Social Movement Theory and Transboundary Conservation in Eastern North America:

A Case Study of the Algonquin to Adirondacks Collaborative

by

Patrick Braszak

A thesis submitted in conformity with the requirements for the degree of Master of Arts

Department of Geography and Planning University of Toronto

© Copyright by Patrick Braszak 2017

ii

Social Movement Theory and Transboundary Conservation in Eastern North America: A Case Study of the Algonquin to Adirondacks Collaborative

Patrick Braszak

Master of Arts

Department of Geography and Planning University of Toronto

2017

Abstract

Conservation is currently undergoing a paradigm shift. Traditional, centralized approaches are

becoming increasingly questioned for their inability to address the broad spatial and temporal

problems that are characteristic of new large-scale understandings of ecology. Transboundary

conservation models have been steadily gaining traction around the world as the more suitable

alternative given their wholesale rejection of artificial, anthropogenic boundaries in favour of

scales determined entirely by ecological processes. A case study approach was used to examine a

proposed transboundary corridor from Algonquin Provincial Park in Ontario, Canada to

Adirondack Park in New York State, U.S.A. The central argument for this thesis, supported by

insights from the project’s organizational trajectory and lackluster relationship with media

outlets, is that conservation practitioners must foment social change themselves by aggressively

pursuing dialogue with members of the public – rather than waiting for political opportunities to

present themselves – if they are to gain support for transboundary conservation.

iii

Acknowledgments This thesis was a year-long endeavor whose successful completion can be attributed to the efforts

of many people besides the author. First and foremost, my supervisor Dr. Andrea Olive

provided constant guidance and support throughout the entire process, which began

months before the first semester. Thank you, Andrea, for going out of your way to make

me feel welcome from the moment that I chose to come to the University of Toronto, and

for continuously providing encouragement and feedback as this thesis went from a

general idea to its final product. I am looking forward to working with you for (at least)

the next four years.

A lot of credit is also due to my professors, Dr. Sarah Wakefield, Dr. Christian Abizaid and Dr.

Tat Smith, who provided a great deal of inspiration and made my classes thoroughly

enjoyable. I also want to thank all the friends that I made in these classes, and in the

geography departments at the Toronto and Mississauga campuses. The passion that each

of you hold was motivating, and the time that we all spent together in and out of school

was a big part of what made this past year so memorable.

Thank you to my two committee members, Dr. Laurel Besco and Dr. Tenley Conway. I

appreciate the time that both of you spent in making my defence possible. Your genuine

interest in my research made that day far less stressful.

I also want to thank all the participants that made this thesis possible. I hope that I have

represented your ideas accurately, and made your commitments to my research

worthwhile. Any mistakes are solely my own. Gratitude is also due to the University of

Toronto and to its donors; graduate school would not have been feasible without the

generous funds that I received.

Finally, I want to extend a big thank you to my family in Canada and in Poland, and to my

partner. It is hard to say enough for the years of love and support which have made me

the person I am today. I have tried my best to follow all your examples of hard work and

courage in pursuing my goals. I hope that I have made all of you proud.

iv

Table of Contents Acknowledgments .................................................................................................................... iii

Table of Contents ..................................................................................................................... iv

List of Tables .......................................................................................................................... vii

List of Figures ........................................................................................................................ viii

List of Appendices ................................................................................................................... ix

Chapter 1 Introduction ...............................................................................................................1

Background ...........................................................................................................................1

Research Problem .................................................................................................................9

Research Objectives ............................................................................................................10

Thesis Structure ...................................................................................................................10

Chapter 2 A New Scalar Conservation Paradigm? Review of the Literature ..........................12

Ecology: Old and New ........................................................................................................12

1.1 The Classical Ecological Paradigm: All Roads Must End ...........................................12

1.2 New Ecology: Finding Clarity in Chaos ......................................................................13

1.3 The Scientific Basis of Connectivity ...........................................................................16

Social Movement Theory: Integral Components in Normalizing Transboundary Conservation .......................................................................................................................20

The Geographic Discipline: A Grounded Perspective ........................................................23

Transboundary Corridor Projects: Restoring Connectivity Around the World ..................24

Chapter 3 Looking for a Place to Happen ................................................................................36

Introduction .........................................................................................................................36

Understanding Place ...........................................................................................................37

The East: Ecological Rebirth ..............................................................................................38

Algonquin Provincial Park: Symbol of the North ...............................................................40

The Adirondacks: Forever Wild .........................................................................................42

v

The Frontenac Arch ............................................................................................................46

Study Sites ...........................................................................................................................47

Chapter 4 Methods and Methodologies ...................................................................................49

Introduction .........................................................................................................................49

Online Surveys ....................................................................................................................50

2.1 Web-Based Survey Design ..........................................................................................50

2.2 Choosing and Contacting Participants .........................................................................53

2.3 Confidentiality and Ethics ............................................................................................55

Participant Observation .......................................................................................................55

3.1 Gaining Access to the Annual General Meeting (AGM) .............................................56

3.2 Confidentiality and Ethics ............................................................................................56

3.3 Conducting Observations .............................................................................................56

3.4 Coding ..........................................................................................................................56

Interviews ............................................................................................................................57

4.1 Interview Design ..........................................................................................................58

4.2 Choosing and Contacting Participants .........................................................................58

4.3 Confidentiality and Ethics ............................................................................................59

4.4 Conducting Interviews .................................................................................................59

4.5 Coding ..........................................................................................................................60

Media Analysis ...................................................................................................................60

5.1 Parameters ....................................................................................................................61

Hypotheses ..........................................................................................................................62

Chapter 5 Results .....................................................................................................................63

Web-based Surveys .............................................................................................................63

Participant Observation .......................................................................................................67

Structured Interviews ..........................................................................................................70

vi

Media Analysis ...................................................................................................................70

Chapter 6 Preparing for Transboundary Conservation ............................................................74

Introduction .........................................................................................................................74

Pursuing the Public: Salience and Transboundary Conservation .......................................75

Emerging from the Shadows: Capitalizing on Opportunities in the Periphery? .................79

Chances for Expansion: The Frontenac Arch’s Unaffiliated Conservation Community ....84

Chapter 7 Conclusions .............................................................................................................87

References ................................................................................................................................91

vii

List of Tables Table 1: Objectives, Methods and Participants ............................................................................. 49

Table 2: Potential Web-based Survey Participants with Available Contact Information ............. 55

Table 3: Interview Registration and Completion Rates ................................................................ 59

Table 4: Web-Based Survey Response Rates ............................................................................... 63

Table 5: Factors Influencing Web-Based Survey Non-Response Rates ....................................... 64

Table 6: Keyword Salience Between 1999 and 2017 ................................................................... 71

viii

List of Figures Figure 1: Map of A2A Collaborative Region (A2A Collaborative, n.d.) ..................................... 30

Figure 2: Trends in Keyword Salience - A2A, Alice the Moose and A2A Trail ......................... 72

Figure 3: Trends in Keyword Salience – Algonquin wolf ............................................................ 73

Figure 4: Size of Partner Organizations ........................................................................................ 77

ix

List of Appendices

Appendices .............................................................................................................................108

Appendix I: A2A Survey Guide ............................................................................................108

Appendix II: A2A Partner Organizations Survey Guide .......................................................110

Appendix III: Unaffiliated Parks and Conservation Authorities Interview Guide ................112

Appendix IV: Potential Challenges – A2A ............................................................................114

Appendix V: Potential Resolutions – A2A ............................................................................117

Appendix VI: Potential Challenges – Partner Organizations ................................................119

Appendix VII: Potential Resolutions – Partner Organizations ..............................................122

Appendix VIII: Potential Challenges – Unaffiliated Parks & Conservation Authorities ......124

Appendix IX: Potential Resolutions – Unaffiliated Parks & Conservation Authorities ........127

Appendix X: Participant Observation Analysis Codes ..........................................................129

Appendix XI: A2A Interview Guide ......................................................................................131

Appendix XII: A2A Partner Organizations Interview Guide ................................................135

Appendix XIII: Unaffiliated Parks and Conservation Authorities Interview Guide .............138

Appendix XIV: Interview Analysis Codes ............................................................................140

Appendix XV: Algonquin to Adirondacks Articles ...............................................................144

Appendix XVI: Alice the Moose Articles .............................................................................148

Appendix XVII: A2A Trail Articles ......................................................................................149

1

Chapter 1 Introduction

Background Conservation is best described as a ‘wicked problem’. Its scope is imprecise and its parameters

unclear, meaning that the issues practitioners contend with and the approaches they take can vary

widely depending on the relative strength of influences from ecological and social change (Rittel

and Webber 1973, Cronon 1995, Rangan and Kull 2009, Baird, Plummer and Bodin 2016).

Mainstream conservation policy in North America has developed along a trajectory that is quite

indicative of the shifting interplay between ecological change and social change.

Conservation practice as formal, centralized policy emerged at the forefront of the environmental

movement’s first wave – otherwise referred to as the national parks movement. Yellowstone

National Park, the first of its kind in North America, was established in 1872 (Soule and

Terborgh 1999, Jones 2010).1 The newly formed Canadian federal government soon followed

America’s example, signing Banff National Park into law in 1887 (Jones 2010). These

unprecedented moves had been precipitated by the closing frontier, which had brought about the

dawning realization that the continent’s vast expanses of wilderness were not as inexhaustible as

had once been thought (Soule and Terborgh 1999, Natter and Zierhofer 2002, Jones 2010). The

anxiety at the root of the national parks movement can be attributed to George P. Marsh (Hannah

et al. 1994), who’s 1864 work entitled Man and Nature drew uncomfortable comparisons to the

Mediterranean’s wilderness, much of which had succumbed to desertification earlier in the

nineteenth century following widespread deforestation (Schneider 1997).

The national parks movement was inspired by anthropocentric concerns, rather than

considerations for wilderness itself. Legislators in both Canada and America were motivated to

capitalize on negative ecological changes by the economic potential of Romantic leisure – along

with the prospect of enticing western settlement, in the case of Banff. The Industrial

1 A common misconception holds that Yellowstone was the first national park in the world. Mongolia’s Bogd Khan

Uul National Park predates it by nearly a century, having been created in 1783. For more information, see Kroeker-Maus 2014.

2

Revolution’s burgeoning middle class was concerned, somewhat ironically, that their leisurely

retreats into the sublime wilderness would soon become untenable unless measures were

introduced to curb the very same development that granted them their newfound prosperity

(Jones 2010). Only the most spectacular wild spaces were afforded government protection during

this period. North America’s earliest conservation policies were directed by the powerful

emotions that places such as Yellowstone, with its rugged and awe-inspiring landscape of mud

pots, geysers, mountains and lakes, or Banff, with its serene hot springs, were capable of

instilling upon those wealthy and fortunate enough to access them. (Soule and Terborgh 1999,

Jones 2010).

The national parks movement had barely left its infancy however when some observers began to

call for greater ecological representation within protected areas. In 1890, Frederick von Mueller

proposed that all the world’s original vegetation should be granted formal protection. In 1920,

the Ecological Society of America gave a report to the National Research Council that identified

all the United States’ natural areas, and recommended immediate protections to be established

for each. The pioneering zoologist and animal ecologist Victor Shelford added further nuance to

this report in 1926, arguing again for a network of protected areas that would span North

America (Scott et al. 2001, Noss et al. 2012). A subtle shift in conservation policy occurred when

legislators finally acted upon these demands by granting Florida’s Everglades wetland ecosystem

national park status in 1947 (Jones 2010). Conservation’s mandate broadened during this period

to protect spaces and places representative of America’s diverse but dwindling array of

ecosystems, including those that had previously been overlooked for their lack of aesthetic or

spiritual qualities (Soule and Terborgh 1999, Jones 2010). Legislators were no longer motivated

to protect natural spaces and places solely for people to enjoy, but were also now concerned

about preserving the natural balance that provided irreplaceable ecosystem services to all forms

of life (Soule and Terborgh 1999, Jones 2010). With the advent of Everglades National Park, the

concept of wilderness expanded to include many more wild places, and conservation policy

began to move towards a more biocentric agenda.

Conservation policy continued its turn towards biocentrism with the introduction of America’s

Endangered Species Act (ESA) in 1973. The issues that concerned conservation practitioners in

the American government expanded in scope and narrowed in focus to include individual

species, whose inherent worth and right to exist was acknowledged by the ESA. The legislation’s

3

initial purpose was to identify, protect and recover those species most at risk of extinction (Olive

2014). The ESA was revolutionary in that it posed a direct challenge to the principles that had

guided previous approaches, which had presumed wilderness was best protected by keeping it

separated from civilization (Cronon 1995). The ESA transgressed upon these longstanding

ontological and physical divisions by applying coercive, punitive regulations to federal lands,

federal projects and private property alike, recognizing the spatial proximity between human

activity and threatened species (Olive 2014).

Despite the successive implementation of all these protective measures, studies continued to find

that the ecological declines which had first been observed more than a century earlier were not

slowing. On the contrary, many conservation problems, such as the loss of biological diversity,

had intensified significantly during the twentieth century.2 Extinction had accelerated at a rate

1000 times greater than expected (Rabinowitz and Zeller 2010). By 1975, 28.5 percent of the

world’s known species were threatened. Unbeknownst at the time, this figure would only

continue to climb, reaching 36.3 percent by 2008 (Di Marco et al. 2014). The United States alone

had 178 species listed under its ESA in 1976 – a figure that would rise to 1743 species by the

year 1999 (Scott et al. 2001). The number of species succumbing to extinction each year seemed

to be rising at an exponential rate, complicating conservation’s mandate with a sense of urgency.

Institutional latency appeared to be hampering the efforts of conservation practitioners in

mitigating these negative trends. Habitat fragmentation and destruction, broadly recognized as

the central causes of global biodiversity declines (Sweanor, Logan and Hornocker 2000, Huck et

al. 2010, Rabinowitz and Zeller 2010, Colchero et al. 2011, Harihar and Pandev 2012, Ernest et

al. 2014, Haddad et al. 2015, Thapa et al. 2017), were continuing at an alarming pace as the

twentieth century entered its final decades. As of 1994, only 27 percent of the earth’s habitable

service had been left undisturbed, while anthropogenic activity dominated 40 million km2,

equivalent to 23.9 percent (Hannah et al 1994). Deforestation has been particularly pronounced

in temperate and tropical regions, having persisted in the former from the mid-nineteenth until

the twentieth century, and having intensified in the latter during the last half of the twentieth

century. As a result, many of the world’s forests have become significantly degraded. Over a

2 Hereafter referred to as biodiversity.

4

third of the global forest cover has been lost, with 20 percent of remaining forest fragments

found within 100 metres of edges, 70 percent of remaining fragments within one kilometre of

edges, and many of the remaining fragments spanning less than 10 hectares. Edge effects, which

include anthropogenic activities, alternate microclimates and non-forest species, are becoming a

progressively more serious threat to forests and the species accustomed to living within their

dense cores (Haddad et al. 2015).

Ecologists began to simulate fragmentation patterns in the 1980’s to better understand the

consequences of anthropogenic disturbances on forest communities. These ongoing natural

experiments, which have become some of the longest-running today, test for the effects of

reduced fragment areas, increased isolation and increased proportion to edges. Ecologists have

consistently found strong negative responses among species’ populations to fragmentation, often

resulting in lower persistence and likely attributed to constrained movement patterns and reduced

abundance; also resulting in reduced biological diversity, with the potential to alter community

composition; in changes to nutrient cycling due to simplified food webs, stemming from

biodiversity loss; and in simplified trophic dynamics, given the loss of keystone species – or in

some cases, even entire trophic levels (Haddad et al. 2015).

Moreover, many of these responses continued to materialize years after fragmentation had

occurred. Extinction debt posits that species loss increases exponentially over time, while the

onset occurs later in larger fragments. Immigration lag refers to the delays experienced by

relatively smaller, isolated fragments in attracting immigrants during community assembly.

Lastly, ecosystem function debt explains the delayed changes that occur in plant and consumer

biomass due to changes in nutrient cycling. Generalizations are still difficult to make however,

even with these definitive findings. Fragmentation effects are mediated by traits specific to

individual species, including rarity, trophic position, dispersal capability, reproductive pattern,

average life span and movement behaviour, and therefore require contextualized understandings

before they can be accurately assessed (Haddad et al. 2015).

Climate change also threatens to compound many of the concerns pertinent to conservation

practitioners. Initial studies in the late 1980’s uncovered paleo-ecological evidence showing that

climate change historically led to habitat range shifts among species (Hannah 2008). Subsequent

inquiries into contemporary movement patterns revealed that species are beginning to employ

5

this adaptive mechanism again, which indicates that climate change is indeed under way. The net

effect of the current shifts is expected to be an overall reduction in species’ range sizes, as many

will be expected to migrate to higher altitudes or towards the earth’s poles in their bid to adjust to

warming temperatures. Habitat fragmentation may prevent certain species from reaching

locations with these characteristics, however. The patch mosaics that characterize most

landscapes today are not as permeable as previous landscapes once were, meaning populations of

species that are unable to migrate are likely to become isolated in unfavourable conditions,

leading to increased risks of extirpation (McGuire et al. 2016).

Conservation practitioners looking to mitigate the effects of both habitat fragmentation and

climate change have generally called for the protection of greater amounts of natural lands, either

to act as new habitats for core populations or to facilitate dispersal between suitable areas

(Hannah 2008). Protected areas have significantly expanded in coverage since the environmental

movement’s second wave materialized in the 1970’s, as legislators came under pressure from an

increasingly aware and active public. Official, permanent protections spanned over 12,200,200

km2 of land by 1997, up from less than 1 million km2 in 1970 (Scott et al. 2001, Zimmerer, Galt

and Buck 2004).

Progress can be deceptive, however. Upon closer examination of America’s 401,072 km2 of

nature reserves, Scott et al. (2001) discovered that most contribute little to the conservation of

natural resources. First, this figure represents approximately five percent of the coterminous

United States’ landscape, which pales in comparison to the suggested range of 10 to 12 percent

that had been set by the Brundtland commission over a decade prior. The authors also learned

that most of these nature reserves are in suboptimal areas, with 63 percent situated in areas with

the country’s least productive soils, and over 59 percent located at elevations over 2460 metres

above sea level.3 Biota that require rich soils and low elevations are underrepresented by this

system of reserves, if they are represented at all (Scott et al. 2001).

Scale became a concept of interest for conservation practitioners in the wake of all these

findings, given their extra-jurisdictional nature. Scale has two central components: grain and

3 See Scott et al. (2001) for the methodology used to map soil productivity.

6

extent. Grain refers to the resolution that landscapes are observed under, while extent determines

what is observed and what is not as it sets the dimensions that frame landscapes (Theberge and

Theberge 2009). The end of the twentieth century saw conservation’s scale of inquiry broaden

beyond individual species and habitats as practitioners turned their attention to the ecological

integrity and sustainability of entire ecosystems (Vásárhelyi and Thomas 2006). By relaxing

grain and expanding extent, conservation practitioners could observe the two major drivers of

biodiversity loss, habitat fragmentation and climate change, far more comprehensively because

both are not contained within traditional jurisdictional boundaries (Hannah et al. 1994, Soule and

Terborgh 1999, Scott et al. 2001, Zimmerer, Galt and Buck 2004, Haddad et al. 2015).

Conservation’s latest paradigm shift emerged in response to these alarming trends. Newfound

scientific uncertainties and complexities compounded the ‘wicked problems’ which had

characterized conservation policies of the past. ‘Super wicked problems’ recognized added time

constraints, institutional latency, the threat of exponentially increasing environmental risks and

extra-jurisdictional scales to the growing list of concerns plaguing conservation practitioners

(Baird, Plummer and Bodin 2016). The central challenge facing contemporary conservation

practitioners has been to account for ‘super wicked problems’ (Armitage et al. 2009). As a result,

radically different resolutions have emerged.

In the policy sphere, legislators at all jurisdictional levels responded to calls for change within

conservation by enacting numerous laws in the twentieth century’s closing decades. The

Convention on the Conservation of Migratory Species of Wild Animals – otherwise known as

the Bonn Convention, 1979 – was the international realm’s first notable contribution to the

problems of habitat fragmentation and climate change by way of focusing upon ecological

integrity. The Bonn Convention requires signatory countries to implement protective measures

for populations and habitats of migratory species with unfavourable conservation statuses. The

Convention on Biological Diversity (CBD), 1992, was the next significant piece of international

legislation to emerge. Article 8 of the CBD explicitly addresses the growing problem of isolation

amongst protected areas, calling for signatories to include lands adjacent to corridors and

protected areas in their management schemes (Vásárhelyi and Thomas 2006). Furthermore, the

CBD’s Strategic Plan for Biodiversity 2011-2020 introduced 20 targets for the global community

to work towards before the decade’s end. Collectively known as the Aichi targets, these included

7

plans to expand the global coverage of protected areas to 17 percent of the world’s terrestrial

environment and 10 percent of its marine environment (Santini, Saura and Rondinini 2016).

The Aichi targets also incorporated several goals that were decidedly anthropocentric, breaking

from the biocentrism that had characterized conservation efforts in the latter half of the twentieth

century (Perrings et al. 2010). These goals were based on the ecosystem services concept, which

had risen to predominance amongst conservation practitioners as the operational framework of

choice following the United Nations’ Millennium Ecosystem Assessment (2005) and the

Economics of Ecosystems and Biodiversity study initiated by the G8+5 in Potsdam in March

2007 (Potschin and Haines-Young 2011). According to the Millennium Ecosystem Assessment,

ecosystem services are comprised of four components: provisional services such as food and

fresh water, regulating services such as climate regulation and water purification, cultural

services such as spiritual or recreational experiences, and supporting services such as nutrient

cycling and soil formation (Daniel et al. 2012).

The ecosystem services concept operates according to a market metaphor, likening nature to a

fixed stock of capital that can sustain a finite flow of its four components for the benefit of

people (Norgaard 2010). It justifies conservation by appealing to human self-interest, rather than

by relying upon the ethical language of intrinsic rights that characterized the latter part of the

national parks movement and endangered species legislation (Potschin and Haines-Young 2011).

The concept was originally developed to improve conservation’s relevance to the public;

practitioners were worried that people were becoming increasingly removed from wilderness in

the global economy and were thus less likely to support its protection, which led them to add the

familiar logic of economics to their arsenals (Norgaard 2010).

At the national level, Parks Canada introduced the natural regions systems plan in 1971 to

improve the coordination by which new protected areas would be established. The natural

regions systems plan effectively replaced the isolated and ad hoc procedures that had dominated

formal conservation policy up until that point with an approach that considered the country’s

land mass in its entirety (McNamee 2009). The Canada Wildlife Act of 1985 introduced

provisions for the federal government to purchase lands for the protection of migratory and

endangered species (Vásárhelyi and Thomas 2006). In 1995, the Canadian Biodiversity Strategy

emerged, which not only spurred amendments to the Canada National Parks Act to include

8

ecological integrity as its leading priority, but also provided the impetus for the enactment of the

Species at Risk Act (SARA) in 2002 (Vásárhelyi and Thomas 2006). Most recently, the federal

government committed to the Aichi targets in its 2020 Biodiversity Goals and Targets for

Canada, which was introduced in 2015. The United States’ federal government, meanwhile, has

yet to pass any meaningful conservation legislation directed by ecological integrity, and it has

yet to ratify the CBD (Vásárhelyi and Thomas 2006, Vasarhelyi and Thomas 2008).

Protected areas themselves also became larger during this revolutionary period. Transboundary

conservation first emerged in 1983, when leading conservation biologist Reed Noss developed

an interconnected network of reserves for southern Ohio (Noss 1983, Brown and Harris 2005).4

Various transboundary conservation models have since been developed; among the most

prevalent of these are transboundary corridors. The term ‘corridor’ can be somewhat misleading,

however, because these models do not necessarily have to be comprised of continuous, unbroken

protected landscapes. Transboundary corridors connect large, core habitats – often represented

by existing protected areas that lie separated across political or administrative borders – either by

creating smaller interspersed protected areas – otherwise referred to as stepping stones – or

movement corridors where there were none before, or by securing existing corridors (Zimmerer,

Galt and Buck 2004). These immense projects usually cross international borders, and thus

supersede the traditional authority of the nation-state – or any electoral body, for that matter

(Cohen and McCarthy 2015).

Some of the most prominent transboundary corridor projects to date include the Yellowstone to

Yukon Conservation Initiative in Canada and the United States, the Terai Arc Landscape in

Nepal and India and the Mesoamerican Biological Corridor in southern Mexico and Central

America (Zimmerer 2006). These represent a small fraction of the world’s transboundary

conservation projects, however; the number of projects has risen rapidly, from 41 in 1985

(Zimmerer, Galt and Buck 2004) to 250 in 2015, which have incorporated more than 3000

individual protected areas over 460 million hectares (Kark et al. 2015). The Algonquin to

4 Peace parks, which are protected areas that stretch across international borders, have been around since Waterton-

Glacier was established on 18 June 1932. While they are widely acknowledged as the predecessors of contemporary transboundary corridors, peace parks were created for a different purpose and are thus not included amongst the modern models.

9

Adirondacks Collaborative is just one such example of a promising but lesser-known

transboundary corridor project.

Research Problem Rittel and Webber (1973) observed that, with wicked problems, “…problem understanding and

problem resolution are concomitant to each other” (161). To pinpoint a single issue as the root

cause of trouble in an open system, such as nature, is to also pinpoint its resolution (Rittel and

Webber 1973). Conversely, resolutions that are available at the time of inquiry shape where

problem-solvers are going to look in open systems for the central issue, the root cause of trouble

(Rittel and Webber 1973). Following this logic, transboundary corridor projects and current

understandings of scale frame how ecologists and planners perceive contemporary conservation

problems, such as habitat fragmentation and climate change, which have no inherent scale in and

of themselves (Cohen and McCarthy 2015). The overarching purpose of this thesis is to

interrogate the geographically situated complexity of one transboundary corridor project, the

Algonquin to Adirondacks Collaborative. In doing so, a more nuanced understanding of today’s

most pressing conservation problems, and our relationships to them, will be achieved.

Little has been written about the Algonquin to Adirondacks Collaborative, as far as the

researcher is aware (Quinby et al. 1999, Stephenson 2001, Brown and Harris 2005, Vásárhelyi

and Thomas 2006). Environmental geographers working on conservation issues in the neoliberal

era have tended to focus on the developing world. A need for more research on transboundary

conservation in the developed world exists, as industrialized economies – like those of North

America – have more established regimes of public and private property rights, stronger legal

institutions and more stable governments, which preclude most generalizations that can be made

from studies conducted elsewhere (McCarthy and Prudham 2004, Wainwright 2005). Of the

transboundary conservation research that has been done in Canada and the United States, the

majority has focused on the west, largely due to the unprecedented success of the Yellowstone to

Yukon Conservation Initiative (Chester 2003, Mattson et al. 2011, Locke and Francis 2012,

Chester 2015) and related reintroduction projects (Smith, Peterson and Houston 2003, Ripple and

Beschta 2004). As a result, North America’s heavily populated and biologically diverse eastern

region has thus far been underrepresented by the literature on transboundary conservation. The

distinct economies, legislative and institutional arrangements, geographic circumstances and

10

histories that characterize the east warrant further refinement of the global north/south, or

developed/developing world divides to account for regional variances within North America, and

to explain how these variances can alter the character of transboundary conservation projects

(Liverman 2004).

Further questions exist regarding the organizations that comprise a fundamental component of

emerging transboundary corridor projects. Few studies have focused upon the internal

complexities of these projects – or any environmental non-profit organizations, for that matter.

Instead, scholars have largely been preoccupied with matters of conservation planning

(Armsworth et al. 2012).

Research Objectives The objectives of this thesis are threefold:

1) Explore the challenges and potential resolutions pertinent to the Algonquin to

Adirondacks Collaborative.

2) Investigate the variety of projects being conducted and supported by the Algonquin to

Adirondacks Collaborative, and how they can contribute to transboundary conservation.

3) Analyze the Algonquin to Adirondacks Collaborative’s presence in the media.

Together, these three objectives will contextualize transboundary conservation in North

America’s east region.

Thesis Structure Chapter 2 provides a broad overview of the scholarship that has been produced on transboundary

corridors to date. The chapter begins by introducing ecology, the central discipline behind

transboundary conservation. Ecology has undergone significant changes in recent memory that

have altered how scholars conceptualize and analyze the problems and resolutions pertinent to

conservation. Chapter 2 then turns to examine the theoretical framework for this thesis, social

movement theory, which was borrowed from sociology. The chapter then moves on to a brief

discussion of geography as a discipline, explaining why a transdisciplinary approach is neither

uncommon nor unwarranted in geographic scholarship. Chapter 2 concludes with a cursory

11

overview of the world’s most prominent transboundary corridor projects before introducing the

focal point of this thesis, the Algonquin to Adirondacks Collaborative.

Chapter 3 delves into a historical analysis of the places that constitute the Algonquin to

Adirondacks Collaborative’s identity. The ecological and cultural significance behind North

America’s east, Algonquin Provincial Park and the Adirondacks and the Frontenac Arch are all

pondered in this section.

Chapter 4 features a discussion of the research methods that were used to study this thesis’

objectives, and the research methodologies that justified the approaches taken. Online surveys, a

participant observation session, in-depth structured interviews and a media analysis were

conducted in a manner that facilitates both comparative analyses with existing literature on other

transboundary corridor projects along with that on the Algonquin to Adirondacks Collaborative.

The chapter finishes by hypothesizing that the project has worked to improve its public salience

and to develop infrastructure around the key obstacles for animal movement in the Frontenac

Arch, given that these were the two central issues identified by the literature. The results of these

methods are then analyzed in Chapter 5.

Chapter 6 features a discussion of this thesis’ results. The chapter begins with an overview of the

Algonquin to Adirondacks Collaborative’s evolution as an organization, before moving on to

discuss the challenges that it has experienced, how these challenges have been variably perceived

and the resolutions that are available. Chapter 5 ends with the researcher’s suggestions for

possible future expansion given favourable attitudes towards the project from unaffiliated

institutional actors.

This thesis concludes with a return to its objectives. The Algonquin to Adirondacks

Collaborative has experienced difficulties because it has preoccupied itself with framing and

mapping projects, rather than working to engage the public and key stakeholders in the

Frontenac Arch. It has not sought to internalize the idea of transboundary conservation amongst

these groups, which is why it has not yet been able to generate sustainable support for its vision.

The thesis ends with three suggestions for future research.

12

Chapter 2 A New Scalar Conservation Paradigm?

Review of the Literature

Ecology: Old and New Ecology is the disciplinary core of conservation theory and practice (Worster 1990). Known as

“…the study of the interrelationships between living organisms and their physical environment”

(Walker 2005: 78), ecology’s current paradigm, an amalgamation of old and new theories

reconciled with one another, has been a fundamental steering component of conservation in the

neoliberal era. Understanding transboundary conservation models necessitates understanding

how ecology has come to be at its present state.

1.1 The Classical Ecological Paradigm: All Roads Must End Frederic L. Clements was the first to popularize scientific ecology in North America. Writing at

the turn of the twentieth century, Clements developed dynamic ecology, an approach that

allowed him to observe changes and evolutionary processes – or vegetational successions – in

plant communities. His observations led to the formulation of climax theory, whose underlying

themes of order and harmony would define ecology and conservation until well after World War

II (Worster 1990). Climax theory gave scientific legitimacy to the notion of balance in nature,

which had been around in western thought since antiquity, and had also been long represented in

eastern knowledge systems by the Chinese concepts of yin and yang (Wu and Loucks 1995).

Climax theory revolved around the belief that changes in natural landscapes occur with purpose

and direction, eventually leading to the natural balance that Clements called the superorganism.

Superorganisms consist of closely integrated individual organisms, who together regulate their

world to maintain stability (Worster 1990).

Classical ecology’s next major discovery came at the behest of Eugene P. Odum, who identified

and defined one of the discipline’s most fundamental organizing concepts, the ecosystem.

According to Odum, ecosystems were “any unit that includes all of the organisms in a given area

interacting with the physical environment so that a flow of energy leads to clearly defined

trophic structures, biotic diversity, and material cycles within the system” (Odum 1971: 8,

Worster 1990: 4-5). Odum also identified the point of homeostasis, a state of mutualism and

13

cooperation that all ecosystems were directed towards in the common strategy of development.

Clements’ influence here was undeniable. Odum’s mature ecosystem theory, which represented

the point of homeostasis, was almost synonymous with Clements’ climax theory in both form

and function. Mature ecosystems are biologically diverse and energy efficient, capable of

maintaining stability through a careful balance of species interactions and nutrient circulation

(Worster 1990). The superorganism and mature ecosystem theories each depend upon a bounded

understanding of space, considering only those processes occurring within arbitrarily defined

communities, and a linear understanding of time, which denoted that all ecological processes

move towards an end (Zimmerer 1994).

The classical ecological paradigm, as it came to be known, reached its peak in the 1960’s and

early 1970’s. Several concepts emerged during this point in time that are perhaps more familiar

to today’s observers of ecology. The notion of stability, which had long been a simplistic end-

point in the climax and mature ecosystem theories, was finally elaborated upon when ecologists

identified its four primary components: resistance, resilience, persistence and variability or

constancy (Wu and Loucks 1995). These components did more than just expound stability,

however. They problematized time, a fundamental guiding principle of ecological query. Rather

than envisioning ecosystems as linear organisms, constantly travelling towards some strong but

arbitrary end-point, the concept of stability and its related components allowed classical

ecologists to consider the possibility that time might be cyclical. Equilibrium represented the

idea of a stable ecosystem, but it did not represent a definitive end-point in nature’s development

strategy. According to new understandings of stability, ecosystems at the point of equilibrium

could experience change – and so long as the changes did not prove too strong, ecosystems could

remain at or return to equilibrium (Zimmerer 1994).

1.2 New Ecology: Finding Clarity in Chaos In their paper “From Balance of Nature to Hierarchical Patch Dynamics: A Paradigm Shift in

Ecology” published in The Quarterly Review of Biology, Jianguo Wu and Orie L. Loucks (1995)

defined a paradigm as “…a constellation of concepts, ideas, approaches and principles shared

and used by a scientific community to define research problems and solutions” (440). According

to this definition, paradigms are only representative of particular – albeit dominant –

perspectives, and thus are inherently temporary, subject to be altered or replaced as evidence

14

from within or without the dominant scientific community emerges to contradict earlier

understandings (Wu and Loucks 1995). Ecology is no exception to this rule of paradigms.

The classical ecological paradigm briefly fell out of favour with the scientific community in the

mid-1970’s, taking with it the concepts of equilibrium, stability and ecosystems (Worster 1990).

In its place rose a paradigm that challenged classical ecology’s strategy of development; the

ecologists of this era argued that change only leads to more change, without direction or internal

logic guiding it to a stable final point (Drury and Nisbet 1973, Worster 1990). This new ecology

embraced chaos as its central organizing principle.

New ecology’s origins go back to 1926, when the work of Henry A. Gleason contradicted

Clements’ climax theory at the peak of its hegemony with his own individualistic understanding

of landscapes. An individualistic view of ecology posits that plant and animal communities are

premised upon competition rather than cooperation, changing constantly through time and space.

The individualistic view was premised on the notion of nonequilibrium, or the fundamental

impossibility of balance in nature (Worster 1990).

The next figure to have challenged classical ecology’s hegemony was Edward Lorenz, whose

seminal work on the butterfly effect in 1961 essentially marked the beginning of ecology’s

formal study of chaos. Lorenz found that miniscule inputs, such as a butterfly’s flapping wings,

have the potential to produce immense outputs, like storm systems on the other side of the world.

The butterfly effect’s most significant contribution to ecology was an overwhelming sense of

uncertainty; according to its logic, scientists could never hope to predict for change or continuity

in open, natural systems given the plethora of small inputs that might occur at any given time and

place (Worster 1990).

Disaffected by the extremist theories that had characterized both paradigms, ecologists sought

out to restructure their discipline for the second time in the same decade. The 1970’s witnessed

the rise and abrupt fall from dominance of the ecology of chaos, due in large part to the

discoveries of multiple equilibria and homeorhesis. The multiple equilibria perspective arose out

of nonlinear mathematics’ understanding of multiple periodic orbits and equilibria, which, when

applied to physical landscapes, enabled ecologists to identify locally stable communities that

together comprised heterogenous mosaics observable at larger spatial scales (Wu and Loucks

1995). These local communities were not assumed to be indefinitely stable, however. The

15

concept of bifurcation introduced threshold phenomena, explaining for the first time how

collectives of organisms were capable of change – a trait which had previously been thought to

be inherently individualistic. According to bifurcation, communities experience shifts when the

limits or bounds of a system’s range are exceeded due to a disturbance. Homeorhesis, taken from

the Greek for similar flow, elaborates upon these concepts by defining how multiple equilibria

behave. Rather than imagining stability as a static, fixed state, homeorhesis referred to systems

as units moving in the same perturbation trajectory, or with the same rate of change (Wu and

Loucks 1995). Thus, the advent of multiple equilibria and homeorhesis had somewhat tempered

the unwieldy nature of chaos with a renewed, dynamic sense of direction.

Ecology currently sits at a compromise between the classical and chaotic paradigms, drawing

upon and melding concepts and theories from both periods. The newest paradigm, referred to as

the hierarchical patch paradigm, reflects the scientific community’s recognition that ecological

processes are scalar, in that they occur heterogeneously and will be represented variably

depending upon the spatial, temporal and organizational perspectives considered (Wu and

Loucks 1995). The first component of the newest paradigm, a patch, is a “…spatial unit differing

from its surroundings in nature or appearance” (Wu and Loucks 1995: 446). A patch can only be

recognized by observations that are made at scales larger than the patch itself; otherwise, the

patch’s internal homogeneity could be taken to represent an entire landscape. Under the

hierarchical patch paradigm, landscapes were no longer thought of as harmonious collectives, but

rather came to be understood as mosaics of heterogenous patches (Wu and Loucks 1995).

The second component of ecology’s newest paradigm, hierarchy theory, is premised upon the

concepts of dissipative structures and stratified stability. The former shows how ordered levels –

or hierarchies – emerge, while the latter explains how the levels interact with one another (Wu

and Loucks 1995). Hierarchy theory’s primary contribution has been the identification of these

levels, which have restored ecology’s capacity to organize and measure open systems.

The hierarchical patch paradigm has five major elements. The first stipulates that landscapes can

be divided horizontally into coherent units of patches and land use types that form mosaics,

which can in turn be organized vertically into hierarchies of patch mosaics. The second element

posits that broad systems dynamics are composed of changes that occur at patch mosaics, which

are in turn composed of changes that occur within individual patches. The third element of the

16

hierarchical patch paradigm is the pattern-process-scale perspective, which argues that ecological

processes influence the pattern composition of mosaics – as determined by patches - but that

patterns also set the parameters that dictate whether – and to what degree – processes such as

population growth, disturbances or nutrient cycling, among others, occur within and between

patches. Scale’s extent determines what patterns and processes can be observed, and its grain

determines which become lost either in the minutia of countless detail, or the bigger picture. The

hierarchical patch paradigm’s fourth element is the nonequilibrium perspective, which posits that

stability is rarely found at very small and very large scales, such as individual organisms or

historical processes. The fifth and final elements of the hierarchical patch paradigm,

incorporation and metastability, represent perhaps the hierarchical patch paradigm’s largest shift

away from the ecology of chaos. Incorporation puts seemingly unpredictable and destructive

processes into perspective by observing the quasi-stabilizing functions of nonequilibrium

processes at levels higher than they occur. Metastability denotes this order drawn out of chaos,

and is the closest target to ecosystem health that exists in contemporary ecology (Wu and Loucks

1995).

In sum, the hierarchical patch paradigm has produced new understandings of spatial scale by

incorporating larger areas into ecological observations; it has also created new understandings of

time, as many of its elements can only be recognized by considering the irregular periodic cycles

of historical time, rather than by making observations within these cycles; and it has led to new

understandings of subjectivity, identifying the variable capacities of organisms, patches and

landscapes to adapt and change in accordance with environmental variation (Zimmerer 1994).

1.3 The Scientific Basis of Connectivity Transboundary conservation models are premised upon the hierarchical patch paradigm’s notion

of large scales, which have been referred to interchangeably as either regions, landscapes or

ecosystems (Franklin 1993, Noss 1996, Soule and Terborgh 1999). Although the ecosystem

concept is highly problematic, given its tumultuous history within disciplinary ecology (Worster

1990, Wu and Loucks 1995), it has not been adopted as the mantra of transboundary

conservation models for its scientific infallibility. Instead, ecosystems have been employed more

so as convenient organizational units, whose immense scales act as coarse filters that contain

other, sounder ecological concerns (Noss 1996).

17

As knowledge of the natural world developed, conservation practitioners became increasingly

aware of just how little they knew. They also became aware of the essential impossibility of

protecting biodiversity on a per species basis (Franklin 1993). There are an estimated five

million species in the world, of which at least 90 percent are invertebrates. It is without doubt

that most invertebrates have not been discovered, and are not likely to be discovered any time

soon. Yet these species suffer from anthropogenic and natural disturbances just as their larger,

more charismatic counterparts do, and would similarly benefit from additional protective

measures (Franklin 1993, Ciach et al. 2017). Thus, conservation practitioners have embraced the

arbitrary and artificial nature of ecosystems – and the maps that delineate their imagined

boundaries – if only to improve the efficiency and expediency by which they can offer

protections for the widest array of biodiversity and ecological processes possible (Noss 1996).

Michael E. Soule and John Terborgh published an article entitled “Conserving nature at regional

and continental scales – a scientific program for North America” in 1999, widely cited as one of

the foundational texts advocating for transboundary conservation projects on the continent (Noss

et al. 2012, Salau et al. 2012, Theobald et al. 2012, Schoon et al. 2014). In their article, Soule and

Terborgh (1999) listed five scientific theories that justified the expansion of conservation

projects to large, arbitrary scales. First, the species-area curve posits that larger patches contain

more species (Wilcox 1980, Soule and Terborgh 1999). Second, larger patches also support

disturbances that occur at spatial and temporal scales consistent with historical regimes (Soule

and Terborgh 1999), and in keeping with the ecological principle of incorporation, larger patches

also diffuse the effects of disturbances to maintain metastability (Wu and Loucks 1995). Third,

demographic and genetic principles suggest that population viability is related to population size,

which can clearly be increased with available habitat (Soule and Terborgh 1999). Fourth,

umbrella species require large areas for their habitats, meaning that protections afforded to them

generally also protect entire ecosystems (Soule and Terborgh 1999, Andelman and Fagan 2000).

Soule and Terborgh (1999) were unsatisfied with the rigour of these four theories, however, and

offered a fifth which they believed better justified the development of transboundary

conservation projects: the keystone species concept.

Keystone species have been defined as those “…whose effect is large, and disproportionately

large relative to its abundance” (Power et al. 1996: 609), and as a result, “…whose loss would

precipitate many further extinctions” (Mills, Soule and Doak 1993: 219). The term was first

18

coined by Robert T. Pain in 1969, although its original usage was limited to “…species that

preferentially consumed and held in check another species that would otherwise dominate the

system” (Pain 1969, Power et al. 1996: 609). The species that Pain (1969) was referring to are

commonly known as keystone predators. Other species that have since been recognized for their

potential to create strong effects include keystone prey, who either sustain predator densities and

thereby control the abundance of other prey populations, or sustain other prey populations by

bearing the brunt of predation pressure; keystone mutualists, or pollinators and seed dispersers

that facilitate the growth of new plant communities, which in turn support separate food webs;

keystone hosts, upon which keystone mutualists depend; keystone modifiers, whose effects are

directed towards habitat features rather than other species; and keystone herbivores, who have

the potential to induce significant changes upon habitats through foraging behaviours (Mills,

Soule and Doak 1993).

The strong, rippling effects produced by keystone species came to be known as trophic cascades.

Robert T. Pain was again the scholar responsible for explicitly introducing this term to the

scientific community (Pain 1980, Ripple et al. 2016), although Charles Darwin had recorded

observations of trophic cascades more than a century earlier (Darwin 1859, Ripple et al. 2016),

and Aldo Leopold’s writings on overabundant deer, absentee wolves and barren mountainsides

in “Thinking like a mountain” were published two decades prior (Leopold 1966, Ripple et al.

2016). The earliest understandings of trophic cascades all denoted top-down, direct controls of

ecological processes, but the effects did not necessarily have to reach primary producers. Earlier

understandings also suggested that trophic cascades were more common in aquatic

environments, whereas terrestrial food webs – with their greater species diversity, and

accompanying complexity – were thought to be controlled by trophic tangles, which did not have

a clear hierarchical order (Ripple et al. 2016).

Trophic cascades became increasingly prominent subjects in academic literature during the

1990’s, coinciding with the emergence of transboundary conservation projects. The term was

expanded during this period to include terrestrial systems as well as non-consumptive, indirect

effects, due in large part to observations that were premised upon large carnivores. Large

carnivores were noted not only for their capacity to change prey abundance through direct

consumption, but also for their ability to indirectly influence the spatial and temporal

distributions of prey and mesopredator species through the threat of predation, which compels

19

increased vigilance and changed feeding behaviours (Ripple et al. 2016). The phenomenon of

indirect influences became known as the ecology of fear (Ripple and Beschta 2004).

The strong trophic cascades produced by large carnivores, along with their extensive biological

requirements made them ideal flagship species for many transboundary conservation projects

(Soule and Terborgh 1999). Conservation practitioners assumed that protection afforded to large

carnivores would also preserve the supporting biological diversity and ecological processes that

maintained metastability within their communities or ecosystems (Mills, Soule and Doak 1993,

Power et al. 1996, Andelman and Fagan 2000, Sergio et al. 2008)

The order Carnivora includes 245 terrestrial species. The 31 largest of these, weighing at least 15

kilograms at adulthood, hail from five families and are notable for their low population densities,

low reproductive rates, high food requirements and wide-ranging behaviour.5 Together, these

traits have made large carnivores particularly vulnerable to habitat loss, habitat fragmentation

and climate change. These compounding threats, along with other contextual dangers, have

resulted in several worrying trends for global large carnivore populations; as of 2014, 61 percent

of large carnivore species were listed as threatened – or worse – by the International Union for

Conservation of Nature (IUCN), 77 percent were experiencing population declines, and 17 of the

31 largest species occupied an average 41 percent of their historical range (Ripple et al. 2014).

The identity of many transboundary conservation projects was further shaped by the growing

recognition that negative trends in global large carnivore populations would not be resolved

unless habitat loss, habitat fragmentation and climate change were dealt with accordingly (Weber

and Rabinowitz 1996, Di Marco et al. 2014, Ripple et al. 2014).

Local and political opportunity has played a substantial role in designating protected areas, as

most of America’s nature reserves lack commercial, residential or ecological value (Scott et al.

2001, Santini, Saura and Rondinini 2016). The resulting amalgamation is not only poorly

representative of biodiversity, but it also suffers from poor connectivity between protected

habitats. Connectivity can be measured in several different ways, given that it is a highly

contextual phenomenon. In their international study, Santini, Saura and Rondinini (2016)

5 See Ripple et al. (2014) for a list of the world’s terrestrial large carnivore species.

20

determined connectivity at national and continental scales via species dispersal capabilities, the

mean size and number of protected areas, and absolute protected area coverage. The authors

found that fewer large and evenly distributed protected areas are generally preferable to many

small and evenly distributed protected areas, because they offer greater home range sizes for

larger species and minimize the time spent moving through the mosaic of differing land uses that

separate protected areas (Santini, Saura and Rondinini 2016). Connectivity remains an essential

component of metapopulation viability regardless of protected area composition, however.

Metapopulations are defined as spatially dispersed, but interconnected local populations of

species. Metapopulations maintain gene diversity, demography and abundance either through

immigration, which reinforces local populations, or through colonization, which allows for

continued occupation of areas experiencing turnover, or expansion into new areas (Hanski 1999,

Ernest et al. 2014). When connectivity is impeded, sub-populations cannot be reinforced and are

thus at an increased risk of extirpation, which can in turn endanger the viability of entire

metapopulations (Hanski 1999, Soule and Terborgh 1999, Haddad et al. 2015).

The central purpose of transboundary conservation projects is to maintain landscape

permeability, or improve it where competing land uses have already eroded connectivity, and to

ultimately allow ecological processes such as gene flow, recolonization events, seasonal

migrations, range shifts and trophic cascades to occur (Santini, Saura and Rondinini, 2016). The

underlying assumption guiding transboundary conservation projects posits that improved

connectivity between protected areas is required to maintain or increase biodiversity in given

regions, which in turn promotes metastability through genetic variability and functional

redundancy (Oliver et al. 2015). This thesis will expound upon the multiple ways in which

connectivity’s assumptions can be applied across regions, and possibly even within a single

region.

Social Movement Theory: Integral Components in Normalizing Transboundary Conservation

Conservation is shaped in part by ecological realities such as those discussed in the preceding

section, but it is also driven by changing social conditions. Transboundary conservation may be

growing in popularity across the world (Kark et al. 2015), but it has not yet become the universal

standard for conservation practice. North America’s asymmetrical policy landscape is evidence

21

that principles of ecological integrity and connectivity have been slow to take hold across the

continent. In Canada, the federal Species at Risk Act only applies to public lands, and is

therefore meant to be supplemented by provincial legislations that ideally follow in its purpose

and intent. The strength of conservation laws varies significantly across provinces, while some –

such as British Columbia, Alberta and Saskatchewan – lack species at risk legislation altogether.

In the United States, although the federal Endangered Species Act applies universally across the

country in theory (Olive 2014), legislatures have been hesitant to sign and ratify international

conventions that promote a more coordinated approach to conservation in practice, unlike their

neighbour to the north (Vásárhelyi and Thomas 2006, Vasarhelyi and Thomas 2008). Thus, the

arbitrary international demarcation in the 49th parallel marks a very real division in terms of

conservation policy between Canada and the United States. Transboundary conservation projects

exist to address these gaps in policy, but can only experience success if they manage to convince

constituents that change is needed. Therefore, a fundamental component of transboundary

conservation mandates exists outside of the projects themselves. Proponents must change how

people think about conservation, and social movement theory provides an ideal platform for

assessing how this is done.

Social movement theory is a multifaceted framework that hails from the sociological tradition,

offering a plethora of tools that can be very useful to geographers who want to achieve working

understandings of groups whose purpose it is to affect change. First, social movement theory

provides classifications that can be used to identify and differentiate the various actors that are

crucial to any social movement. A social movement in the most general sense is defined as a

sector of the population that wants to change societal elements of social structure or rewards

distributions, while a countermovement opposes change and supports the status quo. Social

movement organizations are organized groups of actors who identify and pursue goals, either for

or against change, while social movement industries are collectives of compatible social

movement organizations that are in pursuit of similar goals. There are six groups of actors

identifiable in any social movement that can be distinguished based on the premise of whether

they derive direct or indirect benefits from the movement’s goals. There are the masses or elite,

the conscience or beneficiary bystander publics, the adherents, the constituents and the

opponents (McCarthy and Zald 1977).

22

Social movement theory also provides frameworks for navigating the complexity of social

movements. Resource mobilization processes provide an avenue to interrogate the dynamics and

tactics of social movements, and were the paradigmatic approach in American social movement

scholarship from the 1960’s until the mid-1990’s (Jasper 2010). Resource mobilization focuses

upon the array of resources and relationships that are accessed or formed throughout the course

of social movement operations, arguing that external dynamics influence the internal

characteristics of movements (McCarthy and Zald 1977). Following the logic of resource

mobilization processes, the heterogeneity of available resources across time and space can

explain how social movement organizations develop unique, differentiating characteristics within

broader social movement industries.

Cultural framing processes are another dominant perspective within social movement theory,

having emerged in the mid-1990’s to challenge the resource mobilization approach’s hegemonic

position (Jasper 2010). Cultural framing refers both to rhetoric that is directed inwards forming

collective identities, as well as to rhetoric that is directed outwards in a bid to garner power and

support. These symbolic tools are inherently subjective and difficult to oppose. Hegemonic

actors and social movements alike employ public good rhetoric as they interpret the ideal society

in accordance with their own values (Williams 1995, Hart 1996). As with resource mobilization

processes, the context within which cultural framing occurs can significantly shape both the

internal identity of social movements and their external interactions with other actors (Hart

1996).

Although cultural framing processes have enjoyed greater attention in new social movements

research, sociologists no longer presume that cultural approaches are mutually exclusive from

the structuralist approaches associated with resource mobilization processes (Silver 1997). Both

offer different insights into the opportunities and constraints that shape the trajectory of social

movements, and can be applied in accordance with one another. James M. Jasper characterized

contemporary social movement literature as having incorporated aspects of older approaches

while adding new perspectives (2010), which would allow for both resource mobilization and

cultural framing to be applied alongside one another.

23

The Geographic Discipline: A Grounded Perspective Geographers are particularly well-positioned to interrogate transboundary conservation projects

because of their discipline’s point of view. Geography’s emphasis on the particularities of places

and spaces facilitates an understanding of global trends by recognizing the sociopolitical actors

who operate in distinct historical-geographical situations, thus allowing a contextualized

perspective of broad, otherwise abstract processes. Such a perspective lends insight into local,

regional, national and even international power dynamics, revealing how decisions are made, by

whom, for who’s benefit and at what costs (Himley 2008).

Referring to geography as a single discipline is misleading, however (Heffernan 2003).

Geography has struggled over questions of its own identity perhaps more so than any other

discipline within the academy, thanks largely in part to the numerous transformations it has

undergone throughout its long and storied history (Turner II 2002). The earliest geographers

were navigators and explorers, who plied the techniques of their craft to locate resources and

discover new places for the sake of empire. Early geography then transitioned into a period of

damaging scientific racism, during which time harmful ideas were promulgated and the

reputation of the discipline was harmed significantly (Heffernan 2003). The two opposing

sectors of geography that survived this tumultuous era were the spatial-chorological identity,

commonly referred to as physical geography, and the human-environment identity, better known

as human geography. Physical geography rose to prominence over human geography during the

twentieth century, and while the two have settled as equals in the current scholarship’s uneasy

dualism, the identity of the discipline remains uncertain (Turner II 2002).

Thus, geography is unique amongst the academy in that it lacks an internal metaphysical core

(Turner II 2002, Gibson 2009). Unlike other disciplines, such as ecology, geography does not

have a well-defined object or subject of study (Turner II 2002); indeed, geography’s focus has

been heavily influenced by history, normally shifting with the predominant social and ecological

concerns of its time (Gibson 2009). Geography is more accurately described as a way of

knowing (Turner II 2002), and it is in this sense that this thesis applies human geography – while

borrowing from ecology and sociology – to the study of transboundary corridor projects and their

application in eastern North America.

24

Transboundary Corridor Projects: Restoring Connectivity Around the World

The Yellowstone to Yukon Initiative is widely recognized as the world’s premier transboundary

corridor project. Established in 1993, the Yellowstone to Yukon Initiative connected two of

North America’s most iconic protected areas, and in doing so, opened a whole new range of

possibilities for conservation across the world (Chester 2015).

Charles Chester, one of the leading scholars on the Yellowstone to Yukon Initiative, described

the project as a multifaceted entity replete with many significant meanings. The Yellowstone to

Yukon Initiative is first and foremost a holistic landscape vision, existing in the cognitive realm

prior to material reality. The Yellowstone to Yukon Initiative was the first transboundary

corridor in the neoliberal era; prior to its astounding success, most pundits did not believe that it

was possible for conservation to work at large scales. The project was able to affect change by

employing a radically different discursive approach, celebrating the possibilities of connectivity

and promoting the grandeur of a massive, unbroken region rather than spreading the fear and

panic that had become so common amongst conservation strategies (Chester 2015). The project

is therefore primarily a thought experiment. Its purpose is to challenge conservation’s deep-

rooted, limited ontologies of place.

The Yellowstone to Yukon Initiative is also, clearly, a geographic region. Recognizing that

ecosystems are artificial constructs (Chester 2015), the project was nevertheless fortunate to have

been situated in a region with a readily observable, homogenizing feature. Located in the

northern Rocky Mountains, the Yellowstone to Yukon Initiative traverses the Northwest

Territories and Yukon, two provinces in British Columbia and Alberta and five states in

Montana, Idaho, Wyoming, Oregon and Washington (Chester 2003). In total, the Yellowstone to

Yukon Initiative spans more than 1.2 million kilometres squared (Mattson et al. 2011).

Establishing a corridor here was justified in part by a collared wolf named Pluie, whom

researchers tracked across 30 different political jurisdictions (Chester 2003).

The Yellowstone to Yukon Initiative also holds meaning as a conservation mission. The northern

Rocky Mountains are home to a bevy of charismatic species, including all the region’s native

large carnivores. At the time that the Yellowstone to Yukon Initiative was first being thought of,

25

grizzly bears,6 mountain lions,7 wolverine8 and grey wolf9could all be found still occupying

portions of their historic ranges in the region (Mattson et al. 2011). Of these, grizzly bears were

adopted as the flagship species by the Yellowstone to Yukon Initiative for their vast ranges,

sensitivity to human disturbance and popularity amongst conservation practitioners in the region

(Locke and Francis 2012). The project’s focus was not strictly limited to these species, however;

Yellowstone to Yukon’s proponents adjusted its mission over time in response to changing

operating conditions, moving from science and conservation biology to concerns over local

communities and economic sustainability (Chester 2003).

Lastly, the Yellowstone to Yukon Initiative is a conservation organization embedded in a large

network of civil society actors. The project was born in meetings between the Wildlands

Network and the Canadian Parks and Wilderness Society (CPAWS) in 1993 (Chester 2015),

beginning as an amalgamation of over 300 conservation leaders, consisting of primarily

academic biologists, non-profit conservation organizations and environmental foundations

(Chester 2006). Initially, the Yellowstone to Yukon Initiative’s top internal priority was to

disseminate information amongst its partners; access to this information had been the primary

incentive that had attracted so many partners in the first place. As the project grew in complexity,

however, a more centralized governance structure was implemented to facilitate decision making

and ease the demand on the Wildlands Network and CPAWS (Chester 2015).

The Yellowstone to Yukon Initiative is not without its controversy, however. Chester (2003)

conducted a media analysis that revealed most of the project’s notoriety, which had led to its

public salience and ultimate success, was rooted in the heated debates that had arisen out of local

disaffection. Community leaders directed numerous accusations towards the Yellowstone to

Yukon Initiative; they claimed the project was a top-down, external and elitist construct designed

to force decisions upon locals; they claimed that the Yellowstone to Yukon Initiative would

result in lost jobs; they used human rights rhetoric to argue for their property rights; they claimed

6 Ursus arctos horribilis.

7 Puma concolor.

8 Gulo gulo.

9 Canis lupis.

26

the project was connected to radical, and therefore dangerous, environmental groups; and they

argued that the project was misdirected in that it was separating people from nature, when it

really should have been promoting co-existence (Chester 2003).

According to Chester (2003), some of these accusations were addressed directly by

representatives from the Yellowstone to Yukon Initiative, either through personal letters,

presentations or debates. Other accusations – namely those that claimed the project was

connected to international institutions – were met with mockery (Chester 2003). These

controversies do not seem to phase the conservation community, however. Rather, the project’s

shortcomings tend to be overlooked by the literature due to the magnitude of its contributions.

The Yellowstone to Yukon Initiative expanded what conservation practitioners thought was

achievable in their profession, and set the standard by which future transboundary conservation

projects would be modelled (Chester 2015, Kark et al. 2015).

The Terai Arc Landscape is a transboundary corridor project similar to the Yellowstone to

Yukon Initiative in both its landscape vision and conservation mission. Encompassing a total of

50,911 square kilometres around the foothills of the Himalayas (Thapa at el. 2017), the Terai Arc

Landscape provides refuge for the highest density of tigers10 in the world (Gour and Reddy

2015), along with a full compliment of native large mammal species (Harihar and Pandav 2012).

As such, the Terai Arc Landscape has been recognized as one of the most important regions in

the world in terms of tiger conservation. Only 3200 individual tigers remain in the wild (Gour

and Reddy 2015), having been extirpated from over 93 percent of their historic range. The tiger

populations of the Terai Arc Landscape have been starting to recover thanks to the efforts of the

project, evidenced by camera trapped photographs taken of transient individuals (Thapa at el.

2017), but more work and persistence is needed before the five fragmented populations can once

again rejoin into a single interbreeding metapopulation (Harihar and Pandav 2012).

Just as with the Yellowstone to Yukon Initiative, however, the Terai Arc Landscape faces some

serious – albeit very different – obstacles to success. One challenge facing the project is the fact

that tigers, and their large mammalian counterparts, are not the region’s only occupants. The

10

Panthera tigris.

27

Terai Arc Landscape’s Indian portion has one of the highest population density of human

communities in the entire country, with an average 550 people per square kilometre (Malviya

and Ramesh 2015). The Gujjars are of particular interest to conservation practitioners in the area

given their unique, traditional lifestyles. Gujjars were historically nomadic pastoralists, travelling

the Himalayas with herds of dairy buffalo. To improve control, the state encouraged the Gujjars

to settle into villages, which are now predominantly located in the foothill forests – prime habitat

for tigers and leopards (Harihar, Verissimo and MacMillan 2015).11

The Gujjar settlements and Terai Arc Landscape have combined to increase human-animal

conflicts in the region, to the detriment of both. As tigers have expanded their ranges thanks to

increasing connectivity, they have displaced leopards from ideal hunting territories. Leopards

have in turn begun to target domestic livestock to supplement their diets, causing local

resentment against both large carnivore species. In a 2015 study of the Rajaji-Corbett corridor,

which is a major component of the Terai Arc Landscape in terms of tiger conservation, Malviya

and Ramesh found that 24 of 29 villages surveyed had experienced conflicts with either tigers or

leopards in the past – including all six Gujjar settlements surveyed. Those households that had

endured tiger attacks had suffered greater economic losses, given the predators’ ability to hunt

larger livestock species. Leopard attacks were more frequent however, and resulted in greater

negative attitudes towards large carnivore conservation amongst residents (Malviya and Ramesh

2015). Local tolerance levels are a critical concern for conservation practitioners within the Terai

Arc Landscape; lack of funding, equipment and staff has left tigers vulnerable to retaliatory

poaching – the most immediate threat across the range (Harihar and Pandav 2012). Frail public

institutions have compounded this already precarious position in the past. Poaching was

particularly rampant at the turn of the twenty-first century, when civil unrest took resources away

from anti-poaching efforts in Nepal (Thapa et al. 2017). This tumultuous period culminated in

tiger extirpations from Sariska Tiger Reserve in 2004 and Panna Tiger Reserve in 2005 (Harihar,

Verissimo and MacMillan 2015)

Official management responses within the Terai Arc Landscape’s have included relocating both

tigers and local communities at different points in time. The former is usually considered as a

11

Panthera pardus.

28

substitute for connectivity (Harihar and Pandav 2012), while the latter is a controversial method

for minimising human-animal conflict. The first large scale community resettlement operation

occurred in 1983, when 1390 Gujjar families were forcibly removed from their villages to make

way for Rajajji National Park. While this operation was generally deemed to be a failure and

many families wound up returning to their homes, local attitudes towards resettlement programs

have changed markedly in recent years. A study conducted in 2015 revealed that 283 of 292

Gujjar individuals wanted to be resettled, albeit with certain stipulations. The authors speculated

that this change may be a result of shifting global market conditions for pastoralism (Harihar,

Verissimo and MacMillan 2015). Regardless, the practice remains highly contentious, both

because of its high cost and drastic power disparities.

The Mesoamerican Biological Corridor is easily the most ambitious of the three transboundary

corridors in terms of its landscape vision. Envisioned in the 1980’s by northern conservation

groups led by ecologist Archie Car III (Finley-Brook 2007), the project – originally called the

Paseo Pantera, or Path of the Jaguar – was designed to recreate the corridor that had been used

by large carnivores to travel along the Pleistocene land bridge from North America to South

America for three million years (Weber and Rabinowitz 1996). The main focal species of the

Paseo Pantera were pumas,12 and as the name suggests, jaguars.13 Pumas, also known as

mountain lions, panthers and cougars, were once widely distributed throughout North America.

By the beginning of the twentieth century, however, pumas had nearly been extirpated from

eastern North America and only faired slightly better in the more remote habitats of the west. It

was not until hunting regulations were enforced in the 1960’s that western populations began to

recover (Sweanor, Logan and Hornocker 2000).

In addition to enhanced regulations, pumas can also benefit greatly from transboundary

conservation. Highly territorial, male pumas exhibit particularly aggressive behaviour during

mating season. Subadults are consistently forced to disperse during these periods, travelling in

any direction to find productive habitat sites with breeding opportunities (Stoner et al. 2013).

Being polygynous, males generally undergo these dispersal pressures – with the longest record

12

Puma concolor. 13

Panthera onca.

29

distance recorded at 483 kilometres – while females can be more philopatric, with successive

generations having been found occupying the same home range (Sweanor, Logan and Hornocker

2000). The greatest limiting factor for puma movement is landscape permeability; when

unimpeded, pumas have been found to regularly travel farther and in a greater variety of

directions (Stoner et al. 2013).

Jaguars have also been proven to benefit from transboundary conservation. Historically, the New

World’s largest feline ranged from the southern United States to central Argentina, but by the

twenty first century their habitat range had been reduced by 54 percent (Rabinowitz and Zeller

2010). Jaguars are especially sensitive to anthropogenic stressors, avoiding roads and areas with

even small human population densities (Colchero et a. 2011). There is evidence, however, that

jaguars have somehow maintained genetic flow throughout their remaining range despite being

separated into 90 populations, meaning that no subspecies have yet emerged. Transboundary

corridors, such as the Paseo Pantera, have the potential to improve jaguar movements to 78

percent of their historic range and ensure that none of these populations become isolated

(Rabinowitz and Zeller 2010).

Progress on the Paseo Pantera was stalled by rampant political instability and regional conflict

throughout Latin America during the 1980’s, however. The original idea was then tampered to

focus on Central America – effectively abandoning the prospect of conserving the puma – and

became known as the Mesoamerican Biological Corridor when Mexico’s four southernmost

states were included (Finley-Brook 2007). The Alliance for Sustainable Development, signed by

all Central American countries in 1994, cemented the corridor as official policy in the region

(Weber and Rabinowitz 1996).

The Mesoamerican Biological Corridor has received praise from the conservation community,

but has also come under criticism from indigenous and human rights activists for its worrying

connections to free market ideologies (Zimmerer 2006). The project has grown rapidly in part

due to support from development banks and aid agencies, which have been attracted to the region

by the prospect of capturing vast donor funds. Development banks and aid agencies regularly

pressure rapid, and possibly inadequate social and ecological assessments so that funds may be

distributed quickly, which is akin to project success for donors. The Mesoamerican Biological

Corridor also operates under the guise of decentralized participatory management, while local

30

communities are only included in token decision making processes. While governments or

central project offices direct operations, most locals remain largely unaware of developments.

Those communities that are consulted only get contacted after the decisions have already been

made (Finley-Brook 2007). The Mesoamerican Biological Corridor is a massively complicated

undertaking, but its current top down, market driven approach has found most of its success in

fueling antagonism and distrust.

The focal transboundary project of this thesis, the Algonquin to Adirondacks Collaborative, was

created by one of the world’s premier transboundary conservation organizations, the Wildlands

Network. Co-founded by activist Dave Foreman and the father of conservation biology, Michael

Soule, in 1991, the central mission of the Wildlands Network is “to reconnect, restore, and

rewild North America so that life in all its diversity can thrive” (DeBoer 2000, The Wildlands

Network 2017). The Wildlands Network planned to achieve its goals by implementing a series of

transboundary corridors which, once connected, would form a swath of uninterrupted protected

space stretching across the continent. The Greater Laurentian Wildlands Project, which led to the

creation of the Algonquin to Adirondacks Collaborative, was intended to function as the

Wildland Network’s sole transboundary corridor in the eastern half of North America (Quinby et

al. 1999, see Figure 1), while the Yellowstone to Yukon Initiative was responsible for the west.

Figure 1: Map of A2A Collaborative Region (A2A Collaborative, n.d.)

31

It was under the mantle of efficiency that the Algonquin to Adirondacks Collaborative selected

the Algonquin wolf14 as the project’s focal species (Quinby et al. 1999). Wolves are the most

widely distributed terrestrial species in the world (Musiani and Paquet 2004). Habitat generalists,

wolves occupy every vegetation type in the northern hemisphere and hunt every large

mammalian prey species found within their ranges (Mech and Boitani 2003). Wolves are also

highly adaptable, having been found in regions where temperatures drop as low as -56C, and

climb as high as +56C (Mech and Boitani 2003). Wolves are also capable of occupying vast

expanses of territory, with a minimum 15,000 squared kilometres required for minimum viable

populations of 150 individuals (Theberge and Theberge 2009). This figure is relatively fluid,

however, as wolves have been shown to increase the size of their territories as habitat quality

deteriorates (Kittle et al. 2015). Given their broad ranges and impressive capacity for

adaptability, wolves can easily be categorized as umbrella species (Soule and Terborgh 1999,

Smith, Peterson and Houston 2003).

Human persecution has unfortunately been a central component in the wolf’s natural history, and

can rightly be singled out as the leading cause of the predicaments that many populations face

today (Theberge 2000, Musiani and Paquet 2004). In North America, the antagonistic

relationship between people and wolves goes back to the earliest European settlers, who

perceived wolves not only as direct threats to their physical safety, but also as symbolic threats to

the progress of civilization. Wolves represented all the ills of an untamed wilderness, and were

actively targeted in extermination campaigns grounded in a discourse of morality, community

and religion (Kellert et al. 1995). The demonization of the forest essentially excluded wolves

from all of places, since their very homes were branded undesirable for modern society (Emel,

Wilbert and Wolch 2002). Killing wolves became sport, frontier custom and a profiteering

activity in both Canada and the United States, as governments set rewards for the successful

destruction of these purported vermin (Jones 2010). The first wolf bounty in North America was

set by the Massachusetts Bay Colony in 1630, beginning over three centuries of uninhibited

destruction unlike that experienced by most other species (DeBoer 2000). Wolves only managed

to survive in places too remote for hunters to reach, and had all but been exterminated by the

14

Canis lycaon.

32

time the first protections were granted by America’s ESA in 1973. Only 400 individuals were

left in the most inaccessible portions of Minnesota, with the few other remnant packs having

moved north into Canada’s unoccupied wilderness earlier in that century (DeBoer 2000, Jones

2010).

Scientists began to realize the potential ecological consequences of society’s unbridled wolf

hunts as early as the 1920’s (Jones 2010). Wolves are the main predators of cervids in the

northern hemisphere – in areas were wolves had been extirpated, cervid densities have been

observed to be on average six times higher than in areas that still had wolves (Ripple et al. 2014).

High cervid densities resulted in browsing pressure that overwhelmed plant communities,

ultimately leading to food shortages and subsequent cervid population crashes (Jones 2010).

These observations were entirely consistent with Clements’ climax theory, the dominant

paradigm of classical ecology at the time (Worster 1990). Although antagonism towards wolves

by no means disappeared after these earlier findings (Elder 2000), the scientific community’s

changing disposition did begin to sway policy. A 1925 Canadian policy document recognized the

scientific, educational, recreational and economic value of all predators. The United States

National Parks Service halted wanton killing in 1933 and Canada followed in 1959, although

there were few wolves remaining in either country to benefit from these newfound benevolent

policies (Jones 2010).

The advent of America’s ESA in 1973 furthered these shifts in policy with its mandate to restore

extirpated species (Jones 2010). Suddenly finding themselves in a favourable legislative

environment, wolves began to return by way of reintroduction or natural recolonization to many

of their former haunts, including Montana, New Mexico, North Carolina and the Great Lakes

region, with notable organizations forming in California, New England and Colorado to advocate

for further restoration projects (Elder 2000, Musiani and Paquet 2004).

Returning wolves tested the tolerance that was supposedly proliferating among North America’s

newly environmentally conscientious citizenry. As the number of large carnivores rose in

populated areas, so too did encounters between wolves, people and their livestock (Naughton-

Travis, Grossberg and Treves 2003). Retaliatory killing became a pressing concern for

reintroduction projects, as rural residents responded by eliminating what they saw as threats to

their livelihoods (Musiani and Paquet 2004, Young et al. 2015). Wolves contributed to the

33

formation of powerful, heterogenous identities, as advocates clashed with opponents in heated

ideological battles over reintroduction projects (Emel, Wilbert and Wolch 2002, Young et al.

2015). In response, Defenders of Wildlife, an organization responsible for the reintroduction of

wolves to Yellowstone and central Idaho, established the Wolf Compensation Fund in 1987. The

Fund represented a concerted effort to curb retaliatory killings by scaling the economic burden of

wolf reintroduction projects away from local livestock owners towards national and global

supporters (Boyle 1997). Certain provincial, state and federal governments followed suit by

establishing financial compensatory funds which payed between 85 to 100 percent of the

estimated market value for damage caused by confirmed wolf depredations (Naughton-Travis,

Grossberg and Treves 2003, Musiani and Paquet 2004).

Numerous reintroduction projects centred around the Algonquin wolf have been proposed for

America’s east. The Algonquin wolf, whose historical habitat range includes every deciduous

forest east of the Mississippi River from the Gulf Coast to southern Ontario, has been missing

from America’s east since 1897 (DeBoer 2000, Kyle et al. 2006). The United States Fish and

Wildlife Service (USFWS) first introduced the idea in a 1992 recovery plan, listing the

Adirondack Park as one potential location for Algonquin wolves to be restored – with the vast

forests of Maine, northern Vermont and New Hampshire presenting ideal locations for future

dispersal. The USFWS had limited power to follow through on their intentions, however, given

the lack of federal lands in the region (Sharpe, Norton and Donnelley 2001). Defenders of

Wildlife took up the initiative in 1996, lobbying the New York State Department of

Environmental Conservation (DEC) to consider the proposal (McKibben 2000, Sharpe, Norton

and Donnelley 2001). The proposal gained so much traction that the USFWS committed to

developing another recovery plan for the Algonquin wolf by 1999 (DeBoer 2000). Again, these

plans did not come to fruition. Currently, the Algonquin wolf remains isolated in limited parts of

Ontario – where it is listed as a threatened species under the Endangered Species Act – and

Quebec, and America’s east continues to be devoid of its native large carnivore species (DeBoer

2000).

A fragmented wolf population could prove disastrous. Studies have suggested that wolf

metapopulations require a minimum of three interconnected subpopulations to remain viable.

Isolated populations are susceptible to genetic simplification, as evidenced by the wolves of Isle

Royal, which have lost over half of their genetic diversity. Isolated populations are also prone to

34

extirpation, as was proven in 1960 when the last remnant packs of Coronation Island, Alaska

disappeared forever (Theberge 2000). Algonquin wolves have been largely prevented from

establishing new subpopulations by their impermeable surrounding landscapes. In Ontario,

killings within and adjacent to protected areas have long been a problem for wolf populations.

Human-caused mortalities have been fueled by desires to protect deer populations from

predation, in addition to a general antagonism towards wolves (Theberge et al. 2006). To make

matters worse, a 2016 reassessment by Ontario’s ESA legalized killings outside of the Algonquin

wolf’s core occurrence areas due to difficulties that hunters experience in distinguishing the

species from coyotes.15 This unprecedented decision stripped the threatened species of its

protections under section 9 of the Endangered Species Act when outside of these core occurrence

areas, effectively inhibiting gene flow by making it more difficult for individuals to move

between subpopulations (Ontario 2016). Those Algonquin wolves that do manage to disperse

into the United States face similarly inhospitable landscapes. Maine, New Hampshire and

Vermont have all proposed legislation in the past to prohibit the reintroduction of Algonquin

wolves (Elder 2000). Although these policies do not prohibit natural recolonization, they are

indicative of persistent negative attitudes towards these large carnivores.

The Algonquin to Adirondacks Collaborative has been scantily covered by academia. Quinby et

al. (1999) published the first study of the project, which was aimed at identifying a potential

corridor that would connect the two parks while fulfilling the habitat requirements of the

Algonquin wolf. The authors looked for areas with extensive interior forest habitats, available

bodies of water, low human use and distance from roads. What they found was not entirely

promising, however. Northern Ontario had ideal wolf conditions, but fragmentation and

disturbances increased as the study travelled south with certain physical barriers – such as the St.

Lawrence River – threatening to be impenetrable. The density of roads and human populations

also became significantly higher as the study neared southern Ontario, with any semblance of a

corridor becoming lost halfway from Algonquin Provincial Park to Thousand Islands National

Park (Quinby et al. 1999). Barring the addition of additional infrastructure to facilitate

15

Canis latrans.

35

movement, the corridor underpinning the Algonquin to Adirondacks Collaborative did not seem

feasible.

Next, Brown and Harris (2005) conducted a study on the social feasibility of a corridor linking

the Algonquin and Adirondack parks by surveying local households with large lots on the

American side of the border. What they learned was that only 17 percent of the residents

surveyed were even aware of the project, meaning a large majority could not have possibly held

strong, informed opinions with regards to the Algonquin to Adirondacks Collaborative. The

authors also learned that 80 percent of households were environmentally conscientious and

supported protections for biological habitats as well as cultural and historic sites. These same

respondents were against authoritative, top-down restrictions on their property rights, however.

Most were in favour of greater community involvement in the forms of opinion surveys, public

and individual meetings, but only 30 percent were willing to participate themselves (Brown and

Harris 2005). The results of this study suggest that the public is receptive to conservation in

general, but that locals need to feel a sense of ownership over any projects that occur on or near

their land.

Finally, Vásárhelyi and Thomas (2006) assessed the Canadian and American legislative capacity

to implement terrestrial transboundary conservation projects, with a focus on the Algonquin to

Adirondacks Collaborative as a case study. After analyzing international conventions along with

national regulations, the authors concluded that although both countries have adopted large-scale

conservation approaches in policy frameworks, there is a lack of concomitant legislation. As

such, there are no legal requirements to implement transboundary conservation projects in North

America (Vásárhelyi and Thomas 2006). Thus, the Algonquin to Adirondacks Collaborative has

to generate interest in its vision of a corridor stretching across the Frontenac Arch, which can

only be created voluntarily.

36

Chapter 3 Looking for a Place to Happen

Introduction Gatrell and Flowerdew (2005) advised that researchers choosing a topic to study should begin by

building a broad picture of the previous work that has been done in their area of interest. At the

outset of this thesis, the researcher’s principal interests lay in exploring novel environmental

governance schemes geared towards the conservation of large carnivores, due to the complex

ecological dynamics associated with keystone predators, and the controversial position of large

carnivores in many human cultures. Upon beginning a literature review, the researcher

discovered that transboundary conservation projects are among some of the most recent and

innovative environmental governance schemes that commonly have large carnivore conservation

as their primary goal. The proliferation of transboundary corridor projects has resulted in many

new possibilities for research from a diverse array of disciplines, given the plethora of ecological

and political interconnections that complicate action on such a massive spatial scale.

A descriptive, exploratory and explanatory case study type was the optimal approach for this

thesis (Petty, Thomson and Stew 2012). The case study is not a method, but is better described as

a broad methodology or approach to research design that ties research to specific geographic

places and actions (Petty, Thomson and Stew 2012, Baird, Plummer and Bodin 2016, Baxter

2016). The Algonquin to Adirondacks Collaborative was chosen as this thesis’ case study for a

number of reasons. The project is in close geographic proximity to the researcher’s institution,

the University of Toronto, and was therefore a viable undertaking given the researcher’s finite

available resources. Additionally, research rooted in a singular instance can in turn generate a

nuanced understanding of broader phenomena, such as the global trend towards transboundary

conservation models (Baxter 2016). The Algonquin to Adirondacks Collaborative is closely

associated with other transboundary corridor projects, such as the Yellowstone to Yukon

Initiative, due to the projects’ common connections to organizations such as The Wildlands

Network and CPAWS (Quinby et al. 1999, Stephenson 2001, Brown and Harris 2005, Chester

2006). A case study of the Algonquin to Adirondacks Collaborative will reveal how social

movement organizations hailing from the same social movement industry adjust their approach

to pursue the same goals in different contexts. Most importantly to the researcher, the Algonquin

37

to Adirondacks Collaborative is also closely associated with a threatened and controversial large

carnivore species, the Algonquin wolf (Quinby et al. 1999, Brown and Harris 2005). Thus, a case

study of the project can shed insight into the challenges that accompany the conservation of large

carnivores in developed countries. Lastly, the case study methodology was also chosen because

of the belief that a deeper understanding of transboundary conservation in North America’s east

is a valuable endeavor in its own right (Baxter 2016).

Understanding Place As transboundary conservation projects have become increasingly prevalent across the world,

there has been a concomitant growth in literature concerned with establishing standardised

frameworks for conservation planning at large spatial scales. Proponents argue that, for

transboundary conservation to be systematic, scientifically defensible and rigorous, experts

should begin by identifying conservation problems that are conducive to working at broad spatial

scales (Noss 2003, Kark et al. 2015). These problems concurrently shape goals, objectives and

hypotheses that quantify places through measures such as area and population size. Indicators

such as biodiversity or species at risk are then chosen to simultaneously validate these measures

and ascribe new ecological significance to places (Noss 2003). The entire process of

transboundary conservation is designed to build upon these foundational measures and meanings

of place.

Contemporary frameworks for transboundary conservation projects are problematic in that they

take the notion of place for granted. By beginning with conservation problems, they reduce place

to a spatial container for problems that can be resolved without first questioning how they fit in

amongst alternate interpretations of the landscape. Transboundary conservation frameworks

work to elevate a singular understanding of place – one that is bounded by large spatial and

temporal scales and characterized by ecological traits. Conversely, contemporary political

ecology has largely discredited realist notions of place, which present locations as objective,

neutral and ultimately beyond question. Most – if not all political ecologists have accepted the

idea that places have multiple meanings ascribed onto them, and as such are inherently contested

(Wainwright 2005, Tilley 2006). Place is differentiated from similar, more abstract notions of

space and environment in that it is a descriptive term used to denote physical, ontological and

38

emotional aspects that are associated with a location (Devine-Wright 2009). These aspects are

inherently subjective, and therefore cannot possibly be reduced to a single meaning.

The remainder of this chapter is dedicated to expanding upon the superficial understanding of

place that has been promoted by existing transboundary conservation frameworks. It does so by

adhering to a phenomenological perspective, which defines landscapes in accordance with their

constitutive places. Thus, this chapter will examine the objective physical attributes of the

Algonquin to Adirondacks region in addition to the subjective cognitive images that people have

attributed to it, effectively delving into the multiple ways that place is constructed – and

contested – in North America’s east (Tilley 2006).

The East: Ecological Rebirth The eastern region of North America, now one of the most biodiverse places in the entire

continent (Olive 2016), was better described as a desolate waste not too long ago. The east’s

ecological decline can be traced back to New York’s fur trade, started by Henry Hudson in 1609,

which disrupted the guiding principles that had shaped indigenous game management strategies

for centuries. The strict restrictions that had previously ensured sustainability, such as

prohibitions on hunting doe or destroying beaver colonies, completely gave way in the face of

market demand to a rapacious consumptive desire for fur bearers and other supposedly

undesirable species. The fur trade’s consequences were rapid and widespread. By 1670, New

York’s fur bearers had been practically wiped out. By the eighteenth century, hunters were

travelling upwards of a thousand miles every fall to find game (Schneider 1997). The fur trade

continued in the east until the nineteenth century, at which point wolves, bears,16 pumas, elk,17

lynx18 and beaver19 had all been eradicated (McKibben 2000).

The fur trade also had tremendous destabilizing effects on local human communities. The

Haudenosaunee Confederacy – comprised of the Seneca, Cayuga, Onondaga, Oneida and

16

Ursus americanus. 17

Cervus canadensis. 18

Lynx canadensis. 19

Castor canadensis.

39

Mohawk peoples – had managed to sustain uneasy relations with their surrounding Algonquin

neighbours prior to European settlement. The fur trade, coupled with Samuel de Champlain’s

hostile actions against the Haudenosaunee on 30 July 1608, led to the eruption of the seventeenth

century’s Beaver Wars. The Haudenosaunee and Algonquin were pitted against one another by

their English and French allies in a colonial race to dominate the east’s game resources. After the

region’s flora and fauna had been thoroughly ravaged, hunters began moving west to more fertile

grounds, and the Haudenosaunee – their tracking and trapping skills no longer useful – were

largely displaced by farmers and industrialists looking to make use of the now silenced landscape

(Schneider 1997). The fall of the fur trade brought America’s first symbolic landscape, the

seventeenth century New England village, to New York (Flad 2009).

Meinig (1979) identified three landscapes as being constitutive of the United State’s iconography

of nationhood. The early New England village was the first, and easily most persistent. The New

England village was a humanized landscape, whose domination over wilderness was

representative of the nationalist values of democracy, community and religion (Meinig 1979,

Flad 2009). As settlers moved further west from New England, into New York and beyond, they

brought with them the ideology of wilderness as a tame, pastoralist landscape until it came to

characterize the entire east (DeBoer 2000). Such fantasies pose serious threats to projects that

purport to reintroduce large carnivores, such as the Algonquin to Adirondacks Collaborative. The

wolf was, and may still be a potent symbol of a vigorous and uninhibited wilderness (Kellert et

al. 1995, Musiani and Paquet 2004, Jones 2010).

The roots of restoration projects go as far back as the 1840’s. New York’s first wildlife data

gathering project was conducted by James Dekay, who had been motivated to uncover the

impacts of the fur trade. Dekay’s suspicions were confirmed when his search yielded no beavers

(Schneider 1997). Conservation practitioners decided to do something about this problem for the

first time in 1907, taking beavers from Yellowstone National Park and releasing them in the

southern Adirondacks. Following this initial success, black bears were reintroduced to New York

in the 1930’s, and moose20 followed in the 1990’s, returning from New England off their own

accord. Thanks to these efforts, the eastern United States was the only large region in the world

20

Alces alces.

40

to go from desolate to lush and thriving in the twentieth century (McKibben 2000). The

Algonquin to Adirondacks Collaborative is simply a continuation of the east’s ongoing story of

restoration.

Algonquin Provincial Park: Symbol of the North As its name suggests, the Algonquin to Adirondacks Collaborative is nestled between two of

North America’s most iconic parks. Algonquin Provincial Park, classified as a nature-

environment park by Ontario’s provincial government, is one of Canada’s oldest, largest and

busiest protected areas. Algonquin is situated between North America’s northern and southern

ecosystems, boasting a mix of coniferous and deciduous forests, and playing host to over 250

avian species that would normally not be found in such proximity to one another. The park was

first proposed by Alexander Kirkwood, who had written to the Commissioner of Crown Lands

about the idea in 1886 – just one year after the first segments of Banff National Park had been

granted protected designation. Kirkwood had based his proposal on Algonquin’s distinct geology

and regionally important natural environment. Located just below the Canadian Precambrian

Shield, Algonquin’s gneiss and granite landscape was – and remains – generally unsuitable for

agricultural development, as some of the earliest Europeans that settled there discovered. Thus, a

park there was politically feasible; without agricultural potential or rich mineral deposits, there

was no significant pressure from industrialists for permanent, spatially intensive development.

Algonquin’s proximity to the Canadian Precambrian Shield also makes it the highest region in

southern Ontario, with its tallest western peaks reaching up to 500 metres above sea level. Due to

its remarkable altitude, Algonquin boasts headwaters for seven major rivers feeding into Lake

Huron and the Ottawa River, two large bodies of water crucial for shipping. In 1893, the Royal

Commission on Forest Reservation and National Park released a report that agreed with

Kirkwood’s sentiments; citing the widespread desertification that had plagued Europe’s

deforested landscapes, the report drafted legislation to protect 3,800 square kilometres of forests

and wetlands. Algonquin National Park was created on 27 May 1893, was later reclassified as a

provincial park in 1913, and gradually expanded to cover 7,600 square kilometres as time went

on (Standfield and Lundell 1993).

Algonquin Provincial Park is notable for its diverse mandate. Forestry, tourism and preservation

are all given equal consideration in a rare and delicate – if not somewhat contradictory –

41

balancing act. Forestry has been a major occupation within Algonquin since the 1830’s, more

than half a century before Kirkwood had first envisioned the park. Canada’s forestry industry can

trace its roots back to the Napoleonic Wars, during which time the British, who had been cut off

from their traditional Baltic suppliers by Napoleon Bonaparte’s continental blockade, had turned

to their North America colony for support. Despite British demand dropping off in the 1850’s,

Canada remained a major timber exporter thanks to an emerging American market, and

Algonquin’s forestry industry continued to grow. The introduction of railways during the 1890’s

gave timber barons access to increasingly remote parts of Algonquin’s interior forests; the First

World War saw Algonquin shift its production to fuelwood to supply municipalities, which had

suddenly run short on coal; Algonquin’s forestry industry expanded in scope during the 1930’s

as global market demand rose for hardwoods; new logging roads were built and old roads

elongated during the Second World War, providing even greater access and transport options;

and mechanized logging equipment was finally introduced in the 1950’s. By 1974, logging

companies operating within Algonquin Provincial Park were generating 40 million dollars per

year, a figure so substantial that the industry was able to persist despite growing public criticism

(Standfield and Lundell 1993).

Algonquin’s forestry industry has had rippling effects throughout the park. When the industry

was first established in the early nineteenth century, company depots were erected to grow crops,

act as administrative units and store non-perishable goods for the logging crews; tote roads were

constructed so that supplies could be delivered to the company depots; and winter camps, known

as camboose camps were built to house the crews.21 The infrastructure built by the forestry

industry also served to increase the number of residents and visitors to Algonquin; several

communities managed to emerge alongside train stations and camboose camps, despite the

Crown only ever selling a single plot of land within Algonquin for the purposes of settlement.22

All have since ceased to exist as permanent residences, however, although some are still used

seasonally by cottagers. Numerous hotels and cottages were also constructed on these sites

during the early twentieth century, although park authorities stopped issuing new leases in 1930

21

The term camboose was derived from the French word cambuse, meaning canteen. 22

Dufond Farm on Manitou Lake.

42

and 1945, respectively, in a bid to hide signs of anthropogenic activity and restore a natural feel

to the park for tourists. The logging industry has followed suit, working away from canoe routes,

portage trails, roads and shorelines, and restricting the use of machinery to off-peak seasons. The

result is a visually stunning stretch of wilderness (Standfield and Lundell 1993).

Algonquin Provincial Park has been utilized by social movements in the past. The famous Group

of Seven and its predecessors, the Algonquin School artists, painted Algonquin Park’s

picturesque scenery during the early decades of the twentieth century to promote a Canadian

modern nationalism premised upon traditional conservative morality. Algonquin’s landscapes

were chosen by the artists to symbolize a simpler – and idealized – past, where people

supposedly lived healthier and more fulfilling lives closer to nature. The work of the Group of

Seven and Algonquin School came largely as a response to the ills of modernity. The artists

viewed industrialization and urbanization as destabilizing and morally corrupting forces.

Moreover, the artists were also motivated to present an alternative to European elitist

modernism. European artists had been using emotional, subconscious and experimental methods

to paint soft, pastoral scenes that pandered to privileged, educated audiences. The Group of

Seven and Algonquin School of artists by contrast embraced traditionalism, rationalism and

realism to depict images that were, in their opinions, representative of Ontario’s middle class,

which was in turn supposed to be representative of the entire nation. Thus, the ‘born of the

palette’ myth took shape, with Algonquin Provincial Park playing a pivotal role in building the

imagery of nation (Edwardson 2004).

The Adirondacks: Forever Wild New York State’s Adirondack Park is no less spectacular. At six million acres, Adirondack Park

is the largest of its kind in America’s lower 48 states. It takes up fully one fifth of New York

State, is larger than New Jersey or Massachusetts, and is also larger than Yellowstone, Grand

Canyon and Yosemite National Parks combined. Adirondack Park is also just over three times

the size of its counterpart, Algonquin Provincial Park. There are many similarities between

Algonquin and the Adirondacks, however. The geology of the Adirondacks is just as rocky and

inhospitable to agricultural development as that of Algonquin. The Adirondack’s 4,000 lakes,

ponds, swamps and bogs, 30,000 miles of rivers, streams and brooks, and estimated one billion

trees sit atop of the Adirondack Dome’s marble, quartzite and gneiss, which was formed 1.1

43

billion years ago when the ancient landmasses of Grenville and Proto-America collided. The

Adirondacks also have a considerably steep topography; over 100 of its mountains have peaks

above 3,000 feet; over 40 are taller than 4,000 feet; and two mountains reach higher than 5,000

feet (Schneider 1997) – three times higher than Algonquin’s tallest peak (Standfield and Lundell

1993).23 The Adirondack Park is also situated in a transition zone between temperate and boreal

forests (Didier et al. 2009), and is home to a diverse array of 300 bird species, over 70 fish

species and more than 40 mammalian species (Schneider 1997).

Just like Algonquin, much of the impetus behind the Adirondack Park’s current protected status

was driven by the area’s important hydrological features. The headwaters of the Hudson River,

and major tributaries to the Mohawk River, Saint Lawrence River and Lake Champlain all flow

amongst the Adirondacks’ peaks and trees. By the end of the nineteenth century, New York’s

legislature was becoming increasingly fearful that these bodies of water would all dry up if

deforestation was permitted to continue unabated. The resulting destruction of the state’s most

reliable mode of transportation to the west would have left it hostage to the whims of powerful

railway companies. Just as Kirkwood had done for Algonquin, a man by the name of Verplanck

Colvin pushed for the creation of a new park in the Adirondacks. In 1872, Colvin headed a

survey that was intended to materialize into such a park, but it was not until Harvard professor

Charles Sargent did the same in 1884 that action was taken by the state legislature. The

Adirondack Forest Preserve was created as a ‘Forever Wild’ area in 1885; the famous Blue Line

demarcating Adirondack Park was drawn in 1892; and on 13 September 1894, article 7 section 7

was passed, which banned the forestry industry from the Forest Preserve’s interior (Schneider

1997).

Adirondack Park enjoys unparalleled protection amongst subnational protected areas. Ingrained

in the New York State constitution (Glennon and Porter 2005), a gauntlet of two consecutive

sessions of the legislature followed by a public vote stand in the way of potential amendments to

the park’s regulations. Adirondack Park also enjoys one of North America’s most distinct land

use schemes. Private lands within the Blue Line cover 3.4 million acres (Schneider 1997), or 52

percent of Adirondack’s total area. Under the jurisdiction of the Adirondack Park Agency (APA)

23

Ironically – and confusingly – one of Adirondack’s tallest peaks is named Algonquin. The other is Marcy.

44

Act, 130,000 permanent residents can be found in hamlets, moderate intensity use and low

intensity use areas. 75,000 seasonal residents add to this impressive figure (Glennon and Porter

2005). Forestry and trapping continue to be prominent industries within the park, while a single

active mine is all that remains of what was once one of North America’s largest iron operations.

Most of the Adirondack’s farmers have left as well, and the few that have persevered look upon

incoming hobby farmers with incredulity. Adjacent to all this commotion is Adirondack’s 2.6

million acre ‘Forever Wild’ Forest Preserve, where some of North America’s oldest trees reside.

Although most are second or third growth, some trees in parts of the forest have never been cut,

and are up to 300 years old. Adirondack’s Five Ponds Wilderness Area is the largest uncut forest

in the eastern United States, encompassing half a million acres of old-growth (Schneider 1997).

The Adirondack Park’s current conservation regime is premised upon a landscape species

approach, which adheres to the same principles – albeit on a smaller scale – that guide the

Algonquin to Adirondacks Collaborative (Didier et al. 2009). Developed by the Wildlife

Conservation Society, the landscape species approach creates land use plans that incorporate

both ecological and anthropogenic needs over diverse spaces. Landscape species differ

depending upon the chosen sites, but they generally require large, diverse habitats and have

significant trophic impacts on their respective systems. Landscape species are also usually

sensitive to anthropogenic disturbances, making their conservation requirements sufficiently

broad and strict to also protect other, sympatric species (Sanderson et al. 2002).

The landscape species approach works by identifying and mapping the landscape requirements

of focal species and local stakeholders, then by overlaying these two landscapes to target spaces

where human use threatens elements unique or essential to the survival of focal species

(Sanderson et al. 2002). Adirondack Park is one of 14 sites that have adopted the landscape

species approach into official conservation strategies. Moose,24 loon,25 black bear and the

American marten26 were chosen as the focal species, with second home development and

infrastructure development identified as the major anthropogenic threats moving forward (Didier

24

Alces alces. 25

Gavia. 26

Martes americana.

45

et al. 2009). The application of the landscape species approach in the Adirondacks suggests a

local affinity towards changing conceptions of scale.

The Adirondack Park is an ideal anchor for a revolutionary conservation project such as the

Algonquin to Adirondacks Collaborative because of its pioneering legacy in environmental

thought. Ecotourism’s origins on the continent can be traced to the Adirondacks with Ralph

Waldo Emerson’s iconic 1858 camping trip to Follensby Pond, which became colloquially

known as the ‘Philosophers’ Camp’. Emerson, who was soon followed by masses of wealthy

hunters and anglers – who were in turn followed by painters, scientists, writers and more

philosophers – had been attracted to the Adirondacks by nostalgic imagery of resilient trappers

and indigenous hunters. Adventurer and newspaper editor Charles Fenno Hoffman had

precipitated the public’s newfound infatuation with the wilderness with his 1839 book Wild

Scenes in the Forest and Prairie, in which an entire chapter had been dedicated to an

iconography of Adirondack guide John Cheney (Schneider 1997). The Adirondacks marked

Romanticism’s arrival on the continent, without which conservation would not have been

possible.

Yet, the Adirondacks have a deeper significance in North America’s turbulent history with

nature – one that goes back further in time, a century before Romanticism reached the continent,

to the fishing adventures of Sir William Johnson. Romanticism had emerged out of European

Enlightenment in the eighteenth century, but was prevented from becoming widespread in North

America due to the ongoing hostilities between indigenous and settler communities; American

tourists simply could not safely venture into the wilderness, and therefore could not learn to

appreciate its awe-inspiring immensity. This was true for everyone except Sir William Johnson,

that is. A remarkable exception, Johnson first began to take recreational trips into the

Adirondacks’ interior forests in the middle of the eighteenth century, a time when the notion

would have been unthinkable for any of his contemporaries. Sir William Johnson had arrived in

the New World as a fur trader, and had quickly established close relations with the

Haudenosaunee to gain a comparative market advantage over his counterparts and rivals.

Johnson learned indigenous language and culture, hosted parties, took part in traditional practices

and became one of the few settlers to ever be made an honorary member of the Mohawk nation.

Johnson’s familiarity with Mohawk communities permitted him to enjoy the wilderness in a

manner that was not available to any other settler. He built two cottages deep in the woods, and

46

would travel regularly with his companions – and slaves – to take part in fishing and hunting.

Thanks to Johnson, the Adirondacks became the first place in North America where outdoor

recreation and an appreciation for the wilderness was possible (Schneider 1997).

The Frontenac Arch Algonquin Provincial Park and Adirondack State Park are both coloured with rich and vibrant

histories, but the true focal point of this thesis is the 270 kilometres span that connects the

Canadian Precambrian Shield to the Adirondack Dome. The Frontenac Arch, as this corridor is

more aptly referred to, is an ancient bedrock formation that encompasses the Saint Lawrence

River’s Thousand Islands region. A mosaic of private and public lands covers the Frontenac

Arch. In general, private land ownership – and thus, human density – is low throughout the

region. Most agricultural fields stand abandoned due to the poor, thin soils that sit atop the

Frontenac Arch’s bedrock. Private land ownership is densely concentrated in the Saint Lawrence

River Valley, however, due to its far less rugged geology (Stephenson 2001).

Apart from the Algonquin and Adirondack parks, more than 30 protected areas can be found in

the Frontenac Arch (A2A Collaborative 2017). On the Canadian side of the border, provincial

parks include Charleston Lake, Bon Echo, Presqu'ile and Sandbanks. There are also several

national protected areas in Canada’s share of the Frontenac Arch, including Prince Edward Point

and Thousand Islands. On the American side, New York state parks include Wellesley Island,

Jacques Cartier, Coles Creek and Higley Flow. Two Biosphere Reserves, appointed by the

United Nations Educational, Scientific and Cultural Organization (UNESCO), are also situated

within the Frontenac Arch. The Frontenac Arch Biosphere is located in Ontario, and the

Champlain-Adirondack Biosphere Reserve can be found spanning the border of New York State

and Vermont (A2A Collaborative 2017, Stephenson 2001).

Both the Canadian and American sides of the Frontenac Arch also enjoy strong endangered

species protections. While America’s ESA is universally applicable, Canada’s regulations are

divided between SARA – which applies to federal lands and migratory birds, as well as most

aquatic species – and provincial legislations, which vary widely across the country (Olive 2014).

Ontario’s ESA is the strongest of all provincial acts, and is strikingly similar to America’s

version of the legislation; Ontario is the only province in Canada where endangered species are

protected on private property (Olive 2016).

47

There are also important differences between the Canadian and American sides of the Frontenac

Arch. The most striking is arguably Ontario’s conservation authorities, which are quasi-

governmental bodies responsible for the coordination and facilitation of voluntary watershed

plans and mandatory drinking water source protection policies. Established in Ontario by the

Conservation Authorities Act of 1946, conservation authorities are an interesting amalgamation

of state and non-state interests from a variety of scales; with authority stemming from the

provincial level, individual conservation authorities are normally created by municipalities

whose boundaries coincide with the different watersheds of the Great Lakes. Moreover, because

the watershed plans that conservation authorities produce are voluntary, local stakeholders and

public representatives are frequently incorporated into planning phases to encourage support

during implementation. Thus, conservation authorities are comprised of both state and non-state,

local and extra-local figures that bridge multiple nested scales in Ontario’s conservation regimes

(Worte 2017). New York State lacks any comparable entities.

The Frontenac Arch is just one of several terrestrial migration routes within the larger Great

Lakes biome, whose prominent water bodies stretch across a third of North America – a

significant barrier to the north-south movement of flora and fauna. All these corridors present

their own challenges, with extensive development having isolated those of Sault Sainte Marie,

Lake Saint Clair and Niagara as well as those along the southern Great Lakes. Large expanses of

water act as natural barriers for those corridors in Lake Superior. The Wildlands Network could

have founded a transboundary corridor project at any of these locations, but targeted the

Frontenac Arch instead because of the comparatively lower amount of work needed to be done in

that region (Stephenson 2001). Thus, the Algonquin to Adirondacks Collaborative has been a

project premised upon convenience and efficiency from the start.

Study Sites Although the theoretical focus of this thesis is the Algonquin to Adirondacks region, the study

methods that were conducted in pursuit of this thesis’ objectives were not necessarily confined to

that particular geographic region. Interviews were held at public locations chosen by the

participants; there was a possibility that participants would choose to conduct an interview

outside of the Algonquin to Adirondacks region, given the possibility that certain members of the

48

Algonquin to Adirondacks Collaborative, or certain partner organizations may have been located

outside the region.

49

Chapter 4 Methods and Methodologies

Introduction Expert knowledge and opinion comprise the primary source materials of research data for this

thesis. The “Ethics Review Application Form for Supervised and Sponsored Researchers” was

completed by the researcher to accurately represent this thesis’ intent and methods, and was sent

to the University of Toronto’s Office of Research Ethics via email on 3 January 2017. Approval

was subsequently granted by the Office of Research Ethics on 14 February 2017. The remainder

of this chapter details the four complementary methods shown in Table 1 – web-based surveys,

participant observation, in-depth structured interviews and a media analysis – that were

undertaken in accordance with the initial ethics application in pursuit of this thesis’ objectives.

Table 1: Objectives, Methods and Participants

Objective Method Participants

Explore the challenges and

potential resolutions pertinent

to the Algonquin to

Adirondacks Collaborative.

Web-Based Surveys Algonquin to Adirondacks

Collaborative Members

Algonquin to Adirondacks

Collaborative Partner

Organizations

Unaffiliated Parks and

Conservation Authorities

Structured Interviews

Investigate the variety of

projects being conducted and

supported by the Algonquin

to Adirondacks Collaborative.

Participant Observation Algonquin to Adirondacks

Collaborative Members

Algonquin to Adirondacks

Collaborative Partner

Organizations

50

Analyze the Algonquin to

Adirondacks Collaborative’s

relationship with the media.

Media Analysis N/A

Online Surveys The two types of online surveys available to researchers are email and web based surveys (Van

Selm and Jankowski 2006). Online surveys are a relatively recent development among the social

sciences, but have grown to become a common alternative to traditional mail, in-person,

telephone and central site surveys for their comparatively low costs, the speed and accuracy by

which data can be collected, and the reduced limitations that geographic distances pose upon

researchers (Van Selm and Jankowski 2006, Flemming and Bowden 2009). Furthermore, these

advantages are not tempered by a mode effect, meaning that the data collected by online surveys

is not of inferior quality to data collected by the traditional survey modes (Denscombe 2006). For

these reasons, the researcher employed a web-based survey as the first method of this thesis.

2.1 Web-Based Survey Design The design for this thesis’ web-based surveys was inspired by the results of Mattson et al.’s

(2011) “Leaders’ Perspectives in the Yellowstone to Yukon Conservation Initiative”. Mattson et

al. (2011) had conducted their study during a transitory period for the Yellowstone to Yukon

Initiative. The authors, given their previous experiences with the organization, were motivated to

promote internal clarity and consistency within the Yellowstone to Yukon Conservation

Initiative as decisions were being made by the project’s leaders on how to move forward

(Mattson et al. 2011). Much of the conflict that the transboundary corridor project had

engendered with local landowners and other stakeholders in the past had been rooted in its

inability to develop a single, coherent agenda, which the authors hoped to rectify. Conflicting

opinions among the more than 300 partner organizations and individuals had understandably led

to confusion and frustration among members of local communities, whose lives stood to be most

effected by the broad and pervasive project (Chester 2003).

The purpose of Mattson et al. (2011) “…was to engage Y2Y leaders in a process of defining

challenges, evaluating potential solutions, and finding common ground” (106). The authors

51

asked two fundamental questions, namely “What are the most important challenges, internal and

external, confronting Y2Y? and What are the most effective strategies to address these

challenges” (Mattson et al. 2011: 106). The resulting list of challenges and resolutions was

developed iteratively, as Yellowstone to Yukon’s most influential figures engaged in a workshop

premised upon the Q method. The participants began by individually generating lists of

challenges and resolutions, then put forward what they thought were the best ideas into a group

list (Mattson et al. 2011).

The researcher took the final list of challenges and resolutions from Mattson et al. (2011), and

used it to create web-based surveys using SurveyMonkey, which were to be distributed amongst

the members of the Algonquin to Adirondacks Collaborative (see Appendix I), its partner

organizations (see Appendix II), and the principal stakeholders from the conservation

community, which the researcher identified as being the two major parks along with Ontario’s

conservation authorities (see Appendix III). The researcher was limited to conducting web-based

surveys instead of the Q method because of foreseeable issues related to positionality. The Q

method requires a high level of coordination in research planning, since all participants must be

present at a single location at the same time for the method to succeed. Mattson et al. (2011)

were able to employ the Q method because the study’s final author, Bart Robinson, used his

position as former executive director of the Yellowstone to Yukon Initiative to influence

potential participants to attend. The researcher had no such connections to the Algonquin to

Adirondacks Collaborative, and therefore did not expect the project’s leaders to respond as

favourably.

In taking the results from Mattson et al. (2011) and applying them to this thesis, the researcher

was assuming at least some degree of similarity between the Yellowstone to Yukon

Conservation Initiative and the Algonquin to Adirondacks Collaborative. The principal

assumption made was that the same challenges and resolutions would apply to both projects

given their similar goals, scope and the fact that both are situated in Canada and the United

States. The researcher did not assume that these challenges and resolutions would have the same

degree of relevance between the two projects, however.

Mattson et al. (2011) had not made this assumption either. Recognizing that the final list of

challenges and resolutions would still not be universally agreed upon, Mattson et al. (2011) had

52

their participants rank each option in order of importance. After this final step had been

completed, Mattson et al. (2011) were able to organize the participants into groups based upon

their chosen preferences. Four groups were identified with regards to the challenges. The first

group, Y2Y Guardians, had defended the leaders and vision of the Yellowstone to Yukon

Initiative, and instead had identified a lack of external resources – namely respect, wealth and

power – as the principle challenges. The Frustrated Inquirers, by contrast, cited the project’s

leadership and decision making as central challenges. Conditional Supporters identified both

internal and external challenges, but defended the Yellowstone to Yukon Initiative’s leadership,

funders and learning capabilities. The Conditional Supporters believed that unclear goals,

insufficient resources and poor relations with local communities were the project’s primary

challenges. Finally, Political Encouragers identified the region’s conservation politics as the

project’s central challenge. This final group believed that the project was experiencing

difficulties rectifying locals’ negative views because of a lack of access to political processes

coupled with inadequate communication and dissemination of conservation science (Mattson et

al. 2011).

Three groups were identified by Mattson et al. (2011) with regards to potential resolutions. Y2Y

Adherents firmly believed that the project had to continue promoting its vision and improving

relations with decision makers, rather than making internal changes. Adaptive Learners insisted

upon the need for internal resolutions based on a responsive, adaptive approach to external

conditions largely through small-scale projects. Lastly, Political Institutionalists emphasized the

need to develop relations with community leaders, political leaders and academic institutions so

that the Yellowstone to Yukon Initiative could promote its vision, solidify revenue sources and

improve practices. Like the Adaptive Learners, the Political Institutionalists also firmly rejected

the need to change the project’s internal structure, unless doing so would lead to greater power

(Mattson et al. 2011).

To facilitate an analysis similar to Mattson et al. (2011), the researcher provided the option in

each web-based survey to rank each choice in order of importance. Thus, the participants’

preferences – along with any variances in opinion – could be detected. Unlike Mattson et al.

(2011), however, the researcher designed three separate web-based, because it was assumed that

each of the three participant groups had differing levels of power and influence with regards to

the Algonquin to Adirondacks Collaborative. While Mattson et al. (2011) had restricted their

53

study to the leaders, or relatively few influential figures among the Yellowstone to Yukon

Initiative’s more than 300 organizations, this thesis included members of the Algonquin to

Adirondacks Collaborative, its partner organizations as well as representatives from unaffiliated

parks and conservation authorities. Thus, it was appropriate to look for preferences or variance

not only within these groups, but also amongst them.

Separated web-based surveys also enabled the researcher to preface each with close-ended

questions that were pertinent to the different groups. These questions were designed to address

problems associated with conservation and transboundary corridor projects that had been

identified during the literature review. Members of the Algonquin to Adirondacks Collaborative

were asked about the time that they were able to commit to the project; representatives from

partner organizations were asked about their responsibilities with regards to the project, as well

as their geographic location in relation to the Algonquin to Adirondacks region; and lastly,

members of the unaffiliated institutions were asked about their awareness of, and support of the

Algonquin to Adirondacks Collaborative. In instances when an individual belonged to more than

one of these three groups, they were sorted into the group of greatest power and influence in the

project.

The researcher also took several proactive measures prior to contacting participants that were

meant to maximize completion rate. A progress indicator bar was included to reduce respondent

loss. Each web-based survey was organized into multiple screens, which has been shown to

result in faster completion times and fewer missed questions. Text box entries allowed

respondents to elaborate upon certain closed-ended options, or include additional options and

thus increase the quality of responses given (Van Selm and Jankowski 2006). Lastly, no time

limits were set on the web-based surveys, so that participants were free to reply at their own pace

(Flemming and Bowden 2009).

2.2 Choosing and Contacting Participants Mattson et al. (2011) had limited their study to 24 individuals from the Yellowstone to Yukon

Conservation Initiative, of which 21 arrived and participated in the workshop. The authors had

been constrained by the Q method, which required that participants be able to produce a concise

list of challenges and resolutions by engaging in productive and thoughtful debate on the larger

list they had initially proposed. The Q method cannot have too many competing voices to

54

function properly, and thus while Mattson et al. (2011) strove for a representative sample, they

were ultimately constrained in terms of the number of participants they could invite and were

consequently susceptible to sampling error, despite their best efforts (Sills and Song 2002).

Theoretically, this thesis did not suffer from the same limitations. Since the list of challenges and

resolutions had already been created by Mattson et al. (2011), group discussion was unnecessary.

Thus, there were no constraints on the number of individuals that could potentially participate in

the web-based surveys, meaning that this thesis should have been able to avoid sampling and

noncoverage errors by including all the members of pertinent populations (Sills and Song 2002).

A non-probability sample, which does not identify potential participants at random but instead

chooses them based on qualifying characteristics, was the most appropriate means of achieving

this end (Van Selm and Jankowski 2006). The researcher intended to contact all members from

the Algonquin to Adirondacks Collaborative, representatives from all the partner organizations,

and as many representatives of the unaffiliated parks and conservation authorities from the

Algonquin to Adirondacks region as could be identified.

The researcher was unable to control for sampling and noncoverage errors, however. Not every

member of the three groups had an equal opportunity to be contacted because several did not

have their contact information freely available on the internet (A2A Collaborative 2017). The

researcher looked for contact information for the 25 members of the Algonquin to Adirondack

Collaborative by starting at the organization’s ‘Board and Staff’ page on its website (A2A

Collaborative 2017). If the contact information was not immediately available there, the

researcher then visited the websites of the affiliated organizations that most members had listed

under their information. If the members had not listed an affiliated organization, or if their

contact information was unavailable in the affiliated organization’s website, the researcher would

input the member’s names into LinkedIn’s search function – a function that is only available to

LinkedIn members with a Sales Navigator subscription. This process was repeated for members

of the 49 partner organizations, which were identified from the ‘Partners’ page on the Algonquin

to Adirondack Collaborative’s website (A2A Collaborative 2017). The 24 unaffiliated parks and

conservation authorities were identified based upon the most recent maps available from the

Algonquin to Adirondacks Collaborative, which indicated the project’s geographic region of

interest. Ultimately, the Algonquin to Adirondacks Collaborative had the lowest proportion of

members with available contact information, with just 40 percent of contacts freely available.

55

Partner organizations had the highest proportion, with 75 percent of representatives listing their

contact information on the internet. They were followed closely by unaffiliated parks and

conservation authorities, 70 percent of which listed contacts (see Table 2).

Table 2: Potential Web-based Survey Participants with Available Contact Information

Group Total (nS1) %

A2A Members (a) 10/25 40

A2A Partners (b) 37/49 75.5

Unaffiliated Parks &

Conservation Authorities (c)

17/24 70.8

Of those individuals that did have their contact information available on the internet,

participation was solicited with an email containing a cover letter that introduced the researcher

and explained the importance of the thesis, a copy of the ethics form and a link to the appropriate

web-based survey (Van Selm and Jankowski 2006). Potential survey participants were first

contacted on 22 February 2017. Emails were sent from Wednesdays to Fridays at peak working

hours. Up to two additional follow-up emails were sent to each potential participant if they did

not respond within a week (Sills and Song 2002). The last follow-up email was sent on 30 March

2017, and the final web-based survey was completed on 6 April 2017.

2.3 Confidentiality and Ethics A single consent form template was created for all three groups contacted for the online survey.

This template specified the length of time that the web-based survey was expected to take and

the purpose of the research. It also explained the procedure for withdrawing consent, how the

survey data would be secured and the protocol for sharing data. The researcher released the

results of the web-based surveys to the participants after the results were analyzed.

Participant Observation There are several advantages to using participant observation as a research tool that cannot be

achieved with other qualitative methods. Participants are prone to provide greater details and

56

descriptions, and discuss topics they would otherwise be hesitant to mention, when researchers

adopt a more removed approach to the process of data collection (Valentine 2001). Participant

observation also allows researchers to observe theory-in-action, and is thus an optimal method

for exploring clinical reasoning and expertise (Petty, Thomson and Stew 2012).

The Annual General Meeting presented a fortuitous opportunity to develop a deeper

understanding of how environmental problems are currently being framed, of what projects are

needed to address environmental problems, of the practical complications associated with

transboundary corridor projects given the fact that each of these topics were scheduled on the

agenda. The Annual General Meeting also promised to reveal the power relations that structure

decision making in the Algonquin to Adirondacks Collaborative.

3.1 Gaining Access to the Annual General Meeting (AGM) Participant observation was conducted at the Algonquin to Adirondacks Annual General Meeting

in Mallorytown, Ontario on 26 March 2017. The researcher relied on a single gatekeeper to gain

access to the Algonquin to Adirondacks Collaborative’s Annual General Meeting.

3.2 Confidentiality and Ethics Express consent to conduct participant observation was only sought from the gatekeeper that

provided access to the Annual General Meeting. While at the Annual General Meeting, the

researcher did not take on any roles other than that of an observer.

3.3 Conducting Observations A audio recorder was not used while at the Annual General Meeting. Had attendees known they

were being recorded, they may have felt uncomfortable or been less likely to speak their minds.

Instead, the researcher used a notebook and pen to take detailed field notes, which were

supplemented by materials available at the Annual General Meeting.

3.4 Coding The researcher began to codify the data from the Annual General Meeting as soon as possible, so

that fresh memory would augment the field notes and materials. The process proved to be

ongoing, however, as each successive round of coding brought about connections that had not

57

been previously considered. The simultaneous coding method, which permits singular sections to

be ascribed with multiple codes, was applied during data analysis (Saldaña 2013). Simultaneous

coding is useful for abstracting and organizing large amounts of data – like all types of codes –

while also facilitating direct comparisons between differing perspectives on overarching issues.

Analytic codes, which reflect and connect themes in data sets, were used (Cope 2016). The major

thematic areas of the Annual General Meeting were organized into four main categories of code.

These main categories were then supplemented by 22 sub-categories of code, which represent the

differing perspectives of attendees. The codes can be found in Appendix X, and are discussed

over the remaining chapters of this thesis.

Interviews While participant observation can be a useful method, it does not allow for inquiries into the

underlying factors of observed phenomena (Parfitt 2005). Web-based surveys are also limited in

that they produce answers confined to pre-determined parameters. For these reasons, the

researcher employed interviews as a third method to augment the information derived from the

web-based surveys and participant observation session. Interviews are broadly defined as an

“…interchange in which one person, the interviewer, attempts to elicit information or

expressions of opinion or belief from another person or persons” (Maccoby and Maccoby 1954:

499). During this interchange, the interviewer also encourages participants to reflect upon their

opinions, and thus participates in the co-creation of ideas and meanings. Participants can also

contest the questions and their presuppositions, acting as a check to any premature conclusions

that may have been drawn by the researcher at this point in the data collection process (Dunn

2016).

Interviews also have limitations, however. Their success largely depends upon establishing

rapport, which in turn is built through the interpersonal and listening skills of both the

interviewer and interviewee. Interviews are also prone to generating results that may not

accurately represent reality, given the pressures to provide pleasing or popular answers that

interviewees can be subjected to (Valentine 2001). It is for these reasons that the researcher did

not rely upon interviews as the sole method of investigation, but instead used them as an

opportunity for the participants to elaborate upon the ideas they had begun to contemplate in the

web-based surveys and at the Annual General Meeting.

58

4.1 Interview Design Interviews can either be structured, semi-structured or unstructured. This thesis utilized

interviews that followed a structured design, consisting of open questions that addressed themes

which had been introduced at an earlier point in the data collection process – either during the

web-based surveys or participant observation session. Three interview schedules, consisting of

carefully worded questions organized in a specific order, were created for the three participant

groups. These scheduled followed a fairly consistent pyramid structure, and only differed in their

introductory questions, which were tailored to each group and were general in nature to establish

rapport. The interview guide for members of the Algonquin to Adirondacks Collaborative can be

found at Appendix XI; the interview guide for partner organizations is found in Appendix XII;

and the interview guide for unaffiliated parks and conservation authorities is in Appendix XIII.

Secondary questions were not explicitly designed into the interview, but were created on the spot

whenever an opportunity for further inquiry into a topic presented itself (Dunn 2016).

4.2 Choosing and Contacting Participants Potential participants self-identified themselves by indicating that they were interested in an

interview at the end of the web-based survey. Thus, the pool of potential participants was limited

to those that had completed the web-based surveys. This was not necessarily considered a

limiting factor, however, since it was assumed that only those individuals who were sufficiently

interested or knowledgeable in the subject matter had completed the web-based surveys.

Potential interview participants were first contacted via email on 17 March 2017. The email

reminded the potential participants of the thesis’ purpose and of their involvement up until that

point. Following a similar procedure to the web-based surveys, the researcher was restricted to

two follow-up emails if the potential participants did not respond within a week. Thus, nine

potential participants that had indicated they were interested in an interview never did participate

in one. The highest completion percentage belonged to the group of members from the

Algonquin to Adirondacks Collaborative, which is unsurprising given that those individuals are

the most committed to the project (see Table 3).

59

Table 3: Interview Registration and Completion Rates

Group Number of

Interview

Registrations (nI1)

Registration % Number of

Completed

Interviews

Completion %

a 3/3 100 2/3 66.7

b 6/10 60 2/6 33.3

c 3/4 75 1/3 33.3

4.3 Confidentiality and Ethics The single consent form template that had been created for the web-based surveys was modified

for the interviews. Like the previous template, this one specified the length of time that the web-

based survey was expected to take and the purpose of the research. It also explained the

procedure for withdrawing consent, how the interview data would be secured and the protocol

for sharing data.

4.4 Conducting Interviews Interview recording is the first step in the mechanical phase of the interview process. To promote

participation, the researcher allowed interviewees to decide the interview time, location and

modes. Interviews were either conducted over the telephone, at participants’ workplaces, or at

public places and all occurred during the workday. The first interview was conducted on 29

March 2017 and the last was held on 24 April 2017. An audio recorder was used during the

interview, and was supplemented by field notes that were written in a notebook. Audio recording

allows for the collection of full data sets, while notes allow researchers to record gestures of

body language, and provide insurance against technical failures (Dunn 2016). There was indeed

a technical failure in the very first interview conducted, and the field notes ensured that all the

data was not lost.

60

4.5 Coding Each interview was transcribed verbatim. The names of each interviewee were removed from the

transcriptions, and replaced with the alias ‘a’ for members of the Algonquin to Adirondacks

Collaborative, ‘b’ for members from partner organizations and ‘c’ for members from unaffiliated

parks and conservation authorities. Each interviewee was then also given a number to identify

different interviews from within the same group. The same simultaneous coding method that was

used during participant observation was also applied to the interviews (Saldaña 2013). The

interviews were not coded in their entirety, however; the opening questions, which were general

in nature and meant solely to establish rapport, were not coded (Dunn 2016). Ultimately, the

analytic codes were organized into five main categories, and a total of 62 sub-categories. The

main categories had been evident since the beginning of the coding process because they had

been embedded into the guiding interview themes (Cope 2016). The sub-categories represent the

differences in opinion and interpretation that were held by the interviewees. Again, the codes can

be found in the appendix, and are discussed over the remaining chapters of this thesis.

Media Analysis In 2003, Charles C. Chester published the results of a media analysis that he had conducted on

the Yellowstone to Yukon Initiative. Prior to this work, it had already been evident that the

Yellowstone to Yukon Initiative enjoyed a high level of salience given its internationally

acclaimed success, which is why Chester (2003) had been free to concentrate his analysis on the

various public sentiments towards the project. The researcher had initially been inspired to

conduct a media analysis on the Algonquin to Adirondacks Collaborative by Chester (2003), but

through the course of data analysis through the web-based surveys, participant observation and

interviews it became apparent that the emphasis of this analysis would have to be different. The

Algonquin to Adirondacks Collaborative has supposedly struggled to generate recognition for

transboundary conservation in the Frontenac Arch (Brown and Harris 2005). The researcher

sought out to determine if the advent of new approaches on the part of the Algonquin to

Adirondacks Collaborative had improved its salience in the media.

There are two major tasks in resource mobilization according to social movement theory. One is

to convert non-adherents into adherents, which can later be converted into constituents. Non-

adherents refer to those members of the bystander public who are neither for nor against the

61

purported goals of the project, but simply witness its activities without becoming emotionally

invested or otherwise involved (McCarthy and Zald 1977). Thus, the fundamental and unwritten

starting point of resource mobilization is to create non-adherents who are somewhat aware in the

social movement itself.

Media outlets are generally a good indicator of how well a movement has generated awareness

of its message or ideology amongst the public, given that most people are part of the mass media

gallery. The relationship between media outlets and social movement actors is rife with power

imbalances, however. Power dependency theory posits that relative power is equivalent to the

value that actors offer in comparison to their need for the relationship. Social movements in

general are usually far more dependent of the two parties, whereas media outlets regularly have a

plethora of social movements to choose from in their coverage of current issues (Gamson and

Wolfsfeld 1993).

There are three types of media analysis. Salience and sentiment analysis measures the number of

times a keyword is mentioned by the media, and whether it is mentioned favourably, in a neutral

tone or negatively. Theme and contradiction analysis allows the researcher to observe what

aspects of the keyword are emphasized by different media outlets during different time periods,

which subsequently enables comparison between public opinion and the rhetoric espoused by the

entity under consideration, if applicable. Finally, problem and solution analysis is a targeted

method that refines the keyword search to focus upon tangible issues (2011). This thesis was

constrained to a salience analysis because many of the articles produced by the search engine

could not be accessed. As such, the number of articles that are associated with each keyword are

also potentially underestimated, since the researcher could not verify every result of the search.

A different search engine that would permit for the two other types of media analysis should be

used in the future to expand upon this research.

5.1 Parameters The media analysis was purposefully conducted late in the research period, between 21 and 22

July 2017. Throughout the course of data collection, several participants had noted that the

Algonquin to Adirondacks Collaborative was steadily growing in its media presence; a delayed

media analysis was intended to capture the most recent articles in its search. The ‘newspapers’

section of the University of Toronto website was used to conduct the media analysis. Four main

62

categories were inputted into the search function: Algonquin to Adirondack, Alice the Moose,

A2A Trail, and Algonquin Wolf. With regards to the last parameter, the Algonquin wolf has also

been commonly referred to as the Grey wolf, Great Lakes boreal wolf, Eastern wolf, Red wolf

and Timber wolf during the period in question. The Algonquin Wolf keyword captured the most

relevant articles, however, most often generating results that were concerned with the population

in question. A lower year limit of 1999 was set for each keyword search, in accordance with the

earliest mention of the Algonquin to Adirondacks Collaborative in the academic literature

(Quinby et al. 1999). The researcher operated under the assumption that the media would not

have become aware of the project before it had been proposed by its leaders. This assumption

was tested by inputting the Algonquin to Adirondack keyword and setting a limit of 1990 to

1998, which yielded no relevant results. The researcher manually corrected for inapplicable

results that were produced by the coarse search filter. Any mistakes are a result of human error.

The results of the media analysis can be found in the appendix, and are discussed in the

following chapter.

Hypotheses The researcher expected to find that a general lack of awareness of the Algonquin to

Adirondacks Collaborative amongst key stakeholders and the public is the project’s central

challenge. Given the absence of formal policies mandating transboundary conservation, the

researcher also expected to learn that this lack of awareness has translated into insufficient

political will for implementing a corridor across the Frontenac Arch. Therefore, it is expected

that the Algonquin to Adirondacks Collaborative has worked to establish its presence in the

region. The researcher hypothesizes that these themes will be prevalent in the web-based

surveys, participant observation session and structured interviews. The media analysis is

expected to yield a lack of articles with regards to the Algonquin to Adirondacks Collaborative

and its associated focal points around 2005, the year when Brown and Harris learned that the

project suffers from a lack of public salience (Brown and Harris 2005). Furthermore, the results

of Quinby et al. (1999) suggest that the project has likely committed some resources to

advocating for the creation of infrastructure in southern Ontario, where the greatest obstacles to

movement exist.

63

Chapter 5 Results

Web-based Surveys The web-based surveys were analyzed separately using screened samples, based on the three

groups that had been identified during the survey design process. Screened samples collect

responses only from the required sample of participants (Van Selm and Jankowski 2006). In this

study, the required sample of respondents were those who voluntarily completed the entire web-

based survey. The responses of all participants that had withdrawn their consent after partially

completing the online survey were subtracted from the analysis, which had been generated

automatically by SurveyMonkey. The response rates from all three groups are depicted by Table

4.

Table 4: Web-Based Survey Response Rates

Group Total (nS2) %

a 3/10 30

b 10/37 27

c 4/17 23.5

Low response rates have been a major and common problem associated with online surveys.

Low response rates can result in poor representation, particularly when the sample of participants

comes from a heterogeneous population (Sills and Song 2002). Numerous explanations exist that

supposedly account for low response rates. The subject of a study and characteristics of a sample

are said to have strong influences on response rates, as are technical problems, the timing of

follow-up reminders, confidentiality concerns and the tendency of email filters to place surveys

in the spam folder of intended recipients. Unsolicited surveys can also be perceived negatively

by potential participants (Sills and Song 2002). The researcher tracked the unsolicited responses

of potential participants that had declined to participate in the web-based surveys, to understand

why the response rates had been low. A synopsis is available in Table 5.

64

Table 5: Factors Influencing Web-Based Survey Non-Response Rates

Group Factor Total (nS3) %

a Lack of Knowledge 1/7 14.3

Disliked Survey 1/7 14.3

No Response 5/7 71.4

b Lack of Knowledge 4/27 14.8

Disliked Survey 2/27 07.4

No Response 21/27 77.8

c Lack of Knowledge 1/13 7.7

Disliked Survey 0/13 0.0

No Response 12/13 92.3

As has already been mentioned, the Algonquin to Adirondacks Collaborative had 49 partner

organizations at the time that research for this thesis was conducted (A2A Collaborative 2017).

This figure is subject to change since the project is continuously expanding, open to entering into

partnerships with additional organizations whose values align with transboundary conservation

(A1 2017, A2 2017). Yet, as the Yellowstone to Yukon Initiative has shown, unencumbered

growth can potentially cause divisiveness, inconsistency and chaos within a social movement,

and lead to confusion and frustration for those affected by it (Chester 2003, Mattson et al. 2011).

Differences in opinion become proportionally greater with scale, as stakeholders with an array of

cultural and social values are brought together under the guise of comprehensive inclusivity

(Kark et al. 2015). The web-based survey conducted for this thesis was intended to identify

whether any significant differences of opinion exist between the Algonquin and Adirondacks

Collaborative and its partner organizations, so that any issues might be proactively addressed.

65

The challenges facing the Algonquin to Adirondacks Collaborative from the perspective of its

members can be found in Appendix VI. This group strongly believed that insufficient support

from funders, lack of resources and a lack of funding were the project’s primary challenges.

They also strongly rejected most challenges associated with internal shortcomings, such as

deficiencies that impeded learning and strategy development, inadequate learning, lack of

engagement with affiliated groups and inadequacies among the leadership. The participants also

did not believe that trust within the A2A community, or local resource extraction were issues.

This group most closely aligned with the Y2Y Guardians from Mattson et al. (2011), who had

also held key positions of authority in that transboundary project.

The resolutions to these challenges, according to the participants from the Algonquin to

Adirondacks Collaborative, are depicted in Appendix VII. The most popular resolutions amongst

this group were split amongst promoting the project’s vision, garnering support from influential

political and community figures, and developing a long-term funding strategy. The participants

also felt that it was important to set reasonable objectives moving forward. Opinions were split,

but not strong in either direction towards approaches that favoured learning-based resolutions.

Participants from the Algonquin to Adirondacks Collaborative did not strongly reject any of the

potential resolutions, meaning the remainder of the options were regarded neutrally. Thus, the

participants from the Algonquin to Adirondacks Collaborative coincided with the Political

Institutionalists from Mattson et al. (2011), who had focused on politics and money – or respect

and power – with a similar indifference towards information-gathering. Again, this group’s

preferences suggest that many of the Algonquin to Adirondacks Collaborative’s problems are

external, and therefore do not require any internal retrospections.

The strongest challenges chosen by the partner organizations were a lack of funding, lack of

resources and insufficient support from funders. The partner organizations also felt strongly that

there was insufficient understanding of and support for the project among government agencies,

that the project suffered from a lack of political champions, that the public had deficient

perceptions of and support for the project, and that the Algonquin to Adirondacks Collaborative

lacked political support. The partner organizations were notably split when it came to challenges

whose sources were internal to the organization; 55.6 percent thought inefficiencies in the

project’s board, staff and organizational structure was an issue, while 33.3 percent did not; 44.4

percent thought that the project’s poor relationship with government actors stemmed from a lack

66

of engagement, while 22.2 percent gave neutral responses, 22.2 percent thought that lack of

engagement was not a very significant challenge, and 11.1 percent thought that it was not even

an issue. The largest split came with deficiencies in the project’s leadership and governance with

regards to learning. 44.4 percent of respondents thought that this area was an issue, 22.2 percent

gave neutral responses and 33.3 percent that that it was not a challenge. Also notable was the fact

that one participant refrained from answering this question altogether. The challenges, according

to the participants representing partner organizations, can be found in Appendix VIII.

According to the partner organizations, the Algonquin to Adirondacks Collaborative’s priorities

should rest with developing a long-term funding strategy and promoting the project’s vision. The

partner organizations did not strongly reject any of the potential resolutions, suggesting that all

are applicable to some extent. The resolutions that scored lowest, and should be given a lower

priority, are using the project to provide resources to network groups, and establishing

relationships with academe. A table depicting these resolutions is under Appendix IX. Again,

one participant refrained from answering this question. The partner organizations held opinions

that were strikingly similar to members from the Algonquin to Adirondacks Collaborative.

Participants from the unaffiliated parks and conservation authorities did not produce a clear

consensus as to the challenges facing the Algonquin to Adirondacks Collaborative – which are

displayed in Appendix X – only rejecting that there were deficiencies in the region’s governance

and the project’s scientific practices. The most popular resolutions amongst the unaffiliated parks

and conservation authorities are found in Appendix XI, and include promoting the Algonquin to

Adirondacks vision, engaging political elites and opinion leaders, along with capitalizing on

loyalty to the project. The unaffiliated parks and conservation authorities had the most in

common with the Y2Y Adherents from Mattson et al. (2011), who believed that promotional

activities were best suited for advancing the project’s interests.

There was significant consensus between members from the Algonquin and Adirondacks

Collaborative and its partner organizations with regards to three challenges. Both groups

believed that insufficient support from funders, lack of resources and a lack of funding were

seriously hampering the project. A significant group of partner organizations also felt as though

the Algonquin to Adirondacks Collaborative suffers from internal issues, such as inefficiencies

in its structure, insufficient outreach efforts and not enough learning. All three survey groups

67

agreed that resolutions focused externally were the most pressing, however, and as such the

Algonquin to Adirondacks Collaborative should expect practically universal support in pursuing

these avenues of action. The internal issues that concerned some partner organizations should be

revisited in the future, however. In Mattson et al. (2011), those participants who had aligned

themselves as Adaptive Learners had had their concerns virtually ignored after the study was

completed because those members with the most power had been in virtual agreement regarding

the challenges and resolutions facing the Yellowstone to Yukon Initiative. As a result, the

Adaptive Learners eventually left the project, which subsequently simplified into a neo-

corporatist arrangement of greater homogeneity. The authors were concerned that such as

structure would threaten the capacity of the Yellowstone to Yukon Initiative to learn and adapt, a

problem common amongst centralized bureaucracies (Armitage et al. 2009, Mattson et al. 2011).

If the Algonquin to Adirondacks Collaborative wants to avoid similar problems, it should strive

to foster greater dialogue with its partner organizations and commit towards addressing their

concerns – even if these commitments are slated for the future, after more pressing needs have

been addressed. Partner organizations are unlikely to take the initiative in voicing these concerns

themselves, given the time constraints that many evidently face with their own work (B1 2017).

Thus, if the Algonquin to Adirondacks Collaborative does not act proactively, some of its partner

organizations may leave discretely, just as with the Yellowstone to Yukon Initiative (Mattson et

al. 2011).

Participant Observation The Algonquin to Adirondacks Collaborative has not yet left the preparation phase of its

organizational development. This is in part because the project has fundamentally restructured

the discourse with which it purports to validate transboundary conservation in the Frontenac

Arch. The Algonquin wolf, once the focal point of the Algonquin to Adirondacks Collaborative,

is now conspicuously absent from the project’s narrative, with not a single mention of the

species– even under the ‘Wildlife’ section of its website (A2A Collaborative 2017). Instead, the

Algonquin to Adirondacks Collaborative has turned to the spectre of climate change as the

primary justification for a corridor in the Frontenac Arch (Draft Strategic Plan 2014, A1 2017,

A2 2017).

68

The discursive shift away from the Algonquin wolf towards climate change adaptation has

compelled the Algonquin to Adirondacks Collaborative to revisit the early planning stages in

which its proponents had worked to identify a suitable corridor, since the maps that were created

had been premised upon the habitat requirements of the Algonquin wolf (Quinby et al 1999). The

project’s new mapping initiatives have been guided by publicly available data from the Canadian

Wildlife Service, along with partnerships with The Nature Conservancy of Canada as well as

The Nature Conservancy (PO 2017).

Quinby et al. (1999) had left their analysis with the vague sense that the Frontenac Arch’s

anchors were relatively intact in terms of interior forest space, but that its interceding mosaic of

land uses was far more fragmented. The Algonquin to Adirondacks Collaborative has since

responded by turning its attention away from the cores on either end of the corridor, and has

instead focused upon the problem of identifying least cost pathways connecting the two (PO

2017). The Canadian Wildlife Service has publicly available maps that identify high value

conservation areas by combining the occurrence of forested areas, species at risk and migratory

birds. Thus, the Algonquin to Adirondacks Collaborative has moved away from a single species

approach premised upon the Algonquin wolf towards a consideration of multiple fauna and flora

– an approach that has become increasingly advocated by the literature on keystone species

(Ripple et al. 2014). The project has then used natural area conservation plans created by The

Nature Conservancy of Canada, which depict relatively intact areas suitable for purchase by

conservation organizations, along with resiliency mapping begun by The Nature Conservancy,

which identify the likely responses of individual species to climate change, to overlay onto the

maps created by the Canadian Wildlife Service in a bid to develop a comprehensive

understanding of potential locations for the corridor (PO 2017).

As these maps have been completed, the Algonquin to Adirondacks Collaborative has begun

planning for the second phase of its organizational development. The project has adopted Alice

the Moose – a 700-pound cow that was tracked moving from the Adirondacks to Algonquin Park

between the years 2000 and 2001 – as its new flagship species, replacing the Algonquin wolf as

the symbol and precursor for connectivity in the Frontenac Arch (A2A Collaborative 2017). The

Yellowstone to Yukon Initiative had similarly utilized the transboundary movements of a

collared animal – Pluie the Wolf – to legitimate its ambitious conservation vision (Chester 2003).

Alice the Moose provides the Algonquin to Adirondacks Collaborative with a focal point

69

familiar to the region’s conservation community, given the Adirondack Park’s usage of moose in

its landscape species approach (Didier et al. 2009). Representatives of the Algonquin to

Adirondacks Collaborative hope that Alice the Moose will increase the project’s profile, and thus

enable it to transition towards the second phase of operations.

In June of 2014, the Algonquin to Adirondacks Collaborative was inspired to commemorate –

and further capitalize upon – Alice the Moose’s trek by launching a project to create a 650-

kilometre hiking path named the A2A Trail. An amalgamation of existing hiking trails,

abandoned railways, main roads and back roads comprise what is currently the A2A Trail, as the

Algonquin to Adirondacks Collaborative works to acquire the resources needed to construct a

single continuous pathway. According to the Algonquin to Adirondacks Collaborative, the A2A

Trail is intended to foster outdoor recreation and economic development throughout the

Frontenac Arch (A2A Collaborative 2017). The Algonquin to Adirondacks Collaborative plans

to unveil the A2A Trail to the public with a reconnaissance hike in October 2017, which will

feature two hikers that will begin from the Algonquin and Adirondack parks and meet in the

middle at Thousand Islands National Park, in a show of international solidarity for transboundary

conservation. The Algonquin to Adirondacks Collaborative will host an event to commemorate

the meeting with other hikers and recreational organizations from the region in a bid to increase

publicity and potentially attract funding (PO 2017).

Once the Algonquin to Adirondacks Collaborative cements its presence and internalizes its

ideology amongst project adherents, it plans to utilize Conservation Action Planning (CAP) to

implement a corridor in the Frontenac Arch. CAP was developed by one of the Algonquin to

Adirondacks Collaborative’s partner organizations, The Nature Conservancy (PO 2017). CAP is

a ten-step methodology that has come to be used worldwide by practitioners looking to protect

sites important for biodiversity, archaeology, culture and spirituality (Conservation Gateway

2017). The Algonquin to Adirondacks Collaborative plans to operationalize CAP by

disseminating four guiding principles – the landscape scale, anticipation of future threats, cores

and corridors, and strategic stewardship and partnerships – among city planners within the

Frontenac Arch, who will then be expected to proactively engage in partnerships with one

another to coordinate conservation efforts that do not fall discretely within jurisdictional

boundaries. Under the guidance of the Algonquin to Adirondacks Collaborative, CAP will guide

city planners in establishing protections for areas vital for the Frontenac Arch’s corridor, thereby

70

internalizing and creating a sense of local ownership over the project (PO 2017). First, however,

the Algonquin to Adirondacks Collaborative must improve its prominence amongst the public.

Structured Interviews The structured interviews were intended to expand upon the findings generated by the web-based

surveys. A total of five participants, with representatives from all three participant groups, (see

Table 4:3) took part in the structured interviews. Certain commonalities were noticeable amongst

the responses given by participants from different groups, although there were not enough

participants to assume that their opinions were representative of their collective groups.

Members of the Algonquin to Adirondacks Collaborative, for instance, felt as though the

corridor was primarily important for ensuring species connectivity and climate change adaptation

(A1 2017, A2 2017), as did participants from partner organizations (B1 2017, B2 2017) and

unaffiliated parks and conservation authorities (C1 2017). There was also unanimous consensus

regarding the need to garner more attention for the project, with all participants agreeing that

many stakeholders in the Frontenac Arch were likely unaware of the Algonquin to Adirondacks

Collaborative or its mission (A1 2017, A2 2017, B1 2017, B2 2017, C1 2017).

Media Analysis The media analysis conducted for this thesis provides insight into the Algonquin to Adirondacks

Collaborative’s public salience. During analysis, multiple publications of the same articles were

each counted as a single occurrence. Furthermore, articles were associated with as many

keywords as was applicable. As a result, most of the articles that mentioned Alice the Moose or

the A2A Trail also fell under the Algonquin to Adirondacks keyword. Alice the Moose and A2A

Trail where included as keywords to ascertain when these two individual projects contributed to

the project’s salience, thereby contextualizing the trends in salience. See Table 6 for the total

number of articles published by the media on each keyword between 1999 and 2017. A large

discrepancy in volume separates those articles published on the Algonquin to Adirondacks

Collaborative, Alice the Moose, the A2A Trail from those published on the Algonquin Wolf, so

the latter keyword was analyzed separately. Each article for the four keywords is listed and can

be found in Appendices XV, XVI and XVII.

71

Table 6: Keyword Salience Between 1999 and 2017

Keyword Total Articles Published (1999-2017)

Algonquin to Adirondacks 49

Alice the Moose 13

A2A Trail 11

Algonquin Wolf 350

There were two periods in which the salience of the keywords Algonquin to Adirondacks, Alice

the Moose and A2A Trail peaked in the media. 11 articles were published in 1999, coinciding

with the project’s creation. Following this year, there was a notable lack of articles between 2000

and 2008, which may explain why Brown and Harris found such low levels of familiarity with

the project in 2005. The most articles were published in 2009, which is surprising given the

Algonquin to Adirondacks Collaborative’s relative lack of resources during this period – which

will be discussed later in this section – while there was also a surge of publications in 2016 (see

Figure 2). This latest upward trend suggests that the project has acknowledged the issue of

awareness, and is working to increase its standing among the public.

72

Figure 2: Trends in Keyword Salience - A2A, Alice the Moose and A2A Trail

The Algonquin to Adirondacks Collaborative’s initial focal species, the Algonquin wolf, also

declined rather dramatically in salience as the twenty-first century unfolded. As shown by Figure

3, the Algonquin wolf had the highest prominance amongst the media in 2001 and 2004, and

showed signs of an upwards trend in 2016 before dropping off again in the current year.

0

2

4

6

8

10

12

14

16

1999200020012002200320042005200620072008200920102011201220132014201520162017

Numbe

rofA

rticlesP

ublishe

d

Year

A2A AlicetheMoose A2ATrail

73

Figure 3: Trends in Keyword Salience – Algonquin wolf

13

34

76

26

14

67

17

3 4 4 4

13

1

1015

1013

23

3

0

10

20

30

40

50

60

70

80

1999200020012002200320042005200620072008200920102011201220132014201520162017

Numbe

rofA

rticlesP

ublishe

d

Year

74

Chapter 6 Preparing for Transboundary Conservation

Introduction Transboundary corridor projects contend with high degrees of uncertainty and change. The

current state of ecology as a discipline, with its focus on the interwoven complexities of time and

space, emphasizes just how little is known about the fluid and dynamic characteristics of

ecosystems (Franklin 1993). Static, centralized environmental governance schemes have become

increasingly discredited for their inability to prepare and respond to abrupt shifts in social and

ecological systems (Olsson et al. 2006, Armitage et al. 2009). Scholars have recognized the

utility of adaptive governance approaches in addressing these shortcomings. Adaptive

governance approaches revolve around the concept of transformability, which argues that

organizations should be flexible, open to collaboration and willing to learn so that they may

respond to fluid ecological, economic and social conditions (Olsson et al. 2006). The Algonquin

to Adirondacks Collaborative has embraced the mantra of adaptive governance in part by

incorporating annual reviews of its five-year strategic operating plan, which enables the project

to continuously adjust to emerging challenges (Draft Strategic Plan 2014).

As time passes and operating conditions change, most organizations applying adaptive

governance tend to transition through three distinct phases. These organizations commonly begin

in the preparation phase, during which time they build knowledge and network with potential

allies. They then wait for a window of opportunity, which can present itself through

environmental crises, policy failures, fiscal crises, legal battles, activism or changing institutions.

These windows of opportunity are generally brief, but if organizations manage to capitalize they

are then able to move to the second phase of the transformative process. During the second

phase, adaptive organizations broaden their scope of influence beyond their constituents to

include the public, as they lead a social transition to facilitate the implementation of their

preferred environmental governance approach. In the final transformative phase, adaptive

organizations shift their focus to reinforcing the resilience of the new environmental governance

approach (Olsson et al. 2006).

The Algonquin to Adirondacks Collaborative remains in the preparation phase, having

reimagined the purpose of a corridor across the Frontenac Arch from Algonquin wolf restoration

75

to climate change adaptation. McGuire et al. (2016) hypothesized that the greatest net

improvements to climate change resilience in the United States will be achieved by connecting

regions of low elevations, such as the south-central semiarid prairies and southeastern coastal

plains, while the Everglades, central plains, temperate prairies, Western Cordillera and Western

Sierra Madre offer the least overall benefits. In general, America’s eastern regions have less

anthropogenic barriers and shallower climate gradients than do America’s western regions, but

corridors in the east must also cross greater distances because of greater isolation of protected

areas if they are to mitigate the effects of climate change. The authors concluded that the

challenges posed by these greater distances outweigh the opportunities provided by lower human

densities and climate gradients, and have thus branded eastern corridors as being less efficient

than their western counterparts (McGuire et al. 2016). The demographic and geographical

features of the Frontenac Arch – namely southern Ontario’s high human population and road

densities (Quinby et al 1999), in addition to the region’s steep topography (Standfield and

Lundell 1993, Schneider 1997) – undoubtedly lower the generalized efficiency rating for eastern

climate corridors even further. The Algonquin to Adirondacks Collaborative can expect

significant challenges in terms of attracting broad support if it continues to frame its significance

as a climate corridor, given the comparatively greater returns that adherents can find from

climate corridors elsewhere.

Pursuing the Public: Salience and Transboundary Conservation

The relatively low volume of media coverage on the Algonquin to Adirondacks Collaborative

and its associated focal points throughout most of the project’s history supports every interview

participants’ assumption that there is low public awareness of the project (A1 2017, A2 2017, B1

2017, B2 2017, C1 2017), which in turn suggests that the Algonquin to Adirondacks

Collaborative has been operating largely as a shadow network. Shadow networks, consisting of

informal, discrete connections, provide information, identify knowledge gaps and offer expertise

for projects to utilize. Shadow networks are particularly valuable to adaptive organizations

because they operate away from public scrutiny. As such, shadow networks have considerably

more freedom to experiment with unconventional ideas and alternative resolutions to common

problems, such as biodiversity conservation or climate change (Olsson et al. 2006).

76

Shadow network are commonly assumed to be separate from the central social movement

organizations, however (Olsson et al. 2006). The concept of a shadow network runs counter to

resource mobilization strategies, and is therefore ideally limited to ancillary collectives to the

social movement organization itself. Yet, even though the Algonquin to Adirondacks

Collaborative does not neatly fit the definition of a shadow network, it may still be suitable to

consider the project as a loosely applied expansion of the term. The Algonquin to Adirondacks

Collaborative may be a formal organization, with a board of directors, officially recognized

partner organizations and annual general meetings, but the project is also relatively unknown. As

such, the Algonquin to Adirondacks Collaborative has a large degree of operational freedom

with regards to establishing connectivity. The causes for the Algonquin to Adirondacks

Collaborative’s slip into the shadow phase are unclear; none of the participants could provide a

comprehensive history of the project since its inception (A1 2017, A2 2017, B1 2017, B2 2017,

C1 2017).

Several hypotheses exist as to how social movement organizations can gain access to broader

media coverage, and thereby enter the public realm from the shadows. Those organizations that

have access to greater resources, are more professional and are more clear and consistent with

their issue frames are thought to have better chances of attracting media outlets (Gamson and

Wolfsfeld 1993). A significant problem for the Algonquin to Adirondacks Collaborative is a lack

of resources. Prior to 2012, the organization was operating on an annual budget of 5,000 dollars.

In 2013, the Algonquin to Adirondacks Collaborative received a Trillium Foundation grant of

60,000 dollars per year for three years; these funds allowed the project to hire a single full-time

staff member, and to pursue several new initiatives such as the A2A Trail in accordance with its

original objective of establishing a corridor in the Frontenac Arch (PO 2017). Still, the

Algonquin to Adirondacks Collaborative has not had access to sufficient funds for a long enough

period to establish a large, dedicated staff. Most respondents had only been involved with the

project since it had received the Trillium Foundation grant.

Furthermore, most members of the Algonquin to Adirondacks Collaborative are not able to

commit a large amount of time to the project on a weekly basis. 66.6 percent of respondents

spend ten hours or less working on the project. The Algonquin to Adirondacks Collaborative is

driven by volunteers. Only one participant stated that they were employed by the project,

77

meaning that the others have alternative responsibilities and thus have less time to dedicate to the

project.

A second hypothesis posits that social movements with access to complementary divisions of

labour are often more capable of gaining greater standing and preferred framing with media

outlets (Gamson and Wolfsfeld 1993). The Algonquin to Adirondacks Collaborative had

amassed 49 partner organizations by the time research for this thesis was conducted (A2A

Collaborative 2017), and is constantly looking to attract new partners (A1 2017). Based on the

sample of respondents, a wide variety of organizations are partners with the Algonquin to

Adirondacks Collaborative. In terms of size, the largest partner organization employs up to 111

people, while the smallest organizations operate through volunteers alone (see Figure 4).

Figure 4: Size of Partner Organizations

Most partner organizations that completed the web-based survey were those that had a long

history with the Algonquin to Adirondacks Collaborative. 70 percent had at least four years of

experience with the project, while 30 percent had three years experience or less. Yet the small

size of most partner organizations prevents them from being able to deviate from their own tasks

to provide substantial contributions to the Algonquin to Adirondacks Collaborative’s mission. Of

the web-based survey respondents, 70 percent represented organizations with 30 or fewer

1521

6

111

1 0

90

30

53

1

0

20

40

60

80

100

120

0 2 4 6 8 10 12

Numbe

rofE

mployees

PartnerOrganizations

78

employees, and 30 percent had just one or were entirely driven by volunteers. Respondent B1

expressed the serious time constraints that many partner organizations face, and that most join

with projects such as the Algonquin to Adirondacks Collaborative because their values align, but

are not willing to take on additional responsibilities (B1 2017).

The limited commitments that partner organizations are apparently willing to make may have

broader ramifications in terms of the Algonquin to Adirondacks Collaboratives sustainability as

an organization (B1 2017). The second major task in resource mobilization is to maintain

constituent involvement, so as not to lose out on the support of useful allies (McCarthy and Zald

1977). Thus far, the Algonquin to Adirondacks Collaborative has not been successful in doing

so; one of the respondents even reported that their organization had never heard of the Algonquin

to Adirondacks Collaborative, despite being listed as an official partner on the project’s website

(B2 2017, A2A Collaborative 2017). The first indication that numerous partner organizations

have low levels of awareness and understanding of the Algonquin to Adirondacks Collaborative

arose during the web-based survey portion of this thesis’ research.

Limited web-based survey response rate suggested most partners represent weakly connected

nodes on the periphery of the Algonquin to Adirondacks Collaborative’s network. This

assumption is supported by the six potential respondents which voluntarily stated that their lack

of knowledge of the project was the primary reason for their refusal to participate. Furthermore,

some partner organizations that did participate also evidently had relatively low awareness levels

of the Algonquin to Adirondacks Collaborative’s intricacies. Partner organizations were first

asked if they were aware of any existing opportunities that were available for them to meet with

each other as well as with members of the Algonquin to Adirondacks Collaborative. Not all

respondents were aware.

Next, partner organizations were asked if they attend the Annual General Meeting. There was a

discrepancy of a single respondent between this question and the previous, meaning that one

partner organization is aware of the Annual General Meeting, but chooses not to attend. A final

follow-up question asked partner organizations whether such a forum would be useful. All

partner organizations, which includes those that were unaware of the Annual General Meeting

and the organization that was aware but chose not to attend, answered in the affirmative.

79

If the Algonquin to Adirondacks Collaborative is going to increase its notoriety amongst the

public, it should first look to cement the relationships it has forged with its own partner

organizations. These constituents have the potential capacity to promote transboundary

conservation as a legitimate, locally-driven project, but can only do so if they are invested in its

success themselves. The Yellowstone to Yukon Initiative had emphasized knowledge-sharing

with its partner organizations, and was able to thereby rely upon them to disseminate its vision

amongst the public (Chester 2015).

Thus far, the Algonquin to Adirondacks Collaborative has offered sparse incentives for its

constituents to become more involved. The project does not act as a bridging network for its

partners (Bodin and Crona 2009), who were already connected with one another prior to joining

the Algonquin to Adirondacks Collaborative’s cause (B1 2017). During its initial phases, the

Yellowstone to Yukon Initiative had been able to offer its partner organizations access to coveted

conservation information, and had thus been able to secure their enthusiasm (Chester 2015).

Following this example, the Algonquin to Adirondacks Collaborative should increase the

frequency by which it communicates with its constituents. At the moment, these interchanges are

far too low to retain engagement (B1 2017), or even awareness amongst partner organizations

(B2 2017).

Emerging from the Shadows: Capitalizing on Opportunities in the Periphery?

A third hypothesis for increasing the standing of social movement organizations amongst the

media is to narrow the scope of demands (Gamson and Wolfsfeld 1993). The Algonquin to

Adirondacks Collaborative will always be premised upon a large-scale vision of conservation

that has a scope which is far from narrow. The project’s immediate demands have always been

far more simplified, however. Initially, the Algonquin to Adirondacks Collaborative was

premised upon restoring the Algonquin wolf to a portion of its historic range, which would

thereby achieve the more complex ecological outcomes that were ultimately the project’s

underlying goals (Quinby et al. 1999).

The Algonquin to Adirondacks Collaborative may have abandoned the Algonquin wolf as its

flagship species because of its waning popularity amongst the media – and by extension,

amongst the public. It is also very likely, however, that the Algonquin wolf was dropped from

80

the project’s discourse because of perceptions that residents in the Frontenac Arch continue to

hold a strong aversion to large carnivores (A1 2017, A2 2017). These residents can also be

thought of as non-adherents in terms of social movement theory, and are thus important to

appease. Non-adherents cannot be allowed to become opponents according to the theory, because

opponents are not inclined to change their opinion of the movement to the degree which would

enable them to eventually become constituents (McCarthy and Zald 1977). The Algonquin to

Adirondacks Collaborative has abandoned the Algonquin wolf due to fears that non-adherents

may become opponents, and has instead adopted the far less controversial visage of Alice the

Moose (Draft Strategic Plan 2014, A1 2017, A2 2017).

Thus, one potential consequence of the declining role of state actors in North American

conservation may be fewer protections for controversial species at risk, such as the Algonquin

wolf. Conservation organizations, such as the Algonquin to Adirondacks Collaborative, may be

less willing to advocate for these species when such advocacy is perceived to be so unpopular

that it threatens the survival of their own organization, and thereby endangers the pursuit of goals

ascribed with a higher value than individual species conservation – in this case, transboundary

conservation. The Yellowstone to Yukon Initiative may have been subject to the same pressures

from residents opposed to grizzly bear restoration (Chester 2003). The grizzly bear’s

considerable popularity amongst the local conservation community attracted broad media

coverage, including television, radio, magazine and newspaper features in support of the project,

along with over three million dollars of private funds for research and land purchases (Locke and

Francis 2012). The grizzly bear thus provided the Yellowstone to Yukon Initiative with the

resources that allowed the project to persist despite opposition from landowners, which is

something the Algonquin wolf never provided for the Algonquin to Adirondacks Collaborative.

Social movement organizations operate according to the same principles of self-preservation as

other organizations in the business sector (McCarthy and Zald 1977). The Algonquin to

Adirondacks Collaborative is no exception. One of neoliberalism’s founding fathers, Milton

Friedman, developed the shareholder theory to explain why organizations behave in this manner.

Organizations, according to Friedman, only have a single responsibility, and that is to act solely

in the interest of shareholders by pursuing profits above all else. Organizations are not civil

servants, Friedman argued, and should not waste shareholder funds on social goals that do not

directly lead to profits (Vorster 2010). Friedman’s shareholder theory, loosely applied to

81

transboundary corridor projects, positions those organizations like the Algonquin to Adirondacks

Collaborative as having a sole responsibility to act in the interests of their shareholders, which in

this case does not refer to people, but to the corridor envisioned for the Frontenac Arch.

Following Friedman’s logic, pursuing advocacy work for species at risk – particularly those

species that may unnecessarily jeopardize the project’s reputation amongst landowners and

thereby endanger the corridor – would have been unethical. Shareholder theory suggests that the

Algonquin to Adirondacks Collaborative had a moral obligation to abandon the Algonquin wolf

as its flagship species.

Changing the focal point of the project is not likely to improve the Algonquin to Adirondacks

Collaborative’s success amongst local communities, and its chances of establishing a corridor,

however. Studies suggest that the project did not encounter resistance in the past because it had

advocated for the restoration of the Algonquin wolf. A 1996 poll conducted by Defenders of

Wildlife showed that 76 percent of residents in the Adirondacks supported wolf reintroduction

plans, including 67 percent of hunters (Boyle 1997, McKibben 2000, Williams, Ericsson and

Heberlein 2002). Rather, opposition to the project grew once local influential figures had

characterized the Algonquin to Adirondacks Collaborative and sympatric efforts to restore the

Algonquin wolf as threats to the region’s autonomy, an intrusion of external interests forcing

decisions onto local communities. Opposition grew rapidly after local leaders intervened, which

suggests that opposition was directed towards the Algonquin wolf as a proxy for larger political

issues of autonomy. A 1997 study showed that support dropped from 76 percent to 46 percent

after only a year, and a subsequent 1999 study showed a further drop to 42 percent (Williams,

Ericsson and Heberlein 2002). This problem is not new to transboundary corridor projects; both

the Yellowstone to Yukon Conservation Initiative and the Mesoamerican Biological Corridor

faced growing local discontent grounded in aversion against top-down, external intrusions

(Chester 2003, Finley-Brook 2007). Local discontent may have carried more weight for the

Algonquin to Adirondacks Collaborative than it had for its contemporaries, however, given the

higher proportion of private lands in the Frontenac Arch (A2 2017).

Data collected for this thesis suggests that residents may have been misinformed by their local

leaders, however, meaning that public aversion to the project and the Algonquin wolf had likely

been misdirected. A high proportion of the Algonquin to Adirondacks Collaborative’s partner

organizations that participated in the web-based survey are situated within the Frontenac Arch.

82

Of the respondents, 80 percent indicated that their organization’s head office can be found in the

Frontenac Arch.

Those partner organizations whose headquarters were located outside of the Algonquin to

Adirondacks region were asked a follow-up question to assess whether they had auxiliary

locations within the Algonquin to Adirondacks region. Of these organizations, one had a satellite

office within the region, while the other did not.

Rather than rearranging the project’s focus, the Algonquin to Adirondacks Collaborative should

focus upon generating dialogue with residents of the Frontenac Arch to spread awareness of its

grassroots connections, and to allow residents to become more involved in the project, thereby

increasing a sense of ownership. Brown and Harris (2005) made the same recommendations,

which have apparently not been followed. This is not to suggest that opposition to Algonquin

wolves is lacking entirely amongst the American residents, however. On the contrary, participant

A2 was fearful that local antagonism for large carnivores was likely to result in poaching if the

species were to be reintroduced. The Algonquin to Adirondacks Collaborative is hopeful,

however, that Algonquin wolf and puma reintroduction projects will become more tenable as

time passes (PO 2017). Increased moose populations may begin to impact residents through

automobile collisions to the point where they might be willing to accept large carnivores as

natural population control agents (A2 2017).

It is inadvisable for the Algonquin to Adirondacks Collaborative to plan on reintroducing the

Algonquin wolf and puma after the transboundary corridor has been established, however.

Residents are likely to perceive this strategy as willful deception. Deception in turn is likely to

negatively impact trust, which could undermine relationships between the Algonquin to

Adirondacks Collaborative and its adherents and constituents. Trust is one of the key tenants in

management systems, especially those centred around large carnivore conservation; it is integral

to successful cooperation, takes a long time to accrue and is capable of dissipating incredibly

quickly (Sjölander-Lindqvist, Johansson and Sandström 2015, Carter and Linnell 2016).

Furthermore, research on endangered species legislation in Ontario and New York has shown

that residents are not likely to follow conservation mandates that are not thought of as being just,

and being left out of procedural decisions – or in this case, deliberately keeping intent hidden – is

thought of as being one of the primary sources of disdain amongst landowners (Olive 2016). The

83

Algonquin to Adirondacks Collaborative must establish and maintain levels of trust and a sense

of ownership over project operations among local adherents and constituents; otherwise, research

suggests that disagreements between stakeholders may lead to retaliatory killings or other

deviant behaviour (Madden 2004, Madden 2008, Young et al. 2015), which will in turn threaten

reintroduced populations and undermine the entire purpose of the project.

Persecution of reintroduced Algonquin wolf and puma populations could carry broader

ecological ramifications for the Frontenac Arch. Keystone predators influence their surroundings

through direct and indirect effects on prey species (Estes et al. 2011). These effects are

represented by the landscape of fear, a concept that explains how prey species balance the risk of

predation with resource availability and habitat structure in their distributions over time and

across space. Human persecution alters this arrangement by demoting large carnivores from

keystone to penultimate predators. Large carnivores behave differently when anthropogenic

threats are present. Foraging theory suggests that large carnivore distributions are determined by

prey abundance and vulnerability (Oriol-Cotterill et al. 2015), but when anthropogenic threats

become a factor, large carnivores have been shown to alter their movements to avoid hunting

pressures. Large carnivores exhibit increased vigilance in these situations by their changing

habitat use and activity patterns – adaptive strategies that are normally associated with prey

species (Estes et al. 2011). Thus, human persecution creates what are known as landscapes of co-

existence, which are subsets of the landscape of fear concept within which large carnivores

occupy vastly different ecological roles. Large carnivores may be forced to hunt during

suboptimal times, prematurely abandon carcasses and come into increased inter- and

intraspecific conflicts by the necessity of mitigating anthropogenic threats, which can in turn

impact the behaviour of prey species (Oriol-Cotterill et al. 2015).

The effects of landscapes of co-existence vary according to traits specific to species, age, sex and

individuals (Oriol-Cotterill et al. 2015). Solitary large carnivores are thought to have greater

resilience than their social counterparts because of the potential that anthropogenic threats can

impact the stability and integrity of familial or community structures (Estes et al. 2011, Oriol-

Cotterill et al. 2015). Algonquin wolves, who live in packs with strong familial structures, have

been shown to suffer from impacts beyond simply mortality figures when anthropogenic

mortality pressures are high. Algonquin wolf packs have several coping strategies when

members of their own packs die. When the breeding female dies, replacements are sometimes

84

recruited from inside the pack. As a result, incestuous mating becomes an issue, whereas

otherwise it is rarely observed in stable packs. Moreover, unrelated males from outside the pack

are sometimes accepted when the breeding male dies. Although the consequences of this are still

relatively unknown, scholars have posited that wolf packs might abandon their territories,

dissolve or fragment their packs into smaller units as a result. Furthermore, efficiency with

regards to resource use might suffer, as missing pack members may affect the memory of the

remaining collective in terms of prey distributions and water locations (Rutledge et al. 2010).

Studies on Algonquin wolf pup survival have not resulted in clear connections between social

structure and infant mortality, however. Instead, pup survival seems to be correlated with age.

Algonquin wolf packs generally travel increasingly greater distances, and with greater variance

between home sites as infants become older (Mills, Patterson and Murray 2008).

Pumas, despite being markedly more solitary than Algonquin wolves, have also been shown to

suffer from anthropogenic stressors. Pumas in southern California have some of the lowest

annual survival rates of any population in North America due to high levels of human-induced

mortality, including depredation permits, poaching, public safety kills and poisoning amongst

others. These threats result in low genetic diversity and birth defects, despite evidence of

movement between populations (Ernest et al. 2014). Thus, anthropogenic pressures have been

shown to pose threats for both Algonquin wolf and puma populations, and must be planned for

and proactively mitigated before any reintroduction programs take place. Otherwise, these large

carnivores will not likely perform the functions that are expected of them in their new habitats. It

is crucial for the Algonquin to Adirondacks Collaborative to maintain a consistent dialogue with

residents of the Frontenac Arch regarding large carnivore conservation, even if the Algonquin

wolf and puma are not expected to be reintroduced until the latter phases of the project.

Chances for Expansion: The Frontenac Arch’s Unaffiliated Conservation Community

Although the web-based survey respondents suggested that there is a certain level of consensus

with regards to challenges and potential resolutions for the Algonquin to Adirondacks

Collaborative, all three research methods – namely, the web-based survey, participant

observation and interviews – noted that these challenges and resolutions differ significantly from

the Canadian to the American side of the Frontenac Arch. Far less progress has been achieved on

85

the American side, and this has been partly attributed to structural differences between the two

countries (PO 2017, A1 2017, A2 2017). Namely, participants identified conservation authorities

as key allies between government actors and the non-governmental conservation community (A1

2017, A2 2017). Conservation authorities are unique to Ontario. They work for municipalities,

but are not government entities themselves. As such, conservation authorities present

sympathetic, direct links to influential political figures.

Given how powerful allies from the conservation community have shown to be, the researcher

contacted unaffiliated parks and conservation authorities in the Frontenac Arch to assess whether

these administrative structures are aware of, and support transboundary conservation. All the

representatives from the unaffiliated parks and conservation authorities that participated in the

web-based surveys had worked for their respective institutions for at least 10 years. This statistic

indicates that these participants have been involved in conservation within the Frontenac Arch

for a majority of the Algonquin to Adirondacks Collaborative’s existence, and are thus in a good

position to comment upon the position of the project within the conservation community.

The level of familiarity with the Algonquin to Adirondacks Collaborative was universally low

amongst these participants. 75 percent of respondents had rated their level of awareness as a four

on a scale from one to ten. Although this is a subjective measure, it can be assumed that these

institutions have heard of the Algonquin to Adirondacks Collaborative, although the depth of

their knowledge regarding the project remains unclear. Possibly due to their own low levels of

familiarity, none of the unaffiliated parks and conservation authorities provided educational

materials regarding the Algonquin to Adirondacks Collaborative to residents or visitors within

their jurisdictions.

Despite their lack of knowledge, all the unaffiliated parks and conservation authorities sampled

were supportive of the vision that the Algonquin to Adirondacks Collaborative promotes, which

is a testament to the growing prominence of transboundary conservation’s logic amongst

practitioners. Thus, even if formal ties are not established between the Algonquin to Adirondacks

Collaborative and these conservation institutions, there is evidently still a potential for

networking given the mutual support that is present and communication that already occurs

between the project and some of these representatives.

86

Networks have been proven to be more effective than formal regulations in promoting

environmental stewardship and resolving conflicts (Bodin and Crona 2009). Moreover,

sympathetic formal conservation actors – namely Ontario’s conservation authorities – have been

credited as integral components of the Algonquin to Adirondacks Collaborative’s relative

success in Canada. The notable absence of ties between the project and formal American

conservation institutions makes it difficult for proponents to establish a presence south of the

border (A1 2017, A2 2017). Influential institutions do not have to be opponents to hinder the

progress of conservation projects; a lack of participation can sometimes be enough to discredit

the efforts of radical organizations such as the Algonquin to Adirondacks Collaborative (Bodin

and Crona 2009). Creating dialogue with American residents in the Frontenac Arch will be

crucial if the Algonquin to Adirondacks Collaborative hopes to establish a presence and address

the misconceptions that prevented the project from gaining traction in the past (Williams,

Ericsson and Heberlein 2002, Brown and Harris 2005). Thus, the Algonquin to Adirondacks

Collaborative has the potential to significantly improve its standing if it continues to pursue

relations with unaffiliated parks and conservation authorities on both sides of the border.

Thus, the unaffiliated parks and conservation authorities that participated in this thesis can best

be categorized as adherents; they are aware and supportive of the Algonquin to Adirondacks

Collaborative, but do not directly advocate its vision. The disposition of the unaffiliated parks

and conservation authorities towards the project suggests that they have the potential to be

converted to constituents in the future.

87

Chapter 7 Conclusions

Conservation is undergoing a paradigm shift. Ecological changes – the most pressing of which

are ongoing deforestation and climate change – coupled with social changes – namely the

neoliberal era’s waning notion of sovereignty and the nation-state – have precipitated the

ascendency of new, large-scale approaches in guiding our relationships with the natural world.

Transboundary conservation models have proliferated across the world since the close of the

twentieth century, inspired by ambitious and revolutionary projects such as the Yellowstone to

Yukon Initiative, Terai Arc Landscape and Mesoamerican Biological Corridor.

At the outset of the research process, I had set out to advance a contextualized understanding of

three questions pertinent to transboundary conservation. I had wanted to develop a deeper

understanding of challenges and potential resolutions; how it is pursued, or what activities need

to be undertaken in establishing connectivity; and how transboundary conservation has been

covered by the media. I decided to approach these questions with a case study of transboundary

conservation in North America’s east, selecting the Algonquin to Adirondacks Collaborative for

its relative absence from academic literature and connections to influential figures in the

Wildlands Network and CPAWS, along with the pioneering Yellowstone to Yukon Initiative.

Web-based surveys, participant observation and structured interviews were conducted to better

understand the perspectives of experts and professionals – those people behind the vision of the

Algonquin to Adirondacks Collaborative, and those important to its proliferation. A media

analysis was then intended to show how much the idea has spread beyond the inner circle of its

proponents.

The Algonquin to Adirondacks Collaborative has made it its mission to bring transboundary

conservation to North America’s biologically diverse east. Originally premised upon the

Algonquin wolf, the Algonquin to Adirondacks Collaborative now frames its significance as a

climate corridor – one that will provide the infrastructure necessary for species across the

Frontenac Arch and possibly beyond to cope with the impending threat of increasing

temperatures and disappearing habitats. With growing support from the conservation community

following the promotion of Alice the Moose, project proponents now plan to spread their vision

through the A2A Trail in the hopes of internalizing transboundary conservation amongst

88

governments and residents as a new norm, a new hegemony. A transboundary corridor linking

the Algonquin and Adirondack parks will then slowly be realized by implementing CAP in a

locally-driven process towards connectivity.

The ecological conditions necessary for inspiring transboundary conservation are in place within

the Frontenac Arch, while the social conditions have yet to be met. All the participants

interviewed throughout the course of data collection for this thesis expressed that people who

come across the idea of a corridor between Algonquin and the Adirondacks generally agree that

it makes sense, and that it should be done (A1 2017, A2 2017, B1 2017, B2 2017, C1 2017).

Furthermore, even though most of their participants had never heard of the project, Harris and

Brown (2005) found that the majority were not opposed to the notion of a corridor outright.

Several antagonistic factors have inhibited the project’s progress to date, however. These are

rooted in fundamental misunderstandings – which are in turn rooted in poor dialogue – between

the Algonquin to Adirondacks Collaborative and residents of the Frontenac Arch (Williams,

Ericsson and Heberlein 2002); in the region’s abundance of private land (A2 2017); and in a

general failure to engage stakeholders on the American side of the border (A1 2017). All these

external challenges stem from an absence of dialogue. Instead of abandoning the Algonquin

wolf, which forced a return to the early planning stages, the Algonquin to Adirondacks

Collaborative should have focused its energies on engaging residents and key figures in the

Frontenac Arch.

In sum, the Algonquin to Adirondacks Collaborative has preoccupied itself with semantics, when

it should have been following the Yellowstone to Yukon Initiative’s example. The Yellowstone

to Yukon Initiative had begun its operations by engaging key stakeholders and the public in

cognitive debates over the scale that influences how conservation problems are thought of

(Chester 2015). When the Algonquin to Adirondacks Collaborative – which had initially been

premised upon the restoration of the Algonquin wolf – failed to generate broad support, instead

of turning to increased collaboration and coordination, it reverted to planning the corridor and

devising new strategies for ascribing meaning onto the corridor, to create distance between itself

and the Algonquin wolf.

The Algonquin to Adirondacks Collaborative should learn from the experiences of the

Mesoamerican Biological Corridor, which had encountered public opposition because it had

89

failed to sufficiently engage the public in its initial phases, only consulting locals after important

decisions about the corridor had already been made (Finley-Brook 2007). Locals did not have

ownership over the Mesoamerican Biological Corridor, and rightly perceived the project as

intrusive. Transboundary conservation will still be a foreign idea to those stakeholders and

members of the public that are not familiar with the Algonquin to Adirondacks Collaborative,

which according to the data is representative of a large portion of the Frontenac Arch’s populace.

Their presumptions about the interpretational scale of conservation have not been challenged.

Thus, when the Algonquin to Adirondacks Collaborative brings its new mandate for a corridor to

the public, coloured with discourse of climate change adaptation, a wandering moose and a

hiking trail, it will likely be met with similar responses that greeted the proposal for Algonquin

wolf reintroduction (Williams, Ericsson and Heberlein 2002). The idea of large scale,

transboundary conservation has not been internalized, and will therefore probably appear to be a

foreign idea regardless of how it is packaged.

The Algonquin to Adirondacks Collaborative offers several promising opportunities for

geographers to conduct future research. Few studies have addressed the legitimacy of

conservation projects that operate at scales without electoral authorities (Cohen and McCarthy

2015). The Algonquin to Adirondacks Collaborative has refrained from involving the public in

its planning phase, meaning that the project expects to implement conservation measures without

public debate or input – but through the collaboration of partner organizations located within the

Frontenac Arch. Future research will be needed to assess how the public responds to the idea of

transboundary conservation once the Algonquin to Adirondacks Collaborative becomes more

established.

Moreover, this thesis has raised questions regarding the purpose of partner organizations in large

conservation projects. Few of the Algonquin to Adirondacks Collaborative’s partner

organizations are actively involved in working towards establishing the transboundary corridor

(B1 2017), with some unaware of their connections entirely (B2 2017). James M. Jasper (2010)

has called for theorists to pay greater attention to individuals in social movements, with

opportunities for more nuanced understandings of movement dynamics to be gained from

examining lived experiences, meanings, emotions and interactions (Jasper 2010). Future research

centered on the participants of transboundary conservation projects can shed light on their

90

motivations and goals in aligning themselves with movements that they do not become actively

involved with.

Opportunities also exist for research on transboundary conservation through a broader range of

epistemologies. Geography and conservation policy are similar in that both are marred by a

colonial past – and to some extent, a colonial present. Despite what certain theoretical

perspectives and temporal categories – such as postcolonialism and postcolonization – may

suggest, dispossession remains a critical issue for indigenous peoples in many places around the

world, and North America is no exception (Shaw, Herman and Dobbs 2006). Dispossession can

be readily observed in ongoing processes such as land claim disputes (Samson 2016), but it also

occurs more discretely in the forms of knowledge appropriation and misrepresentation (Tester

and Irniq 2008). Cognizant of the dangers that irresponsible research poses, there have been calls

from within geography to “…decentre ‘Western’ authority over knowledge” by adding different

epistemologies to the constantly-expanding collection of academic knowledge, and by resisting

the desire to represent indigenous perspectives, or to avoid gaining ownership over indigenous

understandings (Shaw, Herman and Dobbs 2006: 271).

Research into the place-specific complexities of a transboundary corridor project, such as the

Algonquin to Adirondacks Collaborative, would unquestionably benefit from indigenous

participants. The researcher, who is a non-indigenous person based out of a ‘Western’ academic

institution, consciously chose not to include indigenous communities in this thesis’ data

collection process. This thesis was therefore limited in its ability to fully represent the

machinations of the Algonquin to Adirondacks Collaborative, having omitted a significant

demographic of the region from its data collection. While this thesis referenced various

indigenous communities, and discussed their ongoing roles in the history and environmental

governance of the Algonquin to Adirondacks region, it refrained from indulging in the

temptation to ascribe a voice to their perspectives on these matters. The researcher calls for

indigenous scholars from the Frontenac Arch to fill this void, so that a fuller understanding of

conservation in North America’s storied east can be achieved.

91

References 2011. “Media analysis: Saving costs and increasing revenues.” Strategic Direction 27(7): 15-17.

Algonquin to Adirondacks Collaborative. 2014. “Algonquin to Adirondacks Collaborative Draft

Strategic Plan.”

http://www.a2acollaborative.org/uploads/7/6/8/5/7685208/a2a_draft_strategic_plan_2014

-2019.pdf

Algonquin to Adirondacks Collaborative. 2017. “A2A Trail.”

http://www.a2acollaborative.org/a2a-trail.html

Algonquin to Adirondacks Collaborative. 2017. “Alice the Moose.”

http://www.a2acollaborative.org/alice-the-moose.html

Algonquin to Adirondacks Collaborative. 2017. “Board and Staff.”

http://www.a2acollaborative.org/board--staff.html

Algonquin to Adirondacks Collaborative. 2017. “Partners.”

http://www.a2acollaborative.org/partners1.html

Algonquin to Adirondacks Collaborative. 2017. “Protected Areas.”

http://www.a2acollaborative.org/protected-areas.html

Algonquin to Adirondacks Collaborative. 2017. “Wildlife.”

http://www.a2acollaborative.org/wildlife.html

Andelman, Sandy J. and William F. Fagan. 2000. “Umbrellas and flagships: Efficient

conservation surrogates or expensive mistakes?” PNAS 97(11): 5454-5459.

Armitage, Derek R., Ryan Plummer, Fikret Berkes, Robert I. Arthur, Anthony T. Charles, Iain J.

Davidson-Hunt, Alan P. Diduck, Nancy C. Doubleday, Derek S. Johnson, Melissa

Marschke, Patrick McConney, Evelyn W. Pinkerton and Eva K. Wollenberg. 2009.

“Adaptive co-management for social-ecological complexity.” Frontiers in Ecology and

the Environment 7(2): 95-102.

92

Armsworth, Paul R., Isla S. Fishburn, Zoe G. Davis, Jennifer Gilbert, Natasha Leaver and Kevin

J. Gaston. 2012. “The Size, Concentration and Growth of Biodiversity-Conservation

Nonprofits.” BioScience 62(3): 271-281.

Baird, Julia, Ryan Plummer and Orjan Bodin. 2016. “Collaborative governance for climate

change adaptation in Canada: experimenting with adaptive co-management.” Regional

Environmental Change 16: 747-758.

Baxter, Jaime. 2016. “Case Studies in Qualitative Research.” In Hay, Iain (Ed.) Qualitative

Research Methods in Human Geography, Fourth Edition. Don Mills: Oxford University

Press.

Bodin, Orjan and Beatrice I. Crona. 2009. “The role of social networks in natural resource

governance: What relational patterns make a difference?” Global Environmental Change

19: 366-374.

Boyle, Robert H. 1997. “Return of the native: the restoration of wolves to their former habitat in

the Northeast is now politically – and financially – feasible.” 199(3).

Brown, Rebecca and Glen Harris. 2005. “Comanagement of wildlife corridors: the case for

citizen participation in the Algonquin to Adirondack proposal.” Journal of Environmental

Management 74: 97-106.

Carter, Neil H. and John D. C. Linnell. 2016. “Co-Adaptation Is Key to Coexisting with Large

Carnivores.” Trends in Ecology and Evolution 31(8).

Chester, Charles C. 2003. “Responding to the Idea of Transboundary Conservation: An

Overview of Publics Reaction to the Yellowstone to Yukon (Y2Y) Conservation

Initiative.” Journal of Sustainable Forestry 17(1-2): 103-125.

Chester, Charles C. 2006. Conservation Across Borders: Biodiversity in an Interdependent

World. Washington: Island Press.

Chester, Charles C. 2015. Yellowstone to Yukon: Transborder conservation across a vast

international landscape.” Environmental Science & Policy 49: 75-84.

93

Ciach, Michał, Bartłomiej Maślanka, Agata Krzus, Tadeusz Wojas, Simon Leather, and Philip

Barton. 2017. “Watch your step: insect mortality on hiking trails.” Insect Conservation

and Diversity 10(2): 129-140.

Cohen, Alice and James McCarthy. 2015. “Reviewing rescaling: Strengthening the case for

environmental considerations.” Progress in Human Geography 39(1): 3-25.

Colchero, F., D. A. Conde, C. Manterola, C. Chavez, A. Rivera and G. Ceballos. 2011. “Jaguars

on the move: modelling movement to mitigate fragmentation from road expansion in the

Mayan Forest.” Animal Conservation 14: 158-166.

Conservation Gateway. 2017. “Action Planning.”

https://www.conservationgateway.org/ConservationPlanning/ActionPlanning/Pages/cons

ervation-action-plann.aspx

Cope, Meghan. 2016. “Organizing and analyzing qualitative data.” In I. Hay (Ed.) Qualitative

Research Methods in Human Geography, Fourth Edition. London: Oxford University

Press. 373-392.

Cronon, William. 1995. “The Trouble with Wilderness, or, Getting Back to the Wrong Nature.”

In Uncommon Ground: Toward Reinventing Nature. Edited by William Cronon. W. W.

Norton & Company, Inc.

Daniel, Terry C., Andreas Muhar, Arne Arnberger, Olivier Aznar, James W. Boyd, Kai M. A.

Chan, Robert Costanza, Thomas Elmqvist, Courtney G. Flint, Paul H. Gobster, Adrienne

Gret-Regamey, Rebecca Lave, Susanne Muhar, Marianne Penker, Robert G. Ribe,

Thomas Schauppenlehner, Thomas Sikor, Ihor Soloviy, Marja Spierenburg, Karolina

Taczanowska, Jordan Tam and Andreas von der Dunk. 2012. “Contributions of cultural

services to the ecosystem services agenda.” PNAS 109(23).

Darwin, C. R. 1859. On the Origins of Species by Means of Natural Selection, or the

Preservation of Favoured Races in the Struggle for Life. 6th Edn, John Murray.

94

DeBoer, Kristin. 2000. “Dreams of Wolves.” In Elder, John (ed). The Return of the Wolf:

Reflections on the Future of Wolves in the Northeast. Hanover: Middlebury College

Press. 64-107.

Denscombe, Martyn. 2006. “Web-Based Questionnaires and the Mode Effect: An Evaluation

Based on Completion Rates and Data Contents of Near-Identical Questionnaires

Delivered in Different Modes.” Social Science Computer Review 24(2): 246-254.

Devine-Wright, Patrick. 2009. “Rethinking NIMBYism: The role of place attachment and place

identity in explaining place-protective action.” Journal of Community & Applied Social

Psychology 19(6): 426-441.

Didier, Karl A., Michale J. Glennon, Andres Novaro, Eric W. Sanderson, Samantha Strindber,

Susan Walker and Sebastian Di Martino. 2009. “The Landscape Species Approach:

spatially-explicit conservation planning applied in the Adirondacks, USA, and San

Guillermo-Laguna Brava, Argentina, landscapes.” Oryx 43(4): 476-487.

Di Marco, M., L. Biotani, D. Mallon, M. Hoffmann, A. Iacucci, E. Meijaard, P. Visconti, J.

Schipper and C. Rondinini. 2014. “A Retrospective Evaluation of the Global Decline of

Carnivores and Ungulates.” Conservation Biology 28(4): 1109-1118.

Dunn, Kevin. 2016. “Interviewing.” In Iain Hay (Ed.) Qualitative Research Methods in Human

Geography, Fourth Edition. Don Mills: Oxford University Press.

Edwardson, Ryan. 2004. “A Canadian Modernism: The Pre-Group of Seven 'Algonquin School',

1912-17.” British Journal of Canadian Studies 17(1): 81-92.

Elder, John. 2000. “Introduction.” In Elder, John (Ed.) The Return of the Wolf: Reflections on the

Future of Wolves in the Northeast. Hanover: Middlebury College Press. 1-4.

Emel, Jody, Chris Wilbert and Jennifer Wolch. 2002. “Animal Geographies.” Society and

Animals 10(4): 407-412.

Ernest, Holly B., T. Winston Vickers, Scott A. Morrison, Michael R. Buchalski and Walter M.

Boyce. 2014. “Fractured Genetic Connectivity Threatens a Southern California Puma

(Puma concolor) Population.” PLoS ONE 9(10): e107985.

95

Estes, James A., John Terborgh, Justin S. Brashares, Mary E. Power, Joel Berger, William J.

Bond, Stephen R. Carpenter, Timothy E. Essington, Robert D. Holt, Jeremy B. C.

Jackson, Robert J. Marquis, Lauri Oksanen, Tarja Oksanen, Robert T. Paine, Ellen K.

Pikitch, William J. Ripple, Stuart A. Sandin, Marten Scheffer, Thomas W. Schoener,

Jonathan B. Shurin, Anthony R. E. Sinclair, Michael E. Soulé, Risto Virtanen, David A.

Wardle, Teknisk-naturvetenskapliga fakulteten, Umeå universitet, Institutionen för

ekologi, miljö och geovetenskap. 2011. “Trophic Downgrading of Planet Earth.” Science

333(6040): 301-306.

Finley-Brook, Mary. 2007. “Green Neoliberal Space: The Mesoamerican Biological Corridor.”

Journal of Latin American Geography 6(1).

Flad, Harvey K. 2009. “The Parlor in the Wilderness: Domesticating an Iconic American

Landscape.” The Geographical Review 99(3): 356-376.

Flemming, Christopher M. and Mark Bowden. 2009. “Web-based surveys as an alternative to

traditional mail methods.” Journal of Environmental Management 90: 284-292.

Franklin, Jerry F. 1993. “Preserving biodiversity: Species, ecosystems or landscapes?”

Ecological Applications 3(2): 202-205.

Gamson, William A. and Gadi Wolfsfeld. 1993. “Movements and Media as Interacting

Systems.” Annals of the American Academy of Political and Social Science 528.

Gatrell, A. and R. Flowerdew. 2005. “Choosing a topic. In Flowerdew, R. and D. Martin (Eds.)

Methods in Human Geography: A Guide for Students doing a Research Project. Toronto:

Oxford University Press. 66-83.

Gibson, C. 2009. “Human Geography.” In Thrift, N. and R. Kitchen (Eds.) International

Encyclopedia of Human Geography. Amsterdam: Elsevier.

Glennon, Michale J. and William F. Porter. 2005. “Effects of land use management on biotic

integrity: An investigation of bird communities.” Biological Conservation 126: 499-511.

Gour, Digpal Singh and P. Anuradha Reddy. 2015. “Need of transboundary collaborations for

tiger survival in Indian subcontinent.” Biodiversity Conservation 24: 2869-2875.

96

Haddad, Nick M., Lars A. Brudvig, Jean Clobert, Kendi F. Davies, Andrew Gonzalez, Robert D.

Holt, Thomas E. Lovejoy, Joseph O. Sexton, Mike P. Austin, Cathy D. Collins, William

M. Cook, Ellen I. Damschen, Robert M. Ewers, Bryan L. Foster, Clinton N. Jenkins,

Andrew J. King, William F. Laurence, Douglas J. Levey, Chris R. Margules, Brett A.

Melbourne, A. O. Nicholls, John L. Orrock, Dan-Xia Song and John R. Townshend.

2015. “Habitat fragmentation and its lasting impact on Earth’s ecosystems.” Science

Advances 1(2): e1500052.

Hannah, Lee, David Lohse, Charles Hutchinson, John L. Carr and Ali Lankerani. 1994. “A

Preliminary Inventory of Human Disturbance of World Ecosystems.” Ambio 23(4/5):

246-250.

Hannah, Lee. 2008. “Protected Areas and Climate Change.” New York Academy of Sciences

1134: 201-212.

Hanski, Ilkka. 1999. “Habitat connectivity, habitat continuity, and metapopulations in dynamic

landscapes.” OIKOS 87(2): 209-219.

Harihar, Abishek and Bivash Pandav. 2012. “Influence of Connectivity, Wild Prey and

Disturbance on Occupancy of Tigers in the Human-Dominated Western Terai Arc

Landscape.” PLoS ONE 7(7): e40105. doi:10.1371/journal.pone.0040105.

Harihar, Abishek, Diogo Verıssimo and Douglas C. MacMillan. 2015. “Beyond compensation:

Integrating local communities’ livelihood choices in large carnivore conservation.”

Global Environmental Change 33: 122-130.

Hart, Stephen. 1996. “The Cultural Dimension of Social Movements: A Theoretical

Reassessment and Literature Review.” Sociology of Religion 57(1): 87-100.

Heffernan, M. “Histories of Geography.” In Holloway, S., S. Rice and G. Valentine (Eds.) 2003.

Key Concepts in Geography. London: Sage.

Himley, Matthew. 2008. “Geographies of Environmental Governance: The Nexus of Nature and

Neoliberalism.” Geography Compass 2(2): 433-451.

97

Huck, Maren, Wlodzimierz Jedrzejewski, Tomasz Borowik, Malgorzata Milosz-Cielma,

Krzysztof Schmidt, Bogumila Jedrzejewska, Sabina Nowak and Robert W. Myslajek.

2010. “Habitat suitability, corridors and dispersal barriers for large carnivores in Poland.”

Acta Theriologica 55(2): 177-192.

Jasper, James M. 2010. “Social Movement Theory Today: Toward a Theory of Action?”

Sociology Compass 4(10): 965-976.

Jones, Karen. 2010. “From Big Bad Wolf to Ecological Hero: Canis lupus and the Culture(s) of

Nature in the America-Canadian West.” American Review of Canadian Studies 40(3):

338-350.

Kark, Salit, Ayesha Tulloch, Ascelin Gordon, Tessa Mazor, Nils Bunnefeld and Noam Levin.

2015. “Cross-boundary collaboration: key to the conservation puzzle.” Current Opinion

in Environmental Sustainability 12: 12-24.

Kellert, Stepher R., Matthew Black, Colleen Reid Rush and Alistair J. Bath. 1995. “Human

Culture and Large Carnivore Conservation in North America.” Conservation Biology

10(4): 977-990.

Kittle, Andrew M., Morgan Anderson, Tal Avgar, James A Baker, Glen S. Brown, Jevon

Hagens, Ed Iwachewski, Scott Moffatt, Anna Mosser, Brent R Patterson, Douglas E. B.

Reid, Arthur R. Rodgers, Jen Shuter, Garrett M. Street, Ian D Thompson, Lucas M

Vander Vennen, John M Fryxell, and Lele, Subhash. 2015. “Wolves adapt territory size,

not pack size to local habitat quality.” Journal of Animal Ecology 84(5): 1177-1186.

Kroeker-Maus, David. 2014. “The Protected Area as Enclave: Towards New Geographies of

Tourism and Conservation.” Geography Compass 8(11): 796-807.

Kyle, Christopher J., A. R. Johnson, Brent Patterson and Bradley White. 2006. “Genetic nature

of eastern wolves: Past, present and future.” Conservation Genetics, 7(2): 273-287.

Leopold, Aldo. 1966. “Thinking like a mountain.” In A Sand County Almanac with Other Essays

From Round River. New York: Oxford University Press.

98

Liverman, Diana. 2004. “Who Governs, at What Scale and at What Price? Geography,

Environmental Governance, and the Commodification of Nature.” Annals of the

Association of American Geographers 94(4): 734-738.

Locke, Harvey and Wendy L. Francis. 2012. “Strategic Acquisition and Management of Small

Parcels of Private Lands in Key Areas to Address Habitat Fragmentation at the Scale of

the Yellowstone to Yukon Region.” Ecological Restoration 30(4): 293-295.

Maccoby, E. and N. Maccoby. 1954. “The interview: A tool of social science.” In G. Lindzey,

(Ed.) Handbook of Social Psychology. Cambridge, MA: Addison-Wesley.

Madden, Francine. 2004. “Creating Coexistence between Humans and Wildlife: Global

Perspectives on Local Efforts to Address Human-Wildlife Conflict.” Human Dimensions

of Wildlife 9: 247-257.

Madden, Francine. 2008. “The Growing Conflict Between Humans and Wildlife: Law and

Policy as Contributing and Mitigating Factors.” Journal of International Wildlife Law &

Policy 11: 189-206.

Malviya, Manjari and Krishnamurthy Ramesh. 2015. “Human-felid conflict in corridor habitats:

implications for tiger and leopard conservation in the Terai Arc Landscape, India.”

Human-Wildlife Interactions 9(1): 48-57.

Mattson, D. J., S. G. Clark, K. L. Byrd, S. R. Brown, B. Robinson. 2011. “Leaders’ perspectives

in the Yellowstone to Yukon Conservation Initiative.” Policy Sci 44: 103-133.

McCarthy, James and Scott Prudham. 2004. “Neoliberal nature and the nature of neoliberalism.”

Geoforum 35: 275-283.

McCarthy, John D. and Mayer N. Zald. 1977. “Resource Mobilization and Social Movements: A

Partial Theory.” American Journal of Sociology 82(6): 1212-1241.

McGuire, Jenny L., Joshua J. Lawler, Brad H. McRae, Tristan A. Nunez and David M.

Theobald. 2016. “Achieving climate connectivity in a fragmented landscape.” PNAS

113(26): 7195-7200.

99

McKibben, Bill. 2000. “Human Restoration.” In Elder, John (Ed.) The Return of the Wolf:

Reflections on the Future of Wolves in the Northeast. Hanover: Middlebury College

Press. 5-21.

McNamee, Kevin. 2009. “From Wild Places to Endangered Spaces: A History of Canada’s

National Parks.” In Dearden, Philip and Rick Rollins (Eds.) Parks and Protected Areas in

Canada: Planning and Management, Third Edition. Don Mills: Oxford University Press.

Mech, David L. and Luigi Boitani. 2003. “Introduction.” In Mech, David L. and Luigi Boitani

(Eds.) Wolves: Behaviour, Ecology, and Conservation. Chicago: The University of

Chicago Press. 10.

Meinig, D. W. 1979. “Symbolic Landscapes: Some Idealizations of American Communities.” In

Meinig, D. W. (Ed.) The Interpretation of Ordinary Landscapes: Geographical Essays

New York Oxford University Press. 164-192.

Mills, Kenneth J., Brent R. Patterson and Dennis L. Murray. 2008. “Direct Estimation of Early

Survival and Movements in Eastern Wolf Pups.” Journal of Wildlife Management 72(4):

949-954.

Mills, Scott L., Micheal E. Soule and Daniel F. Doak. 1993. “The keystone-species concept in

ecology and conservation.” BioScience 43(4): 219.

Musiani, Marco and Paul C. Paquet. 2004. “The Practices of Wolf Persecution, Protection, and

Restoration in Canada and the United States.” BioScience 54(1).

Natter, Wolfgang and Wolfgang Zierhofer. 2002. “Political ecology, territoriality and scale.”

GeoJournal 58: 225-231.

Naughton-Treves, Lisa, Rebecca Grossberg and Adrian Treves. 2003. “Paying for Tolerance:

Rural Citizens' Attitudes toward Wolf Depredation and Compensation.” Conservation

Biology 17(6): 1500-1511

Norgaard, Richard B. 2010. “Ecosystem services: From eye-opening metaphor to complexity

blinder.” Ecological Economics 69: 1219-1227.

100

Noss, Reed F. 1983. “A regional landscape approach to maintain diversity.” Bioscience 33:700-

706.

Noss, Reed F. 1996. “Ecosystems as conservation targets.” TREE 11(8).

Noss, Reed F. 2003. “A Checklist for Wildlands Network Designs.” Conservation Biology 17(5):

1270-1275.

Noss, Reed F., Andrew P. Dobson, Robert Baldwin, Paul Beier, Cory R. Davis, Dominick A.

Dellasala, John Francis, Harvey Locke, Katarzyna Nowak, Roel Lopez, Conrad Reining,

Stephen C. Trombulak and Gary Tabor. 2012. “Bolder Thinking for Conservation”.

Conservation Biology 26(1).

Odum, Eugene P. 1971. Fundamentals of Ecology. Philadelphia: W.B. Saunders.

Olive, Andrea. 2014. Land, Stewardship, and Legitimacy: Endangered Species Policy in Canada

and the United States. University of Toronto Press: Toronto, Buffalo, London.

Olive, Andrea. 2016. “It is just not fair: the Endangered Species Act in the United States and

Ontario.” Ecology and Society 21(3).

Oliver, Tom H., Matthew S. Heard, Nick J. B. Isaac, David B. Roy, Deborah Procter, Felix

Eigenbrod, Rob Freckleton, Andy Hector, C. David L. Orme, Owen L. Petchey, Vania

Proenca, David Raffaelli, K. Blake Suttle, Georgina M. Mace, Berta Martin-Lopez, Ben

A. Woodcock and James M. Bullock. 2015. “Biodiversity and Resilience of Ecosystem

Functions.” Trends in Ecology and Evolution 30(11).

Olsson, Per, Lance H. Gunderson, Steve R. Carpenter, Paul Ryan, Louis Lebel, Carl Folke and

C. S. Holling. 2006. “Shooting the Rapids: Navigating Transitions to Adaptive

Governance of Social-Ecological Systems.” Ecology and Society 11(1): 18.

Ontario. 2016. “Algonquin wolf.” https://www.ontario.ca/page/algonquin-wolf.

Oriol-Cotterill, Alayne, Marion Valeix, Laurence G. Frank, Corinna Riginos and David W.

Macdonald. 2015. “Landscapes of Coexistence for terrestrial carnivores: the ecological

101

consequences of being downgraded from ultimate to penultimate predator by humans.”

Oikos 124: 1263-1273.

Pain, R. T. 1969. “A note on trophic complexity and community stability.” American Naturalist

100: 65-75.

Pain, R. T. 1980. “Food Webs: linkage, interaction strength and community infrastructure.”

Journal of Animal Ecology 49: 666-685.

Parfitt, J. 2005. “Questionnaire design and sampling.” In Flowerdew, R. and D. Martin (Eds.)

Methods in Human Geography: A Guide for Students Doing a Research Project, Second

Edition. New York: Pearson/Prentice Hall. 78-109.

Perrings, C., S. Naeem, F. Ahrestani, D. E. Bunker, P. Burkill, G. Canziani, T. Elmqvist, R.

Ferrati, J. Fuhrman, F. Jaksic, Z. Kawabata, A. Kinzig, G. M. Mace, F. Milano, H.

Mooney, A.-H. Prieur-Richard, J. Tschirhart, W. Weisser. 2010. “Ecosystem Services for

2020.” Science 330.

Petty, Nicola J., Oliver P. Thomson, Graham Stew. 2012. “Ready for a paradigm shift? Part 2:

Introducing qualitative research methodologies and methods.” Manual Therapy 17: 378-

384.

Potschin, Marion B. and Roy H. Haines-Young. 2011. “Ecosystem services: Exploring a

geographical perspective.” Progress in Physical Geography 35(5).

Power, Mary E., David Tilman, James A. Estes, Bruce A. Menge, William J. Bond, L. Scott

Mills, Gretchen Daily, Juan Carlos Castilla, Jane Lubchenco and Robert T. Paine. 1996.

“Challenges in the Quest for Keystones: Identifying keystone species is difficult – but

essential to understanding how loss of species will affect ecosystems.” BioScience 46(8).

Quinby, Peter, Steve Trombulak, Thomas Lee, Jeff Lane, Michael Henry, Robert Long, Paula

MacKay. 1999. “Opportunities for Wildlife Habitat Connectivity between Algonquin

Park, Ontario and the Adirondack Park, New York.” The Greater Laurentian Wildlands

Project.

102

Rabinowitz, Alan and Kathy A. Zeller. 2010. “A range-wide model of landscape connectivity

and conservation for the jaguar, Panthera onca.” Biological Conservation 143: 939-945.

Rangan, Haripriya and Christian A. Kull. 2009. “What makes ecology ‘political’?: rethinking

‘scale’ in political ecology.” Progress in Human Geography 33(1): 28-45.

Ripple, William J. and Robert L. Beschta. 2004. “Wolves and the Ecology of Fear: Can

Predation Risk Structure Ecosystems?” BioScience 54(8).

Ripple, William J., James A. Estes, Robert L. Beschta, Christopher C. Wilmers, Euan G. Ritchie,

Mark Hebblewhite, Joel Berger, Bodil Elmhagen, Mike Letnic, Michael P. Nelson,

Oswald J. Schmitz, Douglas B. Smith, Arian D. Wallach and Aaron J. Wirsing. 2014.

“Status and Ecological Effects of the World’s Largest Carnivores.” Science 343(6167):

1241484.

Ripple, William J., James A. Estes, Oswald J. Schmitz, Vanessa Constant, Matthew J. Kaylor,

Adam Lenz, Jennifer L. Motley, Katharine E. Self, David S. Taylor and Christopher

Wolf. 2016. “What is a Trophic Cascade?” Trends in Ecology and Evolution 31(11).

Rittel, Horst W. J. and Melvin M. Webber. 1973. “Dilemmas in a General Theory of Planning.”

Policy Sciences 4: 155-169.

Rutledge, Linda Y., Brent R. Patterson, Kenneth J. Mills, Karen M. Loveless, Dennis L. Murray,

and Bradley N. White. 2010. “Protection from harvesting restores the natural social

structure of eastern wolf packs.” Biological Conservation 143(2): 332-339.

Salau, Kehinde, Michael L. Schoon, Jacopo A. Baggio and Marco A. Janssen. 2012. “Varying

effects of connectivity and dispersal on interacting species dynamics.” Ecological

Modelling 242: 81-91.

Saldaña, Johnny. 2013. The Coding Manual for Qualitative Researchers, Second Edition.

London: Sage Publications Ltd.

Samson, Colin. 2016. “Canada’s Strategy of Dispossession: Aboriginal Land and Rights

Cessions in Comprehensive Land Claims.” Canadian Journal of Law and Society 31(1):

87-110.

103

Sanderson, Eric W., Kent H. Redford, Amy Vedder, Peter B. Coppolillo and Sarah E. Ward.

2002. “A conceptual model for conservation planning based on landscape species

requirements.” Landscape and Urban Planning 58: 41-56.

Santini, Luca, Santiago Saura and Carlo Rondinini. 2016. “Connectivity of the global network of

protected areas.” Diversity and Distributions 22: 199-211.

Schneider, Paul. 1997. The Adirondacks: a history of America’s first wilderness. Adirondack

Mountains (NY): History.

Schoon, Michael, Jacapo A. Baggio, Kehinde R. Salau, Marco Janssen. 2014. “Insights for

managers from modeling species interactions across multiple scales in an idealized

landscape.” Environmental Modeling and Software 54: 53-59

Scott, Michael J., Frank W. Davis, R. Gavin McGhie, R. Gerald Wright, Craig Groves and John

Estes. 2001. “Nature reserves: do they capture the full range of America’s biological

diversity?” Ecological Applications 11(4): 999-1007.

Sergio, Fabrizio, Tim Caro, Danielle Brown, Barbara Clucas, Jennifer Hunter, James Ketchum,

Katherine McHugh and Fernando Hiraldo. 2008. “Top Predators as Conservation Tools:

Ecological Rationale, Assumptions, and Efficacy.” Annual Review of Ecology,

Evolution, and Systematics 39(1): 1-19.

Sharpe, Virginia A., Bryan G. Norton and Strachan Donnelley. 2001. “Introduction.” In Sharpe,

Virginia A., Bryan G. Norton and Strachan Donnelley (Eds.) Wolves and Human

Communities: Biology, Politics, and Ethics. Washington, D.C.: Island Press. 1-6.

Shaw, Wendy S., R. D. K. Herman, G. Rebecca Dobbs. 2006. “Encountering Indigeneity: Re-

Imagining and Decolonizing Geography.” Geografiska Annaler: Series B, Human

Geography 88(3): 267-276.

Sills, Stephen J. and Chunyan Song. 2002. “Innovations in Survey Research: An Application of

Web-Based Surveys.” Social Science Computer Review 20(1): 22-30.

104

Silver, Ira. 1997. “Constructing “Social Change” through Philanthropy: Boundary Framing and

the Articulation of Vocabularies of Motives for Social Movement Participation.”

Sociological Inquiry 67(4): 488-503.

Smith, Douglas W., Rolf O. Peterson and Douglas B. Houston. 2003. “Yellowstone after

Wolves.” BioScience 53(4).

Sjölander-Lindqvist, Annelie, Maria Johansson and Camilla Sandström. 2015. “Individual and

collective responses to large carnivore management: the roles of trust, representation,

knowledge spheres, communication and leadership.” Wildlife Biology 21(3): 175-185.

Soule, Michael E. and John Terborgh. 1999. “Conserving nature at regional and continental

scales.” BioScience 49(10): 809.

Standfield, Donald and Elizabeth Lundell. 1993. Algonquin: the park and its people. Toronto:

Book Art Inc.

Stephenson, Bill. 2001. “The Algonquin to Adirondack Conservation Initiative: a key macro-

landscape linkage in eastern North America.” In Harmon, David (Ed.) Crossing

Boundaries in Park Management: Proceedings of the 11th Conference on Research and

Resource Management in Parks on Public Lands. Michigan: The George Wright Society.

Stoner, David C., Michael L. Wolfe, Clint Mecham, Mclain B. Mecham, Susan L. Durham and

David M. Choate. 2013. “Dispersal behaviour of a polygynous carnivore: do cougars

Puma concolor follow source-sink predictions?” Wildlife Biology 19(3): 289-301.

Sweanor, Linda L., Kenneth A. Logan and Maurice G. Hornocker. 2000. “Cougar Dispersal

Patterns, Metapopulation Dynamics, and Conservation.” Conservation Biology 14(3):

798-808.

Tester, Frank James and Peter Irniq. 2008. “Inuit Qaujimajatuqangit: Social History, Politics and

the Practice of Resistance.” Arctic 61(1): 48-61.

Thapa, Kanchan, Eric Wikramanayake, Sabita Malla, Krishna Prasad Acharya, Babu Ram

Lamichhane, Naresh Subedi, Chiranjivi Prasad Pokharel, Gokarna Jung Thapa,

Maheshwar Dhakal, Ashish Bista, Jimmy Borah, Mudit Gupta, Kamlesh K. Maurya,

105

Ghana Shyam Gurung, Shant Raj Jnawali, Narendra Man Babu Pradhan, Shiv Raj Bhata,

Saroj Koirala, Dipankar Ghose and Joseph Vattakaven. 2017. “Tigers in the Terai: Strong

evidence for meta-population dynamics contributing to tiger recovery and conservation in

the Terai Arc Landscape.” PLoS ONE 12(6): e0177548.

The Wildlands Network. 2017. “Mission & Values.” https://wildlandsnetwork.org/mission-

values/

Theberge, Jeannette C., and John B. Theberge. 2009. “Applications of Ecological Concepts of

the Management of Protected Areas.” In Dearden, Philip and Rick Rollins (Eds.) Parks

and Protected Areas in Canada: Planning and Management, Third Edition. Don Mills:

Oxford University Press.

Theberge, John B. 2000. “An Ecologist’s Perspective on Wolf Recovery in the Northeastern

United States.” In Elder, John (Ed). The Return of the Wolf: Reflections on the Future of

Wolves in the Northeast. Hanover: Middlebury College Press. 22-63.

Theberge, John B., Mary T. Theberge, John A. Vucetich and Paul C. Paquet. 2006. “Pitfalls of

Applying Adaptive Management to a Wolf Population in Algonquin Provincial Park,

Ontario.” Environmental Management 37(4): 451-460.

Theobald, David M., Sarah E. Reed, Kenyon Fields and Michael Soulé. 2012. “Connecting

natural landscapes using a landscape permeability model to prioritize conservation

activities in the United States.” Conservation Letters 5(2): 123-133.

Tilley, Christopher. 2006. “Introduction: Identity, Place, Landscape and Heritage.” Journal of

Material Culture 11(1/2): 7-32.

Turner II, B. L. 2002. “Contested Identities: Human-Environment Geography and Disciplinary

Implications in a Restructuring Academy.” Annals of the Association of American

Geographers 92(1): 52-74.

Van Selm, Martine and Nicholas W. Jankowski. 2006. “Conducting Online Surveys.” Quality

and Quantity 40: 435-456.

106

Vásárhelyi, Charlotte and Vernon G. Thomas. 2006. “Evaluating the capacity of Canadian and

American legislation to implement terrestrial protected areas networks.” Environmental

Science and Policy 9(1): 46-54.

Vásárhelyi, Charlotte and Vernon G. Thomas. 2008. “Reflecting ecological criteria in laws

supporting the Baja to Bering Sea marine protected areas network case study.”

Environmental Science and Policy 11(5): 394-407.

Wainwright, Joel. 2005. “The geographies of political ecology: after Edward Said.” Environment

and Planning A 37: 1033-1043.

Walker, Peter A. 2005. “Political Ecology: where is the ecology?” Progress in Human

Geography 29(1): 73-82.

Weber, William and Alan Rabinowitz. 1996. “A Global Perspective on Large Carnivore

Conservation.” Conservation Biology 10(4): 1046-1054.

Wilcox B. A. 1980. “Insular ecology and conservation.” In Soule M. E., Wilcox B. A., eds.

Conservation Biology: An Evolutionary-Ecological Perspective. Sunderland (MA):

Sinauer Associates.

Williams, Christopher K., Goran Ericsson and Thomas A. Heberlein. 2002. “A quantitative

summary of attitudes toward wolves and their reintroduction (1972-2000).” Wildlife

Society Bulletin 30(2): 575-584.

Williams, Rhys H. 1995. “Constructing the Public Good: Social Movements and Cultural

Resources.” Social Problems 42(1).

Worster, Donald. 1990. “The Ecology of Order and Chaos.” Environmental History Review

14(1/2): 1-18

Worte, Charley. 2017. “Integrated watershed management and Ontario’s conservation

authorities.” International Journal of Water Resources Development 3(3): 360-374.

Wu, Jianguo and Orie L. Loucks. 1995. “From balance of nature to hierarchical patch dynamics:

A paradigm shift in ecology.” The Quarterly Review of Biology 70(4).

107

Young, Julie K., Zhao Ma, Ann Laudati and Joel Berger. 2015. “Human-Carnivore Interactions:

Lessons Learned from Communities in the American West.” Human Dimensions of

Wildlife 20: 349–366.

Zimmerer, Karl S. 1994. “Human Geography and the “New Ecology”: The Prospect and Promise

of Integration.” Annals of the Association of American Geographers 84(1): 108-125.

Zimmerer, Karl S., Ryan E. Galt and Margaret V. Buck. (2004). “Globalization and Multi-

Spatial Trends in the Coverage of Protected-Area Conservation (1980-2000).” Ambio

33(8).

Zimmerer, Karl S. 2006. “Cultural ecology: at the interface with political ecology – the new

geographies of environmental conservation and globalization.” Progress in Human

Geography 30(1): 63-78.

108

Appendices

Appendix I: A2A Survey Guide 1. For how long have you been employed by the Algonquin to Adirondacks Collaborative?

2. What is your average weekly workload for the Algonquin to Adirondacks Collaborative?

3. Is the Algonquin to Adirondacks Collaborative your only employer?

4. In what field is your other employment?

a. Other conservation group

b. Business

c. Government agency

d. Scientific organization

e. Industry

f. Academia

g. Agriculture

h. Self-employed

i. Other

5. Where is your permanent place of residence?

a. Inside the A2A region

b. Outside the A2A region

6. The following is a list of challenges that may potentially impact a conservation

organization or movement. Please rate the significance of these challenges in relation to

the Algonquin to Adirondacks Collaborative.

109

*See Appendices IV, VI and VIII for the list of potential challenges.

7. In your opinion, are there any other significant challenges that have not been mentioned

by the above list? If so, briefly describe them below.

8. The following is a list of potential solutions that may be applied to address the challenges

mentioned above. Please rate these potential solutions according to how you believe the

Algonquin to Adirondacks Collaborative should proceed.

*See Appendices V, VII and IX for the list of potential solutions.

9. In your opinion, are there any other potential solutions of significance that have not been

mentioned by the above list? If so, briefly describe them below.

10. Is there a forum where these challenges and potential solutions can be discussed with

other member of the Algonquin to Adirondacks Collaborative and its partner

organizations?

11. How frequently does this forum take place?

12. Do you think such a forum would be useful?

13. Would you be willing to participate in a follow-up interview in the near future to discuss

A2A in greater detail? If so, please leave your contact information.

110

Appendix II: A2A Partner Organizations Survey Guide 1. What is the name of your organization?

2. How many people does your organization employ?

3. Where is your organization’s head office located?

4. Does your organization have a regional office within the A2A region?

5. For how long has your organization been involved with the Algonquin to Adirondacks

Collaborative?

6. What are your organization’s responsibilities with regards to A2A?

7. The following is a list of challenges that may potentially impact a conservation

organization or movement. Please rate the significance of these challenges in relation to

the Algonquin to Adirondacks Collaborative.

*See Appendices IV, VI and VIII for the list of potential challenges.

8. In your opinion, are there any other significant challenges that have not been mentioned

by the above list? If so, briefly describe them below.

9. The following is a list of potential solutions that may be applied to address the challenges

mentioned above. Please rate these potential solutions according to how you believe the

Algonquin to Adirondacks Collaborative should proceed.

*See Appendices V, VII and IX for the list of potential solutions.

10. In your opinion, are there any other potential solutions of significance that have not been

mentioned by the above list? If so, briefly describe them below.

11. Is there a forum where your organization can discuss these challenges and potential

solutions with the Algonquin to Adirondacks Collaborative and its other partner

organizations?

12. Does your organization attend this forum?

111

13. Do you think such a forum would be useful?

14. Would you be willing to participate in a follow-up interview in the near future to discuss

A2A and your organization in greater detail? If so, please leave your contact information.

112

Appendix III: Unaffiliated Parks and Conservation Authorities Interview Guide

1. What is the name of the institution in which you are employed?

2. How long have you worked for your institution?

a. <1 year

b. 1-3 years

c. 4-10 years

d. 10+ years

3. How familiar are you with the Algonquin to Adirondacks Collaborative?

4. Does your institution provide any educational information regarding the Algonquin to

Adirondacks Collaborative to residents and/or visitors within its jurisdiction?

a. Yes

b. No

5. The following is a list of challenges that may potentially impact a conservation

organization or movement. Please rate the significance of these challenges in relation to

the Algonquin to Adirondacks Collaborative.

*See Appendices IV, VI and VIII for the list of potential challenges.

6. In your opinion, are there any other significant challenges that have not been mentioned

by the above list? If so, briefly describe them below.

7. The following is a list of potential solutions that may be applied to address the challenges

mentioned above. Please rate these potential solutions according to how you believe the

Algonquin to Adirondacks Collaborative should proceed.

*See Appendices V, VII and IX for the list of potential solutions.

113

8. In your opinion, are there any other potential solutions of significance that have not been

mentioned by the above list? If so, briefly describe them below.

9. Is there a forum where your institution can discuss these challenges and potential

solutions with the Algonquin to Adirondacks Collaborative and its partner organizations?

10. Does your institution attend this forum?

11. Do you think such a forum would be useful?

12. Does your institution communicate with the Algonquin to Adirondacks Collaborative, or

with the Algonquin to Adirondacks Collaborative’s partner organizations about A2A?

13. Do you personally support the A2A vision?

14. Would you be willing to participate in a follow-up interview in the near future to discuss

A2A and your organization in greater detail? If so, please leave your contact information.

114

Appendix IV: Potential Challenges – A2A

Very

Significant

Somewhat

Significant

Neither

Significant or

Insignificant

Not very

significant

Not

Significant

N/A

Insufficient support from

funders 2 1

Unreasonable demands

from funders 2 1

Inefficiencies of A2A's

board, staff and

organizational structure

to achieve the A2A vision

1 1 1

Inhospitable political

climate in the A2A region 1 1 1

Insufficient

understanding and

support of A2A and its

vision among the public

and government agencies

2 1

Lack of engagement by

A2A with government

agencies

1 1 1

Impacts of climate

change in the A2A region 1 1 1

Deficiencies in A2A

leadership and

governance that impede

learning and

development of strategies

2 1

115

Inadequate learning and

adapting by A2A 2 1

Lack of connection by

A2A with communities

and residents of the A2A

region

1 1 1

Lack of trust within the

A2A community 1 2

Lack of effective

engagement by A2A with

its affiliated groups

2 1

Lack of engagement by

A2A with government

agencies

1 1 1

Difficulty of challenges in

the A2A region relative

to the A2A vision

1 1 1

Lack of resources in A2A

to match its aspirations 2 1

Inadequacies of A2A

leadership on achieving

the A2A vision

3

Lack of funding for A2A 2 1

Lack of political

champions for A2A 1 1 1

Deficient public

perceptions and

inadequate public

support of A2A

2 1

116

Lack of political support

for A2A in the A2A

region

2 1

Deficiencies and complex

governance in the A2A

region

1 1 1

Deficiencies in scientific

practice of A2A and

difficulties in the

provisioning of science in

the A2A region

1 1 1

Resource extraction in

the A2A region 1 2

117

Appendix V: Potential Resolutions – A2A

Very

Significant

Somewhat

Significant

Neither

Significant or

Insignificant

Not very

significant

Not

Significant

N/A

Promote the A2A vision 2 1

Engage political elites

and opinion leaders to

support & promote A2A

2 1

Diversify A2A to include

non-traditional members 3

Develop and effectively

communicate

conservation science

3

Develop long-term

funding strategy for A2A 2 1

Enhance and capitalize

on loyalty to A2A 1 2

Diversify the A2A board

to bring in more skills

and perspectives

2 1

Support small-scale

conservation efforts by

A2A to enhance

connections with

communities and

government agencies

1 2

Acculturate & enhance

A2A’s capacity for

appraisal & learning

1 1 1

118

Gather information

about social- and

decision-making

processes in A2A region

and residents of the A2A

region

1 1 1

Design for A2A to

deliberately learn from

small-scale conservation

prototypes

2 1

Undertake appraisal of

A2A’s performance 1 1 1

Evaluate additional

strategies for achieving

A2A’s vision

2 1

Use A2A to provide

resources to A2A

network groups

2 1

Build and reinforce

A2A’s relationship with

academe

1 1 1

Set achievable objectives

related to A2A’s niche 3

119

Appendix VI: Potential Challenges – Partner Organizations

Very

Significant

Somewhat

Significant

Neither

Significant or

Insignificant

Not very

significant

Not

Significant

N/A

Insufficient support from

funders 4 5

Unreasonable demands

from funders 1 3 1 3 1

Inefficiencies of A2A's

board, staff and

organizational structure

to achieve the A2A vision

1 4 1 1 2

Inhospitable political

climate in the A2A region 2 5 1 1

Insufficient

understanding and

support of A2A and its

vision among the public

and government agencies

4 4 1

Lack of engagement by

A2A with government

agencies

4 2 2 1

Impacts of climate

change in the A2A region 3 2 3 1

Deficiencies in A2A

leadership and

governance that impede

learning and

development of strategies

2 2 2 2 1

120

Inadequate learning and

adapting by A2A 2 2 2 2 1

Lack of connection by

A2A with communities

and residents of the A2A

region

2 6 1

Lack of trust within the

A2A community 2 2 1 2 2

Lack of effective

engagement by A2A with

its affiliated groups

1 5 3

Lack of engagement by

A2A with government

agencies

6 1 2

Difficulty of challenges in

the A2A region relative

to the A2A vision

1 5 2 1

Lack of resources in A2A

to match its aspirations 5 4

Inadequacies of A2A

leadership on achieving

the A2A vision

2 2 2 2 1

Lack of funding for A2A 6 2 1

Lack of political

champions for A2A 4 4 1

Deficient public

perceptions and

inadequate public

support of A2A

4 4 1

121

Lack of political support

for A2A in the A2A

region

4 4 1

Deficiencies and complex

governance in the A2A

region

4 3 2

Deficiencies in scientific

practice of A2A and

difficulties in the

provisioning of science in

the A2A region

1 3 1 4

Resource extraction in

the A2A region 2 2 3 1 1

122

Appendix VII: Potential Resolutions – Partner Organizations

Very

Significant

Somewhat

Significant

Neither

Significant or

Insignificant

Not very

significant

Not

Significant

N/A

Promote the A2A vision 7 2

Engage political elites

and opinion leaders to

support & promote A2A

5 4

Diversify A2A to include

non-traditional members 3 4 1 1

Develop and effectively

communicate

conservation science

4 4 1

Develop long-term

funding strategy for A2A 8 1

Enhance and capitalize

on loyalty to A2A 2 5 2

Diversify the A2A board

to bring in more skills

and perspectives

1 7

Support small-scale

conservation efforts by

A2A to enhance

connections with

communities and

government agencies

4 4 1

Acculturate & enhance

A2A’s capacity for

appraisal & learning

6 3

123

Gather information

about social- and

decision-making

processes in A2A region

and residents of the A2A

region

1 6 1 1

Design for A2A to

deliberately learn from

small-scale conservation

prototypes

6 3

Undertake appraisal of

A2A’s performance 2 5 2

Evaluate additional

strategies for achieving

A2A’s vision

3 5 1

Use A2A to provide

resources to A2A

network groups

2 4 1 2

Build and reinforce

A2A’s relationship with

academe

1 5 1 1

Set achievable objectives

related to A2A’s niche 2 7

124

Appendix VIII: Potential Challenges – Unaffiliated Parks & Conservation Authorities

Very

Significant

Somewhat

Significant

Neither

Significant or

Insignificant

Not very

significant

Not

Significant

N/A

Insufficient support from

funders 2 2

Unreasonable demands

from funders 1 1 1 1

Inefficiencies of A2A's

board, staff and

organizational structure to

achieve the A2A vision

2 1 1

Inhospitable political

climate in the A2A region 1 1 1 1

Insufficient understanding

and support of A2A and its

vision among the public

and government agencies

2 1 1

Lack of engagement by

A2A with government

agencies

1 2 1

Impacts of climate change

in the A2A region 1 2 1

Deficiencies in A2A

leadership and governance

that impede learning and

development of strategies

1 2 1

Inadequate learning and

adapting by A2A 3 1

125

Lack of connection by A2A

with communities and

residents of the A2A

region

2 1 1

Lack of trust within the

A2A community 2 2

Lack of effective

engagement by A2A with

its affiliated groups

3 1

Lack of engagement by

A2A with government

agencies

1 2 1

Difficulty of challenges in

the A2A region relative to

the A2A vision

3 1

Lack of resources in A2A

to match its aspirations 1 2 1

Inadequacies of A2A

leadership on achieving

the A2A vision

2 2

Lack of funding for A2A 3 1

Lack of political

champions for A2A 1 3

Deficient public

perceptions and

inadequate public support

of A2A

1 2 1

Lack of political support

for A2A in the A2A region 2 2

126

Deficiencies and complex

governance in the A2A

region

1 1 1

Deficiencies in scientific

practice of A2A and

difficulties in the

provisioning of science in

the A2A region

1 1 2

Resource extraction in the

A2A region 1 2 1

127

Appendix IX: Potential Resolutions – Unaffiliated Parks & Conservation Authorities

Very

Significant

Somewhat

Significant

Neither

Significant or

Insignificant

Not very

significant

Not

Significant

N/A

Promote the A2A vision 3 1

Engage political elites

and opinion leaders to

support & promote A2A

3 1

Diversify A2A to include

non-traditional members 1 3

Develop and effectively

communicate

conservation science

1 3

Develop long-term

funding strategy for A2A 2 2

Enhance and capitalize

on loyalty to A2A 3 1

Diversify the A2A board

to bring in more skills

and perspectives

2 2

Support small-scale

conservation efforts by

A2A to enhance

connections with

communities and

government agencies

2 1 1

Acculturate & enhance

A2A’s capacity for

appraisal & learning

3 1

128

Gather information

about social- and

decision-making

processes in A2A region

and residents of the A2A

region

2 2

Design for A2A to

deliberately learn from

small-scale conservation

prototypes

1 2 1

Undertake appraisal of

A2A’s performance 1 2 1

Evaluate additional

strategies for achieving

A2A’s vision

1 2 1

Use A2A to provide

resources to A2A

network groups

1 2 1

Build and reinforce

A2A’s relationship with

academe

1 3

Set achievable objectives

related to A2A’s niche 2 1 1

129

Appendix X: Participant Observation Analysis Codes

Main Category Sub-Category Code

Conservation Benefits Universal UN

Habitat protection HP

Migratory species MS

Climate change CC

Coordinate local planners CLP

Large carnivores LC

Human Benefits Supportive S

Human enjoyment HE

Connection to nature CN

Education E

Human health HH

Funding Ecotourism ET

Lack of funding F (lack)

Unsecure USC

Partnerships

Finding new partners P (new)

Partners finding new partners P (P new)

Partnerships with government P (gov’t)

130

Lack presence in

conservation community

CC (P lack)

Lack of U.S. partners P (US lack)

Participatory PT

Framing F

Lack indigenous

reconciliation

IR (lack)

131

Appendix XI: A2A Interview Guide GENERAL

1. Why did you initially become involved with the Algonquin to Adirondacks

Collaborative?

2. Why is a large landscape approach to conservation needed in the Algonquin to

Adirondacks region?

3. Are there any species of particular concern within the Algonquin to Adirondacks region?

a. How would these species benefit from A2A?

4. How effective are current species at risk legislation at protecting species in the Algonquin

to Adirondacks region?

STAKEHOLDERS

5. Who are the primary stakeholders on the Canadian side of the Algonquin to Adirondacks

region? On the American side?

6. How do you plan to inform these stakeholders about the importance of a large landscape

approach to conservation in the Algonquin to Adirondacks region?

a. Is there a strategy in place to inform stakeholders that would not be predisposed to

support the Algonquin to Adirondacks Collaborative?

7. What characteristics distinguish the Canadian side of the Algonquin to Adirondacks

region from the American side?

8. How do you predict a large landscape approach to conservation would affect the

economy of the Algonquin to Adirondacks region?

9. How do you predict a large landscape approach to conservation would affect the

communities of the Algonquin to Adirondacks region?

132

10. Is the public aware of the Algonquin to Adirondacks Collaborative? How has the public

responded?

11. Are governments aware of the Algonquin to Adirondacks Collaborative? How have

governments responded?

12. How do partners become involved in the Algonquin to Adirondacks Collaborative? Is

there a recruitment process?

13. Was there a relationship among the partners before the Algonquin to Adirondacks

Collaborative became involved? How would you characterize it?

14. Is there a certain number of organizations (target goal) that is trying to be obtained?

15. What are the criteria for becoming a partner organization?

16. Is full membership limited to local organizations?

17. Is there an annual due for partners?

a. How was it determined?

b. Is it modified every year or does it remain constant?

c. Is there a withdrawal fee for partners to disengage from the Algonquin to

Adirondacks Collaborative?

18. Is there communication outside of the annual AGM gathering?

19. How is everyone kept informed (minutes distributed, e-mail discussions, etc.)? How

often?

20. What role does the Wildlands Network play in the Algonquin to Adirondacks

Collaborative?

21. Does the A2A Collaborative communicate with officials from Yellowstone to Yukon?

a. IF YES; How frequent do your organizations formally/informally communicate?

133

b. IF YES; What formal/informal role does Yellowstone to Yukon play in the

Algonquin to Adirondacks Collaborative?

STRATEGY

22. What can the Algonquin to Adirondacks Collaborative do to promote its vision?

23. What can the Algonquin to Adirondacks Collaborative do to increase connections with

communities and residents in the A2A region?

24. What can the Algonquin to Adirondacks Collaborative do to increase political support?

25. What can the Algonquin to Adirondacks Collaborative do to improve funding?

26. What members do you feel are missing from the Algonquin to Adirondacks

Collaborative, if any?

27. What kind of scientific/social studies need to be done in the Algonquin to Adirondacks

region?

28. How are decisions made about how to move forward with the A2A vision?

a. Who is involved in making these decisions?

b. How much influence does each stakeholder have on the decision-making process?

29. How does the Algonquin to Adirondacks Collaborative procure the land needed to fulfill

its vision?

THEORETICAL

30. Why did Yellowstone to Yukon enjoy so much success early on while Algonquin to

Adirondacks struggles?

31. What did Yellowstone to Yukon do that is different or that you wish Algonquin to

Adirondacks could do?

32. Why is the Algonquin to Adirondacks vision not yet realized?

134

33. The existing literature indicates that A2A was intended to facilitate the dispersal of

Eastern Wolves (now the Algonquin Wolf) from Algonquin Park. Is this still a primary

goal of the Algonquin to Adirondacks Collaborative?

CONCLUSION

34. Any further comments you would like to add? Or anything that you think I should know

about that has not yet been addressed?

35. Can you recommend any resources I should consult or anyone (academic, private, eNGO)

that I should get in contact with to better understand the role that A2A plays in

conservation?

135

Appendix XII: A2A Partner Organizations Interview Guide GENERAL

1. Please explain the mission of your organization.

2. What other organizations does yours coordinate activities/information/operations/training

with? How often?

3. Why did your organization initially become involved with the Algonquin to Adirondacks

Collaborative?

4. How do other members of your organization feel about the partnership with the

Algonquin to Adirondacks Collaborative?

5. Why is a large landscape approach to conservation needed in the Algonquin to

Adirondacks region?

6. Are there any species of particular concern within the Algonquin to Adirondacks region,

that would benefit from A2A?

7. How effective are current species at risk legislation at protecting species in the Algonquin

to Adirondacks region?

STAKEHOLDERS

8. Who are the primary stakeholders on the Canadian side of the Algonquin to Adirondacks

region? On the American side?

9. How do you predict a large landscape approach to conservation would affect the

economy of the Algonquin to Adirondacks region?

10. How do you predict a large landscape approach to conservation would affect the

communities of the Algonquin to Adirondacks region?

11. Is the public aware of the Algonquin to Adirondacks Collaborative? How has the public

responded?

136

12. Are governments aware of the Algonquin to Adirondacks Collaborative? How have

governments responded?

13. Was there a relationship among the partners before the Algonquin to Adirondacks

Collaborative became involved? How would you characterize it?

14. How would you characterize the culture of the Algonquin to Adirondacks Collaborative?

15. Do partners communicate outside of the annual AGM gathering?

16. How is everyone kept informed (minutes distributed, e-mail discussions, etc.)? How

often?

STRATEGY

17. What can the Algonquin to Adirondacks Collaborative do to promote its vision?

18. What can the Algonquin to Adirondacks Collaborative do to increase connections with

communities and residents in the A2A region?

19. What can the Algonquin to Adirondacks Collaborative do to increase political support?

20. What can the Algonquin to Adirondacks Collaborative do to improve funding?

21. What members do you feel are missing from the Algonquin to Adirondacks

Collaborative, if any?

22. What kind of scientific/social studies need to be done in the Algonquin to Adirondacks

region?

23. How much influence does your organization have on the decision-making process?

THEORETICAL

24. Why did Yellowstone to Yukon enjoy so much success early on while Algonquin to

Adirondacks struggles?

137

25. What did Yellowstone to Yukon do that is different or that you wish Algonquin to

Adirondacks could do?

26. Why is the Algonquin to Adirondacks vision not yet realized?

27. The existing literature indicates that A2A was intended to facilitate the dispersal of

Eastern Wolves (now the Algonquin Wolf) from Algonquin Park. Is this still a primary

goal of the Algonquin to Adirondacks Collaborative?

CONCLUSION

28. Any further comments you would like to add? Or anything that you think I should know

about that has not yet been addressed?

29. Can you recommend any resources I should consult or anyone (academic, private, eNGO)

that I should get in contact with to better understand the role that A2A plays in

conservation?

138

Appendix XIII: Unaffiliated Parks and Conservation Authorities Interview Guide GENERAL

1. Please explain the mission of your organization.

2. What organizations/partners does your organization coordinate

activities/information/operations/training with? How often?

3. Are there any species at risk within the region that your organization operates?

a. Does your organization have any recovery plans/programs in place for these

species? How has the public responded to these plans/programs?

b. Would these species benefit from A2A? How?

4. Has your organization been contacted by the Algonquin to Adirondacks Collaborative in

the past?

5. Does your organization utilize any of the publicly-accessible data made available by the

Algonquin to Adirondacks Collaborative?

a. Its partners? Canadian Wildlife Service; Nature Conservancy of Canada; The

Nature Conservancy, etc.

6. How would the members of your organization feel about a partnership with the

Algonquin to Adirondacks Collaborative?

7. Is a large landscape approach to conservation needed in the Algonquin to Adirondacks

region? Does more scientific data need to be developed before a conclusion can be made?

STAKEHOLDERS

8. Who are the primary stakeholders in the Algonquin to Adirondacks/your organization’s

region?

139

9. How do you predict a large landscape approach to conservation would affect the

economy of the Algonquin to Adirondacks region?

10. How do you predict a large landscape approach to conservation would affect the

communities of the Algonquin to Adirondacks region?

11. Is the public aware of the Algonquin to Adirondacks Collaborative? How has the public

responded?

12. Are governments aware of the Algonqu33in to Adirondacks Collaborative? How have

governments responded?

STRATEGY

13. What can the Algonquin to Adirondacks Collaborative do to promote its vision?

14. What can the Algonquin to Adirondacks Collaborative do to increase connections with

communities and residents in the A2A region?

15. What can the Algonquin to Adirondacks Collaborative do to increase political support?

16. What can the Algonquin to Adirondacks Collaborative do to improve funding?

17. What members do you feel are missing from the Algonquin to Adirondacks

Collaborative?

18. What kind of scientific/social studies need to be done in the Algonquin to Adirondacks

region?

CONCLUSION

19. Any further comments you would like to add? Or anything that you think I should know

about that has not yet been addressed?

20. Can you recommend any resources I should consult or anyone (academic, private, eNGO)

that I should get in contact with to better understand the role that A2A plays in

conservation?

140

Appendix XIV: Interview Analysis Codes

Main Category Sub-Category Code

Transboundary

Conservation

Connectivity CV

Bigger picture BP

Inspirational I

Wide-ranging species WRS

Climate change adaptation CC

Species at risk SR

Seasonal ecotourism ET (sea)

Public health H

Universal UNI

Invasive species IS

Identity ID

Existing Conservation

Policies

Powerful P

Narrow Focus NF

Static S

Receptive Canadian structure CND (rec)

Ontario ESA ESA (ont)

American ESA ESA (usa)

Lack listing L (lack)

141

State Wildlife Grant Program WGP

Potential to raise awareness A (raise)

Lack enforcement ENF (lack)

Local Stakeholders

Stewardship STW

Lack conflicting industry C (lack)

Prudent advocacy ADV (prud)

Lack public awareness A (p-lack)

Private Property Rights PPR

Lack donations D (lack)

Zero-sum game ZS

Concerned land developers LD (con)

Logging LG

Outdoor recreation OR

Transients TR

Retirees R

Receptive public RP

Partnerships Finding new partners P (new)

Partnerships with government P (gov’t)

Partnerships with global

organizations

P (global)

142

Partnerships with stewardship

groups

P (st)

Partnerships with advocacy

groups

P (adv)

Partnerships with

conservation organizations

P (co)

Secure land S

Independent joint projects JP (ind)

Values V

Limited partnerships with

transboundary conservation

organizations

TCO (ltd)

Lack U.S partners P (U.S. lack)

Lack partnerships with

foundations

F (lack)

Lack partnerships with

indigenous peoples

P (ind lack)

Lack partnerships with

sportsman’s organizations

P (sp lack)

Donors D

Maintaining partnerships P (Maint)

Fragile F

143

Pre-existing partnerships P (Pre-ex)

Resolutions Media M

Increase presence PR (inc)

Supportive public P (sup)

Increase funding FN (inc)

Central decision making DM (cen)

Niche NC

Infrastructure INF

Problematic large predators LP (prob)

Partner advocacy ADV (pr)

Incentives & compensation I&C

Shock value SHK

144

Appendix XV: Algonquin to Adirondacks Articles 1999. “Algonquin, NY corridor pitched: Final Edition.” Niagara Falls Review October.

1999. “ONTARIO: A-to-A project seeks to link national parks.” The Globe and Mail October.

1999. “Park body seeks Algonquin-U.S. wildlife corridor: Final Edition.” The Record August.

1999. “Six million hectare wildlife area sought: Final Edition.” Standard October.

1999. “Wilderness group pushes for green corridor; Zone to protect area's wildlife: 1 Edition.”

Toronto Star October.

1999. “Wilderness group pushes for green corridor: zone to protect area's wildlife [A-to-A

proposal for protected corridor between Algonquin & Adirondack parks].” Toronto Star

October.

1999. “Wildlife corridor to link Algonquin, N.Y. parks: Final Edition.” Expositor October.

1999. “Wildlife corridor to link Algonquin, upper New York state park.” Canadian Press

NewsWire October.

1999. “Wildlife corridor to link Algonquin, upper New York State parks: Final Edition.”

Standard – Freeholder October.

1999. “Wildlife corridor to Algonquin Park mapped out: Final Edition.” Tribune October.

2003. “Protecting our new biosphere: Ontario Edition.” Toronto Star June.

2009. “Big Picture Conservation from the perspective of the nearby 1000 Islands-Frontenac Arch

UNESCO Designated Biosphere Reserve at next MVFN lecture.” Almonte/Carleton

Place EMC November.

2009. “Big Picture Conservation from the perspective of the nearby 1000 Islands-Frontenac Arch

UNESCO Designated Biosphere Reserve at next MVFN lecture.” Kemptville EMC

November.

145

2009. “Big Picture Conservation from the perspective of the nearby 1000 Islands-Frontenac Arch

UNESCO Designated Biosphere Reserve at next MVFN lecture.” Perth EMC November.

2009. “Big Picture Conservation from the perspective of the nearby 1000 Islands-Frontenac Arch

UNESCO Designated Biosphere Reserve at next MVFN lecture.” Smiths Falls EMC

November.

2009. “Public welcome to attend environmental forum May 2.” St. Lawrence EMC April.

2009. “The Lanark County link in the Algonquin to Adirondacks Conservation Connection.”

Almonte/Carleton Place EMC September.

2009. “The Lanark County link in the Algonquin to Adirondacks Conservation Connection.”

Kemptville EMC September.

2009. “The Lanark County link in the Algonquin to Adirondacks Conservation Connection.”

Perth EMC September.

2009. “The Lanark County link in the Algonquin to Adirondacks Conservation Connection.”

Smiths Falls EMC September.

2009. “Tree planting, fun and learning on the agenda for Sept. 19.” Almonte/Carleton Place

EMC September.

2009. “Tree planting, fun and learning on the agenda for Sept. 19.” Kemptville EMC September.

2009. “Tree planting, fun and learning on the agenda for Sept. 19.” Perth EMC September.

2009. “Tree planting, fun and learning on the agenda for Sept. 19.” Smiths Falls EMC

September.

2009. “Tree planting, fun and learning on the agenda for Sept. 19.” St. Lawrence EMC

September.

2010. “BIOLOGISTS SAY THAT FOR MANY WILDLIFE POPULATIONS, SURVIVAL

DEPENDS ON TRAVELING ACROSS UNOBSTRUCTED LANDSCAPES.” States

News Service November.

146

2011. “A2A forum to hear presentations on Monarch Butterflies, Land Use Planning.” St.

Lawrence EMC March.

2014. “Alice the Moose in The Land Between The Biodiversity Project.” Belleville EMC

January.

2014. “Alice the Moose in The Land Between The Biodiversity Project.” Stirling EMC January.

2014. “Alice the Moose in The Land Between The Biodiversity Project.” Quinte EMC January.

2014. “Ecology and Evolution; Investigators at Ontario Ministry of Natural Resources Report

Findings in Ecology and Evolution (Landscape connectivity for wildlife: development

and validation of multispecies linkage maps).” Energy & Ecology August. 255.

2014. “SUNY College of Environmental Science and Forestry; ESF symposium focuses on 'New

American Environmentalism'.” NewsRx Health & Science September.

2016. “Follow the moose: Briefs.” Irish Independent August.

2016. “Following the trail of a moose named Alice; Group hopes to connect the cross-border

migration route from Algonquin to Adirondacks.” The Toronto Star August. A3.

2016. “Moose is muse for 400 miles of trails.” Chicago Tribune August.

2016. “Wandering moose inspires cross-border trail.” The Record August. A7

2017. “Groups Meet at Clarkson University to Discuss How to Improve Algonquin to

Adirondacks Conservation Corridor.” Targeted News Service March.

Bakay, Craig. 2009. “Frontenac Arch 'superhighway for biodiversity'.” The Frontenac Gazette

EMC April.

Esch, Mary. 2016. “Hiking In New York: Moose Trek Inspires 400-Mile Trail: Proposed 'A2A'

Likened To Spain's Camino De Santiago Route.” Hartford Courant August.

Esch, Mary. 2016. “Moose is muse for 400 miles of trails: Proposed hiking route would stretch

from Ontario to N.Y.” Orlando Sentinel August.

147

Esch, Mary. 2016. “Moose is muse for 400 miles of trails: Proposed hiking route would stretch

from Ontario to N.Y.” South Florida Sun – Sentinel August.

Esch, Mary. 2016. “Moose is muse for 400-mile trail: Proposed hiking route would stretch from

Ontario to N.Y.” Daily Press August.

Esch, Mary. 2016. “New York: Moose is muse for 400-mile trail.” Hartford Courant August.

McNaughton, Derek. 1999. “Wildlife corridor would link Algonquin, upper New York park: Bid

to protect `ecological integrity' of large mammal populations: Final Edition.” The Ottawa

Citizen October.

Ruhnke, Tim. 2016. “Counties officials express interest in cross-border trail.” St. Lawrence EMC

June.

Smith, Cameron 2004. “401 a killing field for animals; Biologist says overpasses needed: ONT

Edition.” Toronto Star September.

Smith, Cameron. 2004. “Keeping it wild; Conservationists are trying to preserve the natural

heritage of Eastern Ontario Their goal is to maintain a corridor for wildlife right into

upper New York state: ONT Edition.” Toronto Star September.

Smith, Cameron. 2004. “Living with the natural world; Room for both wild, civilized worlds:

ONT Edition.” Toronto Star September.

Walker, Glascock J. 2016. “Do we need a 400-mile hiking trail inspired by Alice the Moose?”

The Christian Science Monitor August.

148

Appendix XVI: Alice the Moose Articles 2014. “Alice the Moose in The Land Between The Biodiversity Project.” Belleville EMC

January.

2014. “Alice the Moose in The Land Between The Biodiversity Project.” Stirling EMC January.

2014. “Alice the Moose in The Land Between The Biodiversity Project.” Quinte EMC January.

2016. “Follow the moose: Briefs.” Irish Independent August.

2016. “Following the trail of a moose named Alice; Group hopes to connect the cross-border

migration route from Algonquin to Adirondacks.” The Toronto Star August. A3

2016. “Moose is muse for 400 miles of trails.” Chicago Tribune August.

2016. “Wandering moose inspires cross-border trail.” The Record August. A7

Esch, Mary. 2016. “Hiking In New York: Moose Trek Inspires 400-Mile Trail: Proposed 'A2A'

Likened To Spain's Camino De Santiago Route.” Hartford Courant August.

Esch, Mary. 2016. “Moose is muse for 400 miles of trails: Proposed hiking route would stretch

from Ontario to N.Y.” Orlando Sentinel August.

Esch, Mary. 2016. “Moose is muse for 400 miles of trails: Proposed hiking route would stretch

from Ontario to N.Y.” South Florida Sun – Sentinel August.

Esch, Mary. 2016. “Moose is muse for 400-mile trail: Proposed hiking route would stretch from

Ontario to N.Y.” Daily Press August.

Esch, Mary. 2016. “New York: Moose is muse for 400-mile trail.” Hartford Courant August.

Walker, Glascock J. 2016. “Do we need a 400-mile hiking trail inspired by Alice the Moose?”

The Christian Science Monitor August.

149

Appendix XVII: A2A Trail Articles 2016. “Follow the moose: Briefs.” Irish Independent August.

2016. “Following the trail of a moose named Alice; Group hopes to connect the cross-border

migration route from Algonquin to Adirondacks.” The Toronto Star August. A3

2016. “Moose is muse for 400 miles of trails.” Chicago Tribune August.

2016. “Wandering moose inspires cross-border trail.” The Record August. A7

Esch, Mary. 2016. “Hiking In New York: Moose Trek Inspires 400-Mile Trail: Proposed 'A2A'

Likened To Spain's Camino De Santiago Route.” Hartford Courant August.

Esch, Mary. 2016. “Moose is muse for 400 miles of trails: Proposed hiking route would stretch

from Ontario to N.Y.” Orlando Sentinel August.

Esch, Mary. 2016. “Moose is muse for 400 miles of trails: Proposed hiking route would stretch

from Ontario to N.Y.” South Florida Sun – Sentinel August.

Esch, Mary. 2016. “Moose is muse for 400-mile trail: Proposed hiking route would stretch from

Ontario to N.Y.” Daily Press August.

Esch, Mary. 2016. “New York: Moose is muse for 400-mile trail.” Hartford Courant August.

Ruhnke, Tim. 2016. “Counties officials express interest in cross-border trail.” St. Lawrence EMC

June.

Walker, Glascock J. 2016. “Do we need a 400-mile hiking trail inspired by Alice the Moose?”

The Christian Science Monitor August.