WEST YELLOWSTONE, Mont. — For too long, bison migrating out of Wyoming and onto the Horse Butte Peninsula were hazed back into Yellowstone National Park.
“There was a public grazing allotment and a private cattle ranch,” said Matt Skoglund, who at the time was a conservationist working on the Yellowstone bison issue. “That ranch was sold.
“So, you have this bison movement surrounded by a lake and then Yellowstone Park and the landowners — most of them, the ones I knew — all loved bison."
Skoglund, whose law career in Chicago was derailed by the allure of life in Yellowstone country, helped gather community support for a plan that allowed the bison to roam onto public land where the locals welcomed them.
"People were like, ‘Why are we spending taxpayer dollars to keep bison from a peninsula that doesn't have cattle?’” said Skoglund, touching on the still controversial practice of hazing Yellowstone’s bison so they don’t roam freely too far beyond the park boundary.
Skoglund didn’t know it at the time, but this work to expand bison habitat was the first chapter in an ongoing relationship with bison.
It would transform his family into ranch people, living on 2 square miles of prime bison habitat north of Bozeman and evangelizing the wonders of regenerative agriculture with the largest North American land mammal at the center of it all.
Now, as Matt and his wife Sarah work to double the size of their ranch, regenerative agriculture is having a moment in Montana.
Matt appears in the recent documentary “The Real Yellowstone,” and is one in a growing number of ag producers celebrating the wonders of biomimicry on the range (i.e. mimicking how nature handles itself).
A grand bison Skoglund referred to as “The Gentle Giant” in a massive framed image shot by British photographer David Yarrow. (David Madison, Cowboy State Daily) 
Skoglund’s bison are field harvested and processed at a local butcher shop before becoming delicious meals. (North Bridger Bison) 
Skoglund’s bison are field harvested and processed at a local butcher shop before becoming delicious meals. (North Bridger Bison) 
Skoglund’s bison are field harvested and processed at a local butcher shop before becoming delicious meals. (North Bridger Bison)
Policy To Pasture
The transition from environmental advocate to bison rancher wasn't immediate.
After years working for the Natural Resources Defense Council on bison policy, Skoglund found himself increasingly stymied by the at-times abstract nature of advocacy.
"I got sick of the environmental policy world and lack of tangibility," Skoglund said while bouncing along in a side-by-side on his ranch in the Shield Valley, where 175 bison graze on cross-fenced pastures designed to mimic nature's ancient grazing patterns. "I was just craving to do something entrepreneurial on my own, land-based, conservation-based, tangible."
The spark came from a book titled "Buffalo for the Broken Heart" by Dan O'Brien.
Reading about modern field harvesting of bison was Skoglund's lightbulb moment.
"I was like, 'Wow, you know, this is something,'" he said.
It doesn’t get much more tangible than field harvesting, which is the practice of selecting individual animals and starting the slaughter process on the ranch.
In 2018, Skoglund and his wife Sarah took the plunge, starting their operation with 95 bison. Today, they run what they believe is the right number for their acreage, though expansion is on the horizon.
Trial And Error
Like many first-time ranchers, Skoglund learned some lessons the hard way. His philosophy now centers on one key mantra: Not so fast.
"If I could go back and start over, if I could talk to myself six and a half years ago, I would say you just got to slow down," he said. "Like agriculture, ranching, grazing ... whether you're dealing with animals, you're just going to be better if you slow down."
That lesson was driven home during his first winter when Skoglund got his truck high-centered while feeding hay during a heavy snow.
"I burned down my truck — when I say burned down, like, I was looking at a total loss F-350 that I'd filled with gas that morning," he said.
The engine ignited some hay beneath the vehicle and up it all went.
The bison themselves provided another education in humility during an early pasture move that went sideways.
Skoglund said he’d grown overconfident in his bison-handling abilities and attempted to move the herd across a road using a simple rope barrier.
The plan backfired spectacularly when the bison broke through and wandered 2 miles down a dirt road.
"I called a mentor, and he was like, 'You just gotta leave them.' So, I roped off the road and then slept in my truck,” he said. “If anyone was coming down in the middle of the night, I'd flag them down."
Bison Whispering
Today, Skoglund's approach to managing his herd reflects a deeper understanding of bison behavior and natural grazing patterns.
His method centers on what he calls "pulling" rather than pushing the animals.
"Those older cows, you can literally feel them looking at you being like, 'Are we doing this or what?' And once they start following, the rest of the herd is like, 'I don't know where they're going, but safety is with the herd,” explained Skoglund as he surveyed his bison on a recent afternoon.
The ranch operates on a rotational grazing system with about 20 pastures, ensuring that while the bison graze one area intensively, all other pastures rest and recover.
This mimics the historical pattern of massive bison herds that would graze an area heavily and then move on, allowing for long recovery periods.
"The way the West evolved for tens and tens of thousands of years was there were millions of large grazing animals,” he said. “And they'd come into an area like the Shield Valley and they'd graze, poop, pee, trample, kind of beat the hell out of the place, and then leave.”
The rotational grazing system creates what Skoglund calls a "mosaic" of grass heights across the ranch — some areas with tall grass that hasn't been grazed in a year, others recently cropped short, and everything in between.
"There are certain birds that like really tall grass and other ones that like really short grass," he said. "And even depending on the bird and whether they're feeding or building a nest, it can vary."
This biodiversity focus has earned the ranch recognition as Montana's first Audubon-certified bird-friendly bison operation.
The approach aligns with Skoglund's core philosophy: "Ultimately, we manage for biodiversity here because one, we're in the middle of an extinction crisis, and we love nature and biodiversity."
The ranch supports healthy populations of bees, including a rare discovery during a recent survey.
"They found a parasitic bee, which is a bee that can't go out and harvest their own food," Skoglund said. "They were like, 'We've got a parasitic bee, which means you got a shit-ton of bees, otherwise you wouldn't have a parasitic one.'"
Matt and Sarah Skoglund, and their kids Otto and Greta. The kids’ favorite cut of bison meat is the heart. (North Bridger Bison) 
Bison grazing on the ranch about 35 minutes north of Bozeman in the little community of Sedan, Montana. (David Madison, Cowboy State Daily) 
Like the bison he raises, rancher Matt Skoglund maintains a wooly layer to ward off cold temperatures. Want to dine at the ranch? Outstanding In The Field offers dinners for more than 200 people. (North Bridger Bison; Outstanding In The Field)
Bison Business
Unlike traditional cattle operations, Skoglund's ranch sells 100% direct to consumer, offering quarter, half, and whole bison.
The key differentiator is his field harvesting method, which eliminates the physiological anxiety of transporting animals to slaughterhouses.
"Instead of shipping them to a slaughterhouse, which is super high stress for bison, I field harvest year-round," he said. "I drive out wherever the bison are that day, right into the herd, and I stay in my truck and it's a headshot with a copper bullet from a rifle from literally 10-15 yards."
The method ensures minimal stress for the animals and maintains meat quality.
"There's no bad day," Skoglund said. "The last one I killed was a 2-year-old bull conceived on the ranch, born on the ranch, lived his whole life on the ranch.
“One morning he's out there, grass in his mouth next to his herd, and it's just instant."
A typical mature bison provides about 400 pounds of meat after processing, with customers ranging from families in Montana and Wyoming to customers as far away as Florida.
The ranch also sells skulls and provides hides to a leatherworker in Montana.
Expanding Vision
This summer, the ranch will nearly double in size when a regenerative agriculture financial firm buys neighboring land and leases it to the Skoglunds over 10 years.
The expansion will include a restored event barn, opening new possibilities for producing revenue.
"With this expansion, we're definitely going to need to do some agritourism stuff," Skoglund said.
The ranch already hosts dinners through Outstanding in the Field, a company that sets up elaborate outdoor dining experiences for more than 200 guests spotlighting local food and agriculture.
Along with the Outstanding in the Field collaboration, Montana is also home to operations like the Old Salt Co-op, a collective of regenerative cattle ranches and other ag producers.
Then in Lewistown, Montana, there’s Montana RancHers Beef Co., an outfit that touts, “100% local, grass-fed beef we’ve been serving our families for generations. The only hormones in our cattle are the ones they were born with.”
For Skoglund, the expansion of his ranch and the vitality he sees in regenerative ranching across Montana represents more than business growth, it's a chance to demonstrate that conservation and agriculture can work together.
“It's this perfect system for preserving, promoting biodiversity, conserving land and providing amazingly healthy, delicious food,” he said.
David Madison can be reached at david@cowboystatedaily.com.
