Currently we don’t. Though pockets of mature forest exist, adolescent, second-growth trees dominate the Northeast landscape. “It’s as if you walk into a town and see only teenagers,” says Wormser. “Our forests are teenage forests. Ecologically, we need a lot more elders and little kids.”

Not all Wilderness areas are pristine. Signs of human interference are often visible, from old railroad grades and logging roads to fire towers. Pre-existing structures are sometimes grandfathered into newly designated lands, but the Wilderness Act rules out any future development or permanent settlement. In the case of the newly created Wild River Wilderness in New Hampshire, three backcountry shelters will be removed to comply with the new designation. Even mileage on trail signs has to go to preserve the primitive character. The result is a singular outdoor experience. Hand-hewn trails tend to be narrower, wilder. The ban on motorized vehicles further enhances the untamed character. “When you go into Wilderness,” says Doug Scott, policy director for the Campaign for America’s Wilderness, “you can be pretty sure your quiet solitude is not going to be interrupted by a chain saw.”

Wilderness has also brought an unexpected—and welcome—influx of economic activity to surrounding towns. A 2001 study by Colorado State University economics professor John Loomis and doctoral student Robert Richardson attached a dollar figure to federal Wilderness. Looking at its economic value, they found one acre of protected land produces approximately $15 worth of recreation per year. Visitors to Wilderness areas, meanwhile, spend an additional $44 per acre in nearby communities—towns that also draw residents seeking an enhanced quality of life. “The White Mountain National Forest and its Wilderness areas attract entrepreneurs who really love great places to recreate and could work anywhere,” adds Wormser. “Gateway communities to public lands are filled with people who use FedEx a lot.”

No surprise, the real estate industry has taken notice. In Colorado, Realtors for Wilderness, a 60-member-strong subcommittee of the Aspen Real Estate Board, has joined the chorus of those fighting for more federal Wilderness. “They know preserving the mountain wilderness around [them] enhances the value of the properties they’re selling,” says Scott. Closer to home, Wilderness Society economist Spencer Phillips found a similar boost in property values when he looked a t federal Wilderness areas in Vermont. “This is a double-edged sword,” cautions Wormser. “You don’t want property values to get so high they displace people who live there.”

“Bottom line,” adds Scott, “smart communities preserve their natural areas.”

The 2006 New England Wilderness Act was the fourth congressional pass at Wilderness in the Northeast. Signed into law by President Lyndon B. Johnson, the Wilderness Act of 1964 added the first 9 million acres to the nation’s Wilderness reserve, including a 5,500-acre beachhead in New Hampshire’s Great Gulf. The Eastern Wilderness Areas Act of 1975 conveyed permanent protection over more than 200,000 acres of National Forest land in the East, South, and Midwest. Nine years later, Wilderness Acts in both New Hampshire and Vermont—part of a wave of legislation President Reagan signed into law—added to the region’s existing stash of protected lands. To date, more than 260,000 acres in New England have been set aside as Wilderness.

Each new round adds a piece to the puzzle—either as a hedge against future development or to reclaim ground lost to the extractive industries of logging, mining, and drilling. Wilderness is literally built from the ground up. Four federal agencies administer the act and often include Wilderness proposals in their management plans: the U.S. Forest Service, National Park Service, the National Wildlife Refuge System, and the Bureau of Land Management. But grassroots activism from conservation groups and local citizen-advocates has historically powered the biggest gains. In this most recent designation, Vermont’s congressional delegation supported 48,000 acres of new Wilderness, nearly a three-fold increase over what the Forest Service recommended. (They got 42,000.) “Vermonters were disappointed with the Forest Service’s recommendation and they let their congressional delegation know it,” says Leanne Klyza Linck, a senior associate with The Wilderness Society. “In the end, public opinion ruled the day.” For those on the ground, the process is hardly glamorous. The 2006 New England Wilderness Act was the culmination of nine years’ worth of political wrangling, an endless succession of potluck dinners, op-eds, educational hikes, and tedious land management meetings. “I spent a summer i n the Wild River valley hiking with a trapper,” says Wormser, “looking at animal tracks and scat to see what kind of wildlife lived there in order to help make our argument that the region was worthy of Wilderness protection.” Indeed AMC played a substantial role in the passage of both the 1975 and 2006 Wilderness Acts, strongly supporting the Forest Service’s recommendations for additional Wilderness in the White Mountain National Forest in November’s round of designations. Members were also front and center during two public comment periods associated with the planning process. Adds Scott: “The beauty is that the designations are not made by the agencies. This is a citizen democracy process. In some cases there’s a resemblance to what the agency is recommending and in some cases there’s no resemblance at all.”

PREVIOUS PAGE

1 | 2 | 3

NEXT PAGE