in planning and decision making is always troubled with questions of whose knowledge is included and privileged [56,91,92]. The idea of a homogenous community has been deeply critiqued in the literature and PPGIS methods provide an interesting model for engaging multiple viewpoints without assuming sameness in a local community [109]. Distinct from building consensus among diverse stakeholder groups, managers and planners, the question arises as to how to build consensus 'within' distinct groups, such as among local knowledge holders engaged in a participatory mapping exercise.

While the infusion of local perspectives in participatory mapping has expanded over the past two decades [90,110,111], there has been relatively little uptake in its application to wildlife connectivity planning. Local knowledge provides a key tool for understanding the complex social and ecological systems in which conservation planning operates and for which solutions are increasingly coming from models that are unconnected to local people and place. The Chignecto Isthmus provides a study area where conservation planning is not only imperative for maintaining local wildlife, but also for broader scale wildlife connectivity. Monitoring of wildlife movement, distribution and abundance is time consuming and costly and large gaps in knowledge for conservation planning remain. Local knowledge provides a means to help address these data gaps and limitations, while engaging local people and contributing to a more inclusive knowledge system. Accordingly, this study focuses on generating local tacit knowledge to help identify areas important to wildlife connectivity at a regional scale through an exploratory analysis using a participatory mapping approach. We focus on the local experiential knowledge of wildlife species, locations and movement pathways and landscape features that present opportunities or barriers to then. We address how such local knowledge enriches existing data and models, not simply through gap filling but by offering a deep understanding of interrelating factors that influence wildlife patterns within the region. We explore means of spatially delineating 'fuzzy' boundaries, representing diverse perspectives and generating consensus in local knowledge. The mapped outputs may be used to supplement and validate formal-scientific data and models relevant to delineating areas for wildlife connectivity and adapting human infrastructural developments in the region. Through the process, we seek to enhance local participants' confidence in their knowledge and foster their support and future engagement in local conservation and other planning initiatives in the region, while contributing to more inclusive knowledge systems. We propose that the generation and engagement of local experiential knowledge can enhance understanding and support for wildlife connectivity planning. Our study provides broad intellectual contributions around validating or ground truthing modeling studies, where local knowledge provides a key tool for understanding knowledge about complex social-ecological systems that is increasingly coming from models that are unconnected to place and local people. As such, our approach and findings contribute to the scholarship and practice of connectivity conservation planning and PPGIS.

#### **2. Materials and Methods**

We used a mixed-methods approach engaging qualitative and quantitative social and natural sciences to create a spatial data set of wildlife connectivity patterns across the region. A combination of participatory one-on-one mapping interviews and two focus-group mapping workshops elicited local, tacit knowledge. Individual participants' maps were digitised and compiled into

a computer-based-mapping system. Spatial analyses were conducted to capture themes, similarities, and differences among the compiled mapped data from the individual interviews and group workshops. Maps were prepared to overlay local knowledge maps with NCC's modeled wildlife habitat and movement pathways for discussion purposes. Explanatory texts from the participants' interviews and workshop discussions were used to enrich, support, and interpret the participants' mapped data. The methodological details associated with each step are provided in the following sections.

#### *2.1. Participatory Mapping Interviews*

We conducted participatory mapping interviews [112–115] with local knowledge holders to gather textual and spatial data representing their knowledge of wildlife species, population locations, habitat and movement patterns in the Chignecto Isthmus. Recruitment purposefully targeted people with long-term, lived experience on the land such as subsistence harvesters, woodlot owners, farmers, naturalists and recreational users of the land and wildlife. We conducted initial recruitment through local and provincial hunting, trapping, fishing, and naturalist groups and in collaboration with NCC, who has preestablished relationships with individuals and organizations in the region. Supplemental 'chain-referral' or 'snowball' sampling [116,117] was then employed, wherein interviewees were asked to suggest other potential participants knowledgeable of the land and wildlife. Recruitment ceased when no new referrals were forthcoming. Efforts were made to represent both provinces, aiming for 15–20 participants in each, and a breadth of experience and backgrounds. The participant sample was designed to reach the most knowledgeable local people while achieving a reasonable complement (n = 30–40) in terms of pragmatic logistical constraints such as time and funding, balanced against obtaining a range of viewpoints from knowledgeable individuals. The intent was to explore the deep experiential knowledge within this sub-section of the population, rather than be generalizable to the broader public. Preliminary screening ensured participants were knowledgeable of the region, identifying the nature of their relationship to the land and the time they had spent there. For the purpose of our study, "the local knowledge of an individual is unrelated to any institutional affiliation and is the product of both the individual's cultural background and of a lifetime of interaction with his or her surroundings" [90] (p. 158). Knowledge sought from participants was to be based on the livelihoods and pastimes of the individuals and gained through "extensive observation" [118] (p. 1270) of the land and wildlife across the region over time. While it not possible to separate an individual's tacit knowledge gained through their time spent on the land from their training within organizations and institutions, we asked participants to share their personal and experiential views and information, rather than represent the perspectives or provide formal data gleaned from their employers or member organizations.

A total of 34 local people with tacit knowledge of wildlife in the region participated in one-on-one participatory mapping interviews. Often participants did not identify as one specific type of knowledge holder, but rather had experience through a variety of work and recreational activities. Participants were engaged in hunting and trapping for sport, sustenance and income; farming and agriculture; forestry both at industrial and private woodlot scales; wildlife rehabilitation and photography; as naturalists and trail groomers; and in other recreational uses such as fishing, canoeing, hiking, birding, snowmobiling, biking and cross-country skiing. Many participants have spent their lifetimes growing up and working in different capacities in the Chignecto Isthmus, with 11 participants from NS, 18 from NB and five who had lived on both sides of the border. While some participants are not originally from the region, their connection to the land is strong through their work and long-term residence in the area. The shortest time a participant has lived in the region is 10 years, with a large part of that involved being out on the land. We did not seek other demographic data from our participants as we did not intend to stratify our sample into sub-groups. Since we intentionally targeted recruitment toward people with longer histories of time and relevant experience in the region, participants tended to be ~40 years and older. Due to their long-term, deep engagement and familiarity with the region, we were able to collect a wide temporal range of data based on their knowledge from the past to the present. Although we made significant efforts to increase recruitment of younger adults, women

and Mi'kmaw individuals, these were largely unsuccessful, with only five women and none who identified as Indigenous participating in interviews. Particularly, we recognize that the inclusion of Mi'kmaw individuals is important, as the Chignecto Isthmus is situated within Mi'kma'ki, their ancestral and unceded territory. Unfortunately, the time frame of the study was insufficient to develop the relationships of trust and Indigenous methodologies necessary to meaningfully engage Mi'kmaw individuals in culturally appropriate ways. We acknowledge this limitation in our discussion (see Section 4.1). Inclusion of the Mi'Kmaq in dialogues and decision making within their territory is important, as are the insights likely to emerge, and as such their engagement in co-production of knowledge should be sought in future efforts (see Section 4.2).

We conducted semi-structured, face-to-face interviews in June-August 2019 in both NS and NB, at locations convenient for participants, such as at their farm, hunting cabin, or a coffee shop in a nearby town. Interviews of 1–2-h duration explored how participants view and value wildlife and wildlife habitat within the region. Interview-guide topics centered around several key questions used as prompts as they arose in natural conversations (Supplementary Materials S1). Questions were not necessarily all asked or addressed in any specific order as interviews were conversational and participant driven, based on their own experiential knowledge of the region. The first portion of the interview established context and built rapport to learn more about where participants live, how they came to live in the area, where they have spent their time in the region and the activities through which they have experienced the land. The second portion focused on core topics involving wildlife species, population distributions, movement patterns, habitat, conservation, roadkill hotspots, threats, and mitigation.

We solicited spatial data during the interviews through a participatory-mapping component. Participants selected base maps from among five options at three scales (1:30,000, 1:60,000, 1:170,000) upon which to convey their knowledge of the region. The base maps were centered around the NS-NB border and showed major highways and secondary roads, towns, protected and conserved areas, lakes and rivers, forest cover and elevation contours, all sourced from 1:50,000 Topographic Data of Canada [119]. Land cover was classified simply as forest or non-forest where the forest cover layer comprises a single land cover category which does not classify dominant species or forest type [119]. Often, forest cover served to orient participants to specific areas in the region such as the location of a pipeline right of way (i.e., a distinct linear feature of non-forest) and frequent occurrences of wildlife road crossings (i.e., adjacent known patches of forest cover on both sides of a highway). Elevation contours were often used to identify areas of higher elevation around Hall's Hill and Uniacke Hill associated with known movements of terrestrial wildlife. Elevation contours were also useful for participants to orient themselves within the two main watersheds in the region and to identify two distinctive ridgelines in the region that were used as landmarks for recording wildlife observations. After the first few interviews, significant local landmarks emerged as identified by participants and were often used as points of reference for orienting and locating spatial data; these landmarks were added to the base maps. Key landmarks include the Old Ship Railway, a historical ship-railway route which is now used as a multi-use trail connecting the Bay of Fundy to the Northumberland Strait running from Tidnish to Fort Lawrence, and the Canadian Broadcasting Corporation (CBC) radio towers located in the Tantramar Marsh near Sackville, NB, which were distinctive landmarks at the border region for decades but have since been demolished.

Participants chose the map(s) on which they felt most comfortable identifying their key areas and observations, with the option to use multiple maps at various scales. Paper maps provide an integral elicitation and engagement tool and a means of physically recording participants' responses in a spatial way. Participants were encouraged to draw directly on the maps, indicating any insights and tacit knowledge pertaining to wildlife, such as wildlife presence, absence and movements, particularly around roads, areas of concern for conservation, features that represent barriers to or heightened opportunities for wildlife movement, key areas used for their livelihood or recreational activities and their perception or the spatial extent of the Chignecto Isthmus as a region.

Individually mapped data were scanned and georeferenced to align with base map coordinates within a Geographical Information System (ArcGIS). The maps were then digitized to identify specific species' presence, movement pathways and barriers to movement using layers of points, polylines, and polygons. The individual maps were compiled and organized to form a thematic series of maps representing participants' landscape-based and experience-based knowledge of wildlife presence and pathways in the region. These were combined and overlaid to form group-consolidated thematic maps providing a composite landscape-scale perspective of wildlife presence and pathways in the region. Following the proposed methods outlined by McCall [115] for representing local spatial knowledge through dynamic mapping, composite areas were shown as multi-layered zones with fuzzy boundaries in recognition that individually delineated boundaries were not identical to each other. Local spatial knowledge often includes descriptive spatial terms and fuzzy boundaries which are not always perceived by participants as the same place or as existing in isolation [115]. There are also multiple levels of detail that are not single occurrences of location but rather represent temporal and spatial ranges, such as those used for hunting and trapping, and seasonal wildlife usage. The need for precision in participatory GIS can change in accordance with the intended output and goals of the research. As outlined by McCall [115], there is a need for less precision and lower resolution to represent various levels of certainty and confidence in the data. Such flexibility is appropriate in PPGIS applications aimed at eliciting and transferring generational knowledge for analysis of conflict or consensus and management applications [115] such as in our study.

#### *2.2. Participatory Mapping Workshops*

Subsequent to the individual map-interview phase of our research, we held two sequential, half-day mapping workshops near the border in Aulac, NB, in January and February 2020. The aim was to review and refine the map series derived from the interviews. We invited a subset of 20 individuals from among the 34 interview participants, selected on the basis of their demonstrated, strong experiential knowledge of the land and wildlife in the region and high regard as such by those in the larger group. Eight of these individuals participated in the first workshop, in which we sought to verify the consistency and accuracy of our interpretations and compilations of the individual data. Spatial data were presented and discussed as a series of thematic consolidated maps of wildlife habitat, movement pathways and associated threats and barriers. The second workshop brought together the same group of participants with an additional two who were unavailable for the first workshop but were identified by others as important to include. Workshop participants continued to represent a mix of diverse roles and knowledge of the region including hunters and trappers, farmers, loggers, birders, wildlife rehabilitation workers, wildlife photographers, active members of the Chignecto Naturalist Club and conservationists. This active engagement across various livelihoods and lifeways provided the opportunity for a mix of diverse perspectives and expertise and allowed for strong consensus building across experiential domains to develop a robust data set of spatially mapped, local tacit knowledge.

Workshop participants were asked to comment on the consolidated maps and whether or not they thought they accurately and/or completely represented their knowledge of (i) areas of wildlife presence, habitat and movement pathways and (ii) areas that represent heightened opportunities or barriers to wildlife passage, such as landscape features or changes. They were encouraged to note areas of similarities and differences in the maps and factors such as level of confidence, agreement/consensus and rationale. The workshop facilitated the pooling of participants' knowledge and collective markings directly on the maps through roundtable breakout groups, where refinements were noted, such as additional or missing data and spatial revisions. Large printed maps were provided of the compiled, thematic spatial data. Participants were broken into two smaller groups to assess each map sequentially and provide opportunity to comment and draw on the maps, working through any areas of disagreement or uncertainty. Open focus-group discussions at the start and end of each

workshop facilitated the sharing of participant's views, thoughts, and opinions on the mapped data, expanding upon conversations and topics that had emerged.

After consensus was reached at workshop 1 on refinements to the initial consolidated thematic maps, the maps were updated to reflect the received inputs. In preparation for workshop 2, the outputs from NCC's wildlife-movement-pathway model [48] also overlaid with the local knowledge holders' consensus maps to develop a new series of thematic maps. Maps of wildlife roadkill hotspots identified by Barnes et al. [49,50] were also presented for comparison. The resultant composite maps reflected themes based on species distribution, movement patterns and wildlife-road interactions derived from both local-tacit knowledge and formal-science models, privileging neither.

In the second participatory mapping workshop held with the same subset of participants, the composite maps were reviewed for accuracy and completeness and to explore whether and why there may be similarities and differences in the results derived from their knowledge and those generated from the two formal-science data sources: (i) NCC's model outputs of high-probability wildlife movement pathways derived from habitat-suitability and least-cost-path analyses for the focal species; and (ii) roadkill hotspots statistically derived from roadside survey data in the region [49,50]. Any differences between their tacit representations and the models were identified and discussed. Discussions also provided an opportunity to identify missing information in regard to other areas of habitat, wildlife movement or pathways and roadkill evidence. Questions explored whether they perceived problems with the model outputs; whether we had interpreted their feedback correctly or if further refinements were required in the maps; and why there may be differences between the model outputs and among their own knowledge of the land and wildlife. We also queried the most important patterns revealed through the maps, such as critical areas for supporting wildlife species and for addressing key threats to wildlife, and asked which species, if any, warrant heightened conservation attention.

After the second workshop, maps were refined based on participant feedback to create a series of final, local-consensus maps. Participants' input and remaining similarities and differences between local-consensus and formal-science-derived maps were thematically and spatially analyzed. Points raised by the participants during the second workshop were used to understand patterns that emerged in the local data and how they compared to the modelled data.

#### **3. Results**

#### *3.1. Predominant Species and Threats*

During the interviews, participants were first encouraged to speak freely about their knowledge of wildlife and wildlife movement in the region and were later asked about the species considered in NCC's modeling (see footnote 4). Species that featured prominently were closely tied to the livelihoods or relationships participants held with the land. These were predominantly large mammals, including moose, white-tailed deer and black bear, and other furbearing species that were hunted and trapped, including beaver, otter, mink, muskrat, coyote, hare and fisher. Others were porcupine, various bird species, including waterfowl, songbirds and birds of prey, along with fish, primarily gaspereau. Often these lesser-mentioned species were talked about more generally across the expanse of the region or as species affected by barriers, such as roads, but were not considered of conservation concern. A common theme was the general decline in species abundance across the region over the past few decades. As noted by a local forest ecologist, biologist and birder, "essentially every animal that belongs in this ecosystem is still there, although in depleted numbers, from predators to songbirds" (P27) 5, 6.

<sup>5</sup> We assume that by 'essentially' the participant meant 'almost', as wolf, eastern cougar, woodland caribou and other historically present species have been extirpated over the past few centuries since Euro-American settlement.

<sup>6</sup> Participant numbers (e.g., P27, P22) are used in reporting our results to de-identify individuals, consistent with our approved research ethics procedure for confidentially attributing paraphrases and quotes.

Of the species modelled by the NCC, participants elaborated only on four, namely moose, black bear, hare and fisher, and showed considerable knowledge of habitat, movement pathways and barriers for black bear and moose (Figure 2a,b). Bears were said to be numerous and increases in bear activity across the region were noted, especially in NS, and often associated with forestry practices and agriculture, both of which were considered to provide enhanced food sources for bear. While key areas of habitat and points of observation were mapped for bear (Figure 2a), the common response was that you could find black bear 'everywhere' and that the population was increasing: "years ago there was hardly a bear around, but now they're everywhere" (P25); and, "I mean, there's bears everywhere. More than people realize" (P15).

Moose were mapped very differently from bears by participants (Figure 2b). They noted many factors impacting the locations and movements of moose across the region, including competing deer populations and the associated brain worm, climate change, heavy tick loads, poaching and habitat fragmentation, consistent with published explanations (*P. tenuis* is a parasitic brain worm that deer can live with but is fatal to moose; for a summary, see [8]). Many participants commented on the abundance of moose in NB and the dwindling population that persists in NS, with limited explanations as to why moose are not as abundant there. An avid hunter, trapper and past wildlife technician noted that moose "wander from the NB side, there's no doubt about it, but they don't seem to wander very far. Once they hit the Cobequid, along here, they just don't seem to migrate much further than that" (P22). Participants recognized that there appears to be abundant moose habitat within NS but did not know why moose do not prefer that habitat, stating "I can't really draw a conclusion if they will [move into NS], because if they're not using it today, what's going to make them use it tomorrow" (P18), and "I often go into areas and scratch my head, 'why aren't there moose here?' The feed is there. The water is there. Everything is there for a moose, but there's no moose in the area" (P10).

**Figure 2.** *Cont*.

(**b**)

**Figure 2.** Observed and known locations, movement pathways and roadkill areas for (**a**) black bear and (**b**) moose collected and compiled from individual participatory mapping data collected in July and August 2019. Road data collected from Government of NS Geographic Data Directory [120] and GeoNB Open Data Licence catalogue [121].

There was speculation among participants as to why moose do not seem to persist in NS yet remain abundant in NB. Poaching of moose in NS was raised as a concern by hunter, fisher and wildlife-technician participants (e.g., P1, 7, 18). Because native moose (*Alces alces* Americana) are officially listed as provincially endangered7, it is illegal to hunt them in mainland NS. Hunting for moose is allowed in NB, with limiting regulations managed by a lottery draw for a licence to hunt them each season and a bag limit of one [123]. However, illegal hunting was mentioned as a threat to moose moving across or on the NS side of the border: "Yeah, all over this area, here, ... poaching goes on, ... as you get back in the woods. I played golf with this guy three years ago and he said, 'We poach one every year'!" (P7).