Why Congress Must Fund the BLM

The Cracks Are Showing on Our Public Lands

You’ve probably seen the signs: washboard roads rattling your truck, overflowing trash cans at remote campgrounds, or the trailhead kiosk with faded, sun-bleached maps from a decade ago. Maybe you’ve waited hours for a ranger who never came or noticed a favorite fishing spot slowly degrading with each passing season.

If you’ve spent any time on public land in eastern Oregon, especially in the Owyhee, you’ve likely felt the slow unraveling of care and capacity. It’s not because the people at the Bureau of Land Management don’t care. It’s because they’re being asked to manage more with less. Every year, responsibilities increase while budgets shrink, and the people responsible for these places are forced to make impossible choices about what can be maintained and what must be deferred.

Let’s be clear. You can’t ask the BLM to manage millions of acres, meet the demands of growing recreation, oversee grazing, steward habitats and sacred sites, fight wildfires, and engage with local communities, all while slashing its budget and leaving its field offices half-staffed. The disconnect between expectations and resources is widening, and it is being felt by anyone who uses or works on public land.

But that is exactly what has happened.

A District Under Pressure: The Reality in Vale

Take the Vale District BLM in Malheur County. It covers over 5 million acres in one of the most remote and rugged regions of Oregon and possibly the nation in the lower 48. Staff in this district issue grazing permits, respond to wildfires, coordinate river access, maintain recreation sites, and oversee land health across rangelands, canyons, and river corridors. That is already a tall order. They are doing it with fewer people, aging infrastructure, and hiring systems that have not kept pace with the realities of working in the rural West.

This vast region includes wild rivers, desert plateaus, fragile sagebrush ecosystems, and historical sites. It is home to ranchers, recreationists, hunters, and tribal communities who all depend on well-managed public lands. Yet, the staff responsible for this work is spread thin across hundreds of miles, often covering duties far beyond their job descriptions. Administrative staff are answering maintenance calls. Biologists are filling in on recreation surveys. Everyone is doing more than they were hired to do.

The sheer scale of the district adds a major layer of difficulty. It takes over three hours of pavement driving just to reach the southern end of the district—and many of the areas BLM manages are still hours off-pavement from there. Ironically, to get to the southern end of their own district, staff must first leave the district and loop back in through adjacent territory. Budget cuts have eliminated overtime and made field camping infeasible, not only due to safety concerns but also because dispatch personnel would then qualify for overtime as well. Staff have openly shared their frustration: after 10- to 12-hour days, they’ve only been able to complete 1–2 hours of actual on-the-ground work because so much time is consumed by travel.

Meanwhile, the criticism continues. There is no shortage of voices complaining about delays in range assessments, unstaffed campgrounds, or recreation sites falling apart. Often, those same voices are voting against the very funding and staffing needed to fix those problems. It is a cycle that punishes the people doing the work and the land we all depend on.

And when mistakes happen, they’re rarely due to carelessness. They come from overload, lack of time, and missing support. Staff are put in a position where they must triage needs and constantly shift priorities, leaving some tasks undone simply because there is no one left to do them.

On the Ground: What It Looks Like

On the ground, the consequences of inadequate staffing and resources are visible and immediate. Roads go unrepaired, leaving vital access points to public lands in disrepair. Trail signage disappears, confusing visitors who are unfamiliar with the terrain. Campgrounds sit without fire rings or clean vault toilets, leaving visitors frustrated and unsatisfied with their experience. In some of the more remote districts, law enforcement response times are measured in days, which compromises safety for both visitors and staff. Specialists, such as botanists, rangeland experts, planners, and recreation leaders, are juggling multiple roles just to keep the most urgent needs covered. These professionals are stretched thin, handling everything from ecosystem monitoring to permit processing, leaving them with little time to focus on long-term planning or preventative maintenance.

The result is a growing maintenance backlog, as routine tasks pile up and critical repairs are delayed indefinitely. Visitor confidence erodes when they encounter poor conditions and feel the absence of staff, and deteriorating ecological conditions become harder to reverse. The longer the issues go unaddressed, the more difficult—and expensive—it becomes to correct them. In some cases, essential monitoring and restoration work is delayed for years, creating ripple effects that extend beyond just the public lands to the communities that rely on these areas for tourism, recreation, and local livelihoods.

The absence of staff on the ground also leaves the door wide open to misuse, vandalism, and the kind of damage that can take decades to repair. With fewer personnel available to monitor high-use sites, incidents like illegal off-road vehicle use, littering, or even wildlife poaching become more frequent. Damage to infrastructure, habitats, and wildlife populations can escalate in the absence of adequate oversight, and the cost to repair this damage often falls on already underfunded programs. This not only diminishes the public’s experience but also compromises the long-term health and sustainability of the land.

That is not sustainable. And it is not safe.

Especially in districts like Vale, where covering a single site visit can mean a multi-hour drive across remote country with no cell service, no backup, and no guarantee the road will be passable. Many of these staff members are driving long distances just to assess and address issues in areas that are physically difficult to reach. There is no convenience of proximity, no ability to immediately call for help in an emergency, and no assurance that the site will even be accessible upon arrival. Staff often spend an entire day checking one site, only to return to a pile of emails, planning documents, or emergency repairs that have built up in their absence. These workers are not just underpaid for the work they do—they are overextended, expected to meet the demands of a position that requires them to wear multiple hats while facing inadequate support and insufficient resources.

That level of pressure isn’t just exhausting. It leads to burnout, high turnover, and the permanent loss of institutional knowledge. The staff who remain in these roles are left to cope with the cumulative weight of an ever-growing list of tasks, and when they can’t handle it anymore, they leave. When people leave, they take decades of place-based understanding with them—knowledge that has been built up through years of working in specific environments, cultivating relationships with local communities, and learning the nuances of the land. That loss impacts not just the agency, but everyone who depends on healthy, accessible public lands. Without continuity in staffing, institutional memory is lost, making it harder to tackle issues efficiently and forcing new hires to start from scratch. This ultimately affects everyone who depends on these lands for recreation, education, and ecological preservation—whether they are local residents, outdoor enthusiasts, or those involved in conservation efforts.

Housing: The Hidden Barrier

The challenges do not end with logistics. They start at the front door: housing.

Even when the Vale District manages to fund and post a much-needed position, there is often nowhere nearby for new hires to live. Affordable housing is nearly nonexistent in some rural areas, making it nearly impossible to attract and retain staff in these regions. For new hires, especially seasonal workers, interns, and entry-level technicians, this creates an immediate barrier to employment. They are left scrambling for long-term camping spots or commuting unreasonable distances just to get to work. For many, the cost and inconvenience of long commutes or living in temporary conditions is enough to make them walk away from the opportunity altogether. Those who remain often struggle to maintain a healthy work-life balance, which leads to burnout and turnover. Even when housing is available, it often comes at a premium, and salaries simply don't align with the rising costs of living.

This issue is not unique to the Vale District or the BLM. Across the rural West, federal and nonprofit partners alike are struggling to find places for staff to live. Rural towns and remote districts, many of which are the epicenters for land management work, often lack sufficient housing stock. When housing stipends are available, they don’t cover rising costs or the scarcity of rental options. Rent is either too high for staff to afford, or there are simply no rentals available, forcing workers to accept substandard living conditions or travel far outside the community. This makes it difficult to form stable teams and leads to a constant cycle of staff turnover and recruitment delays.

And when workers do find housing, it’s often temporary or unstable. They’re forced to relocate repeatedly or abandon their roles when rental agreements fall through or when they are unable to find suitable long-term accommodations. This instability only deepens the already-existing frustrations of living and working in rural areas. Employees become less focused on their work and more preoccupied with finding a place to live. It also leads to increased stress and dissatisfaction, further deterring potential applicants from even considering these jobs.

That bottleneck has real consequences. You cannot build a strong land management team if people cannot afford to live where they work. Without stable housing, staff are not just commuting long distances—they are often dealing with the mental and physical exhaustion that comes with unstable living situations. The housing shortage directly impacts recruitment and retention, undermining efforts to staff federal land management agencies effectively. The constant turnover results in disrupted workflows, fragmented institutional knowledge, and decreased morale. If the land is to be properly managed, those managing it need stable, accessible homes where they can lay roots and focus on their work rather than scrambling for a place to sleep at night.

Addressing the housing shortage is not just an infrastructure issue. It is a staffing issue, a land health issue, and a community sustainability issue. In rural areas, where land management is the lifeblood of the local economy and the surrounding environment, housing is a key piece of the puzzle. Without it, the effectiveness of land management operations—and the health of the lands they manage- is compromised. Staff who struggle to secure housing are less likely to stay in these roles long-term, which in turn affects the continuity of land management programs. Losing staff means losing years of accumulated knowledge and expertise, which ultimately harms the health of the land.

Solving it requires collaboration at all levels, from local planning to federal investment in agency-owned housing. Local governments, nonprofit organizations, and federal agencies must work together to find creative solutions to the housing crisis. This could involve increasing housing availability, offering incentives for landlords to rent to seasonal or federal workers, or building more government-owned housing in remote areas. Without stable places to live, even the best recruitment plans will fall flat. The land needs people, and people need homes. If we are serious about long-term land management success and the well-being of our rural communities, we must tackle this housing barrier head-on.

A Hiring System That Works Against the Land

Even when housing is available, federal hiring systems slow everything down. Most positions in rural BLM offices are processed through small, overworked HR teams at the state level. These teams often do not understand local realities. Applications sit in limbo. Jobs expire before they are filled. Months go by with no movement, even when districts are ready to hire. In some cases, it can take up to a year to work through the entire hiring process, and no one is willing to wait that long for a job if they need income now. By the time a position is finally offered, many candidates have already moved on to other opportunities. I’ve heard of situations where, after months of waiting, applicants are finally extended an offer—only to turn it down because they’ve already accepted a position elsewhere. This leads to a frustrating cycle, where the process starts over and the position gets bumped to the bottom of the priority list, further delaying critical staffing needs.

This centralized, one-size-fits-all approach does not serve places like Vale. Field offices should have more authority to recruit, hire, and onboard based on real needs on the ground. Too often, the system prevents good candidates from being hired at the right time simply because the process is disconnected from district-level reality.

A major issue is the priority given to internal candidates versus hiring from outside the agency. While promoting from within can provide benefits, such as retaining experienced staff, it often comes at the cost of fresh perspectives and new talent. The system places such a high priority on filling positions with internal candidates that it can create a bottleneck, particularly in areas where there is limited upward mobility. As a result, positions that could be filled with new, qualified faces take much longer to fill, which drains already stretched resources. The time spent focusing on internal promotions and navigating the red tape of internal candidates is time that could have been used to bring in new hires—candidates with fresh ideas, different skill sets, and a renewed sense of enthusiasm to address the challenges facing our lands.

With limited staffing and ever-increasing demands on BLM field offices, the focus is inevitably drawn toward filling vacancies, especially those that directly support critical operations such as land management, fire response, and recreation oversight. This means that positions like range technicians or seasonal land monitors, which could offer significant relief to an overstretched workforce, are delayed or sidelined due to this prioritization. This narrow focus on immediate staffing needs, while necessary, creates a cycle of reactive hiring that slowly suffocates the agency’s ability to thrive. Agencies become more focused on filling positions out of necessity, rather than bringing in the best candidates who can bring about long-term solutions and improvements. This approach may temporarily resolve the issue of understaffing, but it ultimately undermines the BLM's capacity to manage lands effectively, putting long-term stewardship at risk.

It’s crucial in land management to have people who know the land and can retain the institutional knowledge of the district. This knowledge is vital for reducing conflict and ensuring effective management of resources. When staff with local expertise leave or are replaced by individuals unfamiliar with the region’s history, it often results in conflicts over federal funding, especially when resources are diverted toward litigation instead of effective land stewardship. Retaining staff who understand the intricacies of local ecosystems, land use history, and community dynamics helps to mitigate this risk and ensures that federal funding is used wisely and effectively, fostering collaboration and reducing the likelihood of contentious legal battles.

The resources needed to navigate this system are immense. Rather than focusing solely on internal candidates, agencies should be encouraged to seek out the best applicants, regardless of their current affiliation with the agency. The system should prioritize hiring based on local needs, ensuring that the right people are hired at the right time, regardless of where they come from.

The requirements for many jobs also do not match the realities on the ground. Roles such as range technicians, recreation stewards, and seasonal land monitors are often listed with academic requirements that exclude qualified local applicants. These are people with deep regional knowledge and practical skills, but without a formal degree. We are filtering out the very people who know the land best. These candidates understand the intricacies of local ecosystems, have developed relationships with landowners, and have the kind of experience that can't be learned from a textbook.

Moreover, when positions that require degrees finally do get filled, the pay does not reflect the level of responsibility, expertise, or risk involved. Entry-level roles expect field staff to work alone, in remote conditions, while carrying out complex surveys or restoration work. Without competitive pay or flexibility, the agency continues to lose talent to the private sector. These delays and disconnects in the hiring process, combined with non-competitive wages, exacerbate staffing shortages and undermine the mission of the agency.

The pay gap is only growing. If a General Schedule (GS) employee earned $40,000 in 2000 and received every annual raise through 2025, their salary would be around $69,300 today. But to maintain the same buying power they had in 2000, they would need to earn about $81,000. That is a real loss of nearly $12,000. This represents more than just a discrepancy in salary—it’s a decrease in the actual value of that paycheck, which does not align with the rising costs of living, particularly in rural areas where public land management staff are often based.

(Sources: U.S. Office of Personnel Management; Bureau of Labor Statistics)

This erosion of real income affects morale and recruitment. Federal employees are not only facing the growing pressure of keeping up with inflation, but they’re also witnessing a widening gap between their pay and the increasing expectations of their roles. Potential applicants are increasingly weighing their options and walking away from federal service because it simply doesn’t pay enough to match the cost of living or the complexity of the work. The challenge is particularly acute in rural areas, where housing costs, transportation, and even basic services are more expensive relative to what federal employees are paid.

Meanwhile, expectations keep rising. Field staff are asked to be biologists, educators, planners, compliance officers, and community liaisons all at once. These are demanding, multifaceted roles requiring diverse expertise and skill sets. Yet, with outdated pay scales and limited advancement opportunities, even the most passionate employees struggle to make it a sustainable career. Many find themselves unable to meet personal financial needs while juggling the demands of managing and protecting public lands.

The agency's role has grown significantly in scope over the years, but compensation has failed to keep pace. The people entrusted with safeguarding our most valuable landscapes—working long hours in remote locations, managing natural resources, responding to fires, and ensuring the health of ecosystems—are undervalued financially. This mismatch between responsibilities and compensation leads to burnout and, ultimately, to attrition. Highly skilled, dedicated staff members are leaving for better-paying opportunities elsewhere, often in the private sector, where salaries reflect the level of expertise required for such demanding work.

This is not just about keeping up with inflation. It is about whether we still value the people we rely on to manage our public lands. The very individuals who ensure that our landscapes are cared for, wildlife is protected, and ecosystems are preserved are being asked to do more with less. As the gap between the value of their work and their pay grows, the risk of losing these vital roles to other sectors, or even to automation, becomes ever more real. The current pay structure fails to reflect the increasing complexity of land management work, and if we are serious about maintaining the health of our public lands, we must ensure that those tasked with this responsibility are adequately compensated for their skills, commitment, and the vital role they play in preserving our environment.

These Are Our Neighbors

BLM employees are not distant bureaucrats. They are part of the community. They raise their kids here. They volunteer at the school fundraiser. They know the history behind that old cattle trough or the condition of a road that does not show up on any GPS. When we cut resources to them, we are cutting resources to ourselves. BLM staff are deeply embedded in the fabric of rural life. For many of these employees, their roles are not just a job—they’re a commitment to the place they call home. They understand the local landscape, not just in professional terms, but in personal terms as well. These are the people you run into at the grocery store, at local events, and on the sidelines of school sports games. They are the lifeblood of many rural communities in the West, and the work they do directly impacts the well-being of the region’s residents, ecosystems, and economies.

They also serve as the first line of communication between federal agencies and rural residents. These are the people who sit down with ranchers to discuss range health, meet with outfitters about permits, and respond to emergencies when no one else is available. In areas where federal lands are vast and remote, the BLM is often the only federal agency with boots on the ground, providing not just oversight, but critical community support. They are the bridge between rural communities and the often complex and bureaucratic world of federal regulations, and they help translate those policies into practical solutions that work on the ground. Without these connections, the ability to manage land effectively and maintain strong relationships with local stakeholders is compromised.

These employees build trust, resolve conflict, and help ensure that land management reflects the reality of local use. In places where people depend on the land for their livelihoods, trust in federal agencies is hard-earned. BLM employees, by virtue of their deep knowledge and integration into the community, are able to foster this trust. They help resolve disagreements, whether it's about grazing permits, water rights, or land use, by serving as mediators who understand the delicate balance between conservation and local needs. They know when to listen, when to act, and how to find common ground.

Losing these staff means losing relationships. It means restarting conversations that had already taken years to build. Over the years, these employees have developed relationships based on mutual respect and understanding. Losing them means undoing years of work, forcing communities to start over from scratch—rebuilding trust, re-establishing connections, and re-engaging stakeholders who have already experienced the instability that comes with frequent turnover and underfunding.

It also means losing the institutional knowledge that is critical to managing these landscapes. The people who know the difference between a well-used trail and an unauthorized route, who can name plants by sight and remember when a site last burned, are the ones who know how the land works, how people use it, and how to manage it sustainably. That knowledge cannot be replaced by a memo or a satellite image. It's built over years of experience, learning from the land and the people who have lived and worked alongside it. It’s the kind of knowledge that only comes from being a long-term part of the community—the kind of knowledge that keeps management grounded in reality and adaptability.

These employees are the lifeblood of many rural communities in the West, and when we lose them, we lose the core of what makes these communities work. We lose the people who bridge the gap between federal agencies and the rural West, the people who understand the complex interplay between land, people, and policy. Their absence is not just a loss for the agency—it’s a loss for the communities they serve, and for the long-term health of the land itself..

What Needs to Change

The challenges facing the Bureau of Land Management are not just about staffing shortages or inadequate funding—they are about the very survival of the public lands that rural communities depend on. If Congress is serious about sustaining public lands and supporting rural America, the solution is simple: Fully fund the Bureau of Land Management, modernize its hiring practices, adjust pay to reflect real costs, and prioritize housing for federal workers in rural areas.

The disconnect between expectations and resources is increasingly evident in places like Vale, where one of the most remote regions in Oregon struggles to manage over 5 million acres of public land with a barebones staff and outdated infrastructure. The people on the ground are doing everything they can, but they are overextended and under-resourced, and the result is a growing backlog, deteriorating conditions, and reduced capacity to meet the needs of local communities and visitors alike. The criticism continues, but there is no shortage of voices complaining about delays in range assessments, unstaffed campgrounds, or recreation sites falling apart—often, those same voices are voting against the very funding and staffing needed to fix those problems. This cycle of frustration not only punishes the people doing the work, but it also harms the lands that we all rely on. It’s a system that undermines the very efforts we depend on to protect our public spaces, leaving field staff to manage the impossible with dwindling resources and increasing responsibility.

The land is the backbone of the local economy, providing jobs and opportunities in rural communities. Tourism, ranching, recreation, and wildlife management all rely on the BLM’s ability to manage these landscapes properly. But without sufficient funding, the agency cannot fulfill its responsibilities, and local economies suffer. The lack of affordable housing and delays in hiring only exacerbate the problem, forcing staff to leave or not even consider working in these regions. We cannot build a strong land management team without addressing these barriers.

The time to act is now. Congress must prioritize rural America by investing in the workforce that sustains public lands and the economies that depend on them. By fully funding the BLM and addressing the systemic issues around staffing, pay, and housing, we ensure not only the health of our lands but also the vibrancy of the rural communities that rely on them. If we want to preserve our public lands for future generations, it’s time to match our expectations with real support.

The future of public lands—and the rural communities that depend on them—depends on it.