A long, long time ago I was enamored with the trout in a particular stream in the Wisconsin Driftless. This stream and its native trout, were, as best I could tell, the best of their variety in the state of Wisconsin. The valley was tight, the water cold, the river both babbling and dazzling, the trout? Well the trout were dark and orange and brown and if you held one at the right time of year you’d swear it was even blue.
I didn’t just want to fish in this stream, I wanted to own the land surrounding it. I wanted to build a cabin on the hillside overlooking that valley, and I figured I’d build close enough to the stream where I could see from my covered deck whether or not the trout were rising and frisky. Unfortunately for me, another land owner had beat me to the punch: The State Of Wisconsin. They purchased this section of land that I coveted more than two decades before I even knew the name of the stream. The reason was somewhat simple, I suppose. They bought this land because they wanted to preserve the headwaters of the stream, and keep the banks open for fly fisherman. I think they allow spin fishermen of sorts to fish there as well, but we all know that variety of fishing is to be looked down upon. So the State was the owner of the land that I loved, and I thought I’d be able to work some blend of magic to make that land my own.
The solution that I pitched to the state was quite simple. They owned the land for the purpose of preservation, which in the Wisconsin Driftless usually means the absence of farming. Farmers might be the lifeblood of the country, or something, but they do a hell of a job filling otherwise cold trout streams with all varieties of chemicals and silt and animal waste. The state wanted to keep the land free of detrimental farming and open to fishermen, so they bought it and owned it. They don’t have the money for these purchases, by the way, so the land tends to be bankrolled by rather large balance sheet debt, of which we all owe our individual share. Funny how public lands go- we all want to use them for free and raise our fists with indignation when a government threatens to take them away, but no one really feels compelled to help pay for them. Increase a trout stamp above $20? Riots will ensue. But back to this 40 acre parcel on the stream, and how I tried to buy it.
Understanding the state’s goal for this land, I made a proposal. I would buy the land at a market rate, which I believe at the time was something around $200,000. In conjunction with the sale, the state would deed restrict the land in the following manner: A building site would be determined, and that site would be the only site allowed for any variety of construction or land disturbance. A perpetual bank-side fishing easement would be recorded, as would a ban on any mineral or material mining. The end result would be that the state gets to preserve the land in perpetuity, while returning the land to the tax rolls (the state doesn’t pay itself property taxes, obviously), and adding meaningful money to the state coffers, or at least allowing the state to pay down the land-purchase debt. Everyone wins in this scenario, and I pitched the plan to the DNR with rather naive optimism.
The idea was rebuffed. I explained it again, using smaller words and crude sketches. It didn’t matter. The lands were not for sale, no matter how willing I was to encumber the property with all of the wishes of the state. Today the land is still there and I am not. The state still owns it, and fishermen can still walk over it. But there was a missed chance here to reshape the way both Wisconsin and the Feds look at their massive ownership of open lands.
Today there is a considerable amount of angst about the possible sale of public lands. While I love small government, I do think that public lands are important and valuable and should be preserved. But what if there’s a solution like the one I outlined above? What if the land can be sold while allowing the land to be preserved? There’s a solution in there somewhere, and it lies in the public recording of extremely detailed deed restrictions. If there’s a 1500 acre tract of land the US owns because it’s next to a wetland of some importance and it’s open for public upland bird hunting, why not deed restrict the land to allow for perpetual public access, ban any mining or farming, but also identify certain building locations and acceptable improvements that fall outside of the sensitive areas? This is not a binary thing, to sell or not to sell, but it’s being treated as one. There is another solution, and it’s rather obvious. Sadly, if the DNR in Vernon County couldn’t understand how this might work, I doubt our friends in Washington will.