Trust keeping Maine priceless

Allowing that the forests, fields, and wetlands of their home states have been devoured by development, sportsmen who migrate to Maine’s hunting and fishing grounds often gaze wistfully at the vistas of woods and waters and say solemnly, “This is paradise … This is priceless.” But on being told, to the contrary, that price seems to be no object in the speculative buying and selling of what is left of this paradise, they shake their heads silently. Clearly, the blight of second homes, subdivisions, and development that is eradicating millions of acres of economically important woodlands and wildlife habitats hereabouts – not to mention driving property taxes beyond the means of most townspeople – has become epidemic.

Accordingly, the marketing of Maine is eroding the outdoor cultures, traditions, and heritage that have long attracted sportsmen from all corners of this country and beyond. Take a look around. Drive in any direction and count the No Hunting and No Trespassing signs tacked to trees and fence posts. Make note of the chained-off roads, trails, and town landings that provided access to state-owned lakes and ponds. I’ll be the first to say, however, that landowners whose properties have been damaged repeatedly by so-called sportsmen are justified in posting their land. But there’s no doubt in my mind that the majority of No Hunting signs reflect the anti-hunting attitudes of people who conveniently disregard the fact that animals are killed so they can enjoy sirloin steaks and prime rib roasts.

Small wonder, then, that in reading the signs and following the fresh tracks of development spreading into Washington County, the guides, lodge owners, sportsmen, loggers, and members of the Passamaquoddy Tribe camped in and around the community of Grand Lake Stream realized their way of life was threatened. However, instead of sitting back and saying there goes the neighborhood, which is precisely how southern Maine came to be known as northern Massachusetts, they did something about it.

So it was that in 2001, after a year of round-table meetings and discussions, the Downeast Lakes Land Trust was established. Its mission was to fight fire with fire by purchasing and protecting land – miles of productive forests surrounding miles of productive water. Of course, considering the funds it would take to do that, skeptics thought the DLLT was fishing with frayed leader. But when the money was netted, it was the naysayers who were left with slack lines: Today, thanks to DLLT’s precedent-setting project, 339,000 acres of the storied West Grand Lake region is protected, immune to the spreading disease of development. Priceless.

The project includes a parcel of 27,080 acres purchased from Wagner Forest Management, Ltd. To facilitate DLLT’s mission, Wagner suggested alliance with an organization experienced in matters of acquiring and conserving land. The logical choice was the New England Forestry Foundation, which recently raised $32 million, mostly from private sources, to protect 762,000 acres of Maine forestland. In turn, the foundation suggested the formation of a partnership with DLLT. Thus, the Downeast Lakes Forestry Partnership was established in 2002. Subsequently, a conservation easement of 312,000 acres was purchased. The total cost of the project, including a loan to meet this year’s closure date of May 25, came to $31 million. Excepting the loan – the NEFF put up land as collateral – the money again came primarily from private sources.

Simply stated, the completion of the DLLT’s conservation project was a monumental accomplishment. Moreover, the project adjoins an even greater amount of conserved land in New Brunswick, Canada, creating an international forest of more than one million acres. Suffice it to say, sportsmen couldn’t be more pleased: The language of the Downeast Lakes Forestry Partnership document guarantees public access and assures that hunting, fishing, and trapping will continue on the conserved land.

With respect to hunting, Dave Tobey, a member of the Grand Lake Stream Guides Association who is also a member of DLLT, said a few snags had to be smoothed out. One involved night hunting. Raccoon hunting and coyote hunting, for example, are legal at night. Additionally, guides often have to fetch bear hunters and hounds from the woods after dark, which some people would interpret as illegal night hunting. Admittedly, I was surprised when Tobey said there were more guides per capita in Grand Lake Stream than in any other part of the state. That alone supports Gov. John Baldacci’s comment that the conservation project will save not only rare natural resources but also a rare breed of people.

Speaking of guides, early in June I was invited to spend a day in a Grand Laker canoe owned by a personable young guide named J.R. Mabee. Although we were a bit early for bass fishing on the cold, clear waters of West Grand Lake proper, J.R. had a hunch that we’d find smallmouths spawning in an arm of the lake known as Pocumcus, where coves provided shallower, warmer water. He was right. While the popper I cast raised bass that bent the rod and ran the reel, we talked about fishing, fly-rodding mostly; hunting, bird-dogging mainly; and, of course, the precedent set by the DLLT in turning the rising tide of development.

A timely example is Plum Creek’s recently announced plans to develop 427,000 acres in the Moosehead Lake region – the largest subdivision ever proposed in Maine. To begin with, 10,000 or so acres of forested shoreline will be turned into high-end resorts, pricey residential areas, rental cabins, and RV parks. Some people call that progress. I call it environmental pollution. Although I understand the feelings of the people opposing the massive development, I can’t condone the recent vandalizing of Plum Creek’s property. That emotion would be better expressed and heard in the establishment of an organization the likes of DLLT.

Staying focused on the Down East region, I recalled hearing that people moving into Jonesport were complaining about the noise of lobster boats leaving the harbor to work the dawn tides. When I mentioned it to J.R. he nodded and replied disdainfully, “Can you believe it?”

“No,” I answered. “How much arrogance would it take to move into a Maine-coast fishing village and complain about the fishermen going to work?” Obviously, the newcomers’ concepts of coastal living are more idealistic than realistic. To address the problem civilly, the Jonesport-Beals community has published, in full color, a brochure explaining the sights, sounds, smells, and activities attendant to living among people who, for generations, have made their living from the sea. The message contained in the well-composed brochure is succinct: Come here to live if you please, but please don’t tell us how to live.

On a pine-shaded point where the Passamaquoddy people camped when their canoes were made of birch bark, J.R. and I enjoyed lunch spiced with conversation aimed at the ranks of anti-hunting, anti-trapping, even anti-fishing activists arriving in this neck of the woods. Last year’s bear referendum, the most blatant anti-hunting initiative ever to come into the state, is a sobering example of what Maine sportsmen will face in the future. Even though the referendum was rejected in 13 of Maine’s 16 counties, five anti-bear hunting bills were introduced in this year’s session of the Legislature. All of them were killed by the legislative Fisheries and Wildlife Committee.

Shortly after shoving off for the afternoon fishing, J.R. began pointing out land included in the DLLT project, which, all told, protects 54,000 acres of wetlands, 445 miles of lake shoreline and 1,500 miles of river and stream shoreline. Gazing at the immense fabric of forest green spreading into hills blued by distance, I wondered why anyone would want to unravel it. With that I tried to imagine Grand Lake Stream’s landmark Pine Tree Store, where guides and their Sports gather for coffee and gabfests, replaced by a shiny supermarket but couldn’t. I grimaced at the mere thought of it.

Like most Maine sportsmen, I’ve managed to find fish and game without the services of guides. The exceptions being trips to far-flung hunting and fishing camps where, for the most part, guides are mandatory. But I’ll say without hesitation, the day I spent in J.R. Mabee’s gleaming Grand Laker was memorable. Easily, we fished, observed, joked, exchanged thoughts and opinions on controversial outdoor issues, and traded stories gathered along trails stretching from Maine to Montana. Consequently, by the time we set a course for the landing at Grand Lake Stream, the canoe was filled with fish scales and feathers.

Although all of the bass I caught were released, I took home a limit of information about the DLLT, which induced me to write this column. Hopefully, publicizing the monumental accomplishments of the organization will inspire other towns and communities threatened by development to follow suit. In that effective and sensible way, the Maine that so many people have known and lived and loved can be protected and kept priceless.

Tom Hennessey’s columns and artwork can be accessed on the BDN Internet page at www.bangornews.com. Tom’s e-mail address is: thennessey@bangordailynews.net