On the ridgeline above the Flathead Indian Reservation, Mike Durglo Jr. points out the peaks where his family has hunted for generations and a lone whitebark pine that his people call Ilawya — “my great, great, great grandparent.” That solitary tree, ancient and resilient, is emblematic of the approach the Confederated Salish and Kootenai Tribes are taking to prepare for a warmer, drier future: combine Indigenous knowledge with modern science to protect people, wildlife and the land.
Durglo has served as the tribes’ climate change coordinator for nearly two decades and wrote one of the first tribal climate action plans in the United States more than 15 years ago. The document has been updated periodically and serves as a blueprint for dozens of projects across the 1.2-million-acre reservation. Rather than prioritizing single species or issues, the plan treats the landscape and community as an interconnected whole — people, water, forests, wildlife and air.
One visible focus is the whitebark pine. Since the 1990s, rising temperatures, beetle outbreaks and an invasive fungus have killed roughly half of these high-elevation trees. The Tribes have been collecting cones from healthy trees, growing seedlings in the Department of Forestry nursery, and propagating trees with greater resistance to disease. Restoring whitebark forests helps retain snowpack longer on the landscape, which in turn reduces drought stress and helps limit wildfire risk.
Ecosystem restoration extends beyond trees. The U.S. returned management of the National Bison Range to the Tribes in 2022; the roughly 19,000-acre range at the reservation’s center supports a herd of about 350 bison. Tribal managers are working to restore grassland habitat and bring back ecological functions that bison historically provided, such as promoting plant diversity through selective grazing.
Wildfire and smoke have become top concerns. After a string of unusually warm, low-snow winters, the region faces a hotter, drier fire season and the prospect of smoke drifting in from distant blazes. Durglo has spent recent years deploying air-quality sensors across the reservation — in homes, schools and outdoor sites — that feed into an open network of real-time measurements. Data from these sensors showed that indoor air can be as polluted as outdoor air during smoky periods, so the tribes have trained people to build low-cost DIY air filters and have designated several buildings with robust filtration as “clean air centers.” This summer they plan to open three centers to serve the reservation’s six towns. State public-health funding and local nonprofits helped finance much of this work.
The tribes’ climate agenda is broader than restoration and smoke response. It includes exploring wind energy development, water-conservation measures, stream restoration for native fish, invasive-species removal and other projects intended to increase resilience. Durglo made sure Traditional Ecological Knowledge (TEK) is woven into every part of the plan, so that community values and generations of observation inform scientific analysis and management choices.
Tribal sovereignty gives these communities flexibility when state or federal efforts lag. In recent years federal funding for many renewable and climate projects has been inconsistent, and some state-level initiatives have been shelved. Durglo and his team have therefore relied on a patchwork of support: state programs, nonprofits, cooperative federal grants when available, and private or foundation grants. They are also pursuing collaborative funding with neighboring tribes to tackle shared priorities.
Sharing lessons is central to the effort. Durglo has run climate-planning workshops for tribes across the West and chaired a regional tribal committee advising on environmental and climate matters. The Blackfeet Nation, for example, drew from his plan when creating its own climate strategy in 2017 and adapted ideas to local needs: reintroducing beavers and constructing small dams to help hold water on the landscape longer as snowmelt arrives earlier each year.
The tribes update their climate action plan about every three years to keep it aligned with changing conditions and new data. That iterative process helps them identify and fast-track practical measures, like where to site clean-air buildings, how to prioritize stream restoration for bull trout, and which forests to target for whitebark propagation.
Durglo emphasizes that Indigenous stewardship practices are not new responses to the climate crisis but longstanding approaches to caring for place. “It’s really hard for me and for a lot of people to even come up with a list of priorities, because it’s all a priority. It all impacts us. It’s all connected,” he says. Tribal leaders stress that the knowledge learned through hands-on stewardship cannot be erased by changing political winds or shifting grant programs.
Facing uncertain funding, the tribes are getting creative: applying for private grants and forming partnerships with other tribes to jointly pursue funding opportunities, while continuing to invest in community-based solutions that protect health and ecosystem function. Their work — from monitoring air quality to restoring seed sources and reviving bison habitat — offers a model for rural communities confronting hotter summers, deeper droughts and more frequent smoke.
For Durglo, the motivation is simple and long-term: leave the land and community stronger for future generations. “I want my great, great, great grandkids to say my Papa started this,” he says. The tribes’ blended approach — bringing together TEK, local observation and scientific tools — seeks to ensure they can adapt and thrive even as the climate changes.