Sound PoliticsSound PoliticsWilderness, Recreation, and Motors in theBoundary Waters, 1945–1964

Benton MacKaye, executive director Olaus Murie and hiswife Margaret, executive secretary and Living Wildernesseditor Howard Zahniser, University of Wisconsin ecolo-gist Aldo Leopold, and Forest Service hydrologist Ber-nard Frank.1

MacKaye’s invitation to the council had identified theboundary waters in richly symbolic terms:

Here is the place of places to emulate, in reverse, the

pioneering spirit of Joliet and Marquette. They came to

quell the wilderness for the sake of civilization. We come

to restore the wilderness for the sake of civilization. . . .

Here is the central strategic point from which to

relaunch our gentle campaign to put back the wilderness

on the map of North America.2

Putting wilderness back on the continent’s mappromised to be a daunting task, particularly when theexpanding postwar economy heightened demands forminerals, timber, and other natural resources. To thepreservationists gathered at Rainy Lake, the obstaclesseemed great, yet they also felt encouraged by previousefforts to safeguard the vast area of lakes and islands. TheFederal Shipstead-Nolan Act of 1930, capping a fiercecontroversy sparked by efforts of timber entrepreneurEdwardW. Backus to dam several lakes for hydroelectricpower and log timber along the shorelines, had “prohib-ited logging within 400 feet of lakeshores and barredfurther alteration of natural water levels.” In 1933 thestate of Minnesota bolstered this measure with the “LittleShipstead-Nolan Act” to “preserve shore lines, rapids,waterfalls, beaches, and other natural features in an un-

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Mark Harvey

130

During the midtwentieth century, wildernesspreservationists looked with growing concern at theboundary waters of northeast Minnesota and northwestOntario. Led by the Friends of the Wilderness in Minne -sota and the Wilderness Society in the nation’s capital,preservationists identified the boundary waters as a pre-mier wilderness and sought to enhance protection of itsmagnificent wild lands and waterways. Minnesota’s con-servation leaders, Ernest C. Oberholtzer and Sigurd F.Olson among them, played key roles in this effort alongwith Senator Hubert H. Humphrey. Their work laid thefoundation for the federal Wilderness Act of 1964, but italso revived the protracted struggles about motorized re c -reation in the boundary waters, revealing a deep and per -sistent fault line among Minnesota’s outdoor enthusiasts.

The boundary waters had been at the center of numer -ous disputes since the 1920s but did not emerge into thenational spotlight of wilderness protection until WorldWar II ended. In June 1947 the governing council of thenational Wilderness Society gathered at Ober holtzer’sMallard Island home on Rainy Lake. A central figure innumerous boundary-waters disputes, Oberholtzer washosting more than a dozen of America’s vaunted wilder-ness leaders, including Wilderness Society president

Sound Politics

Vacationers paddle their wood-and-canvas canoe to shore on one of northern Minnesota’s boundary lakes, 1940

Fall 2002 131

sportsmen, resort owners, businesspeople, and wilderness activists thatcontinues to this day. In addition,the conflict shaped key legal provi-sions in the Wilderness Act of 1964,a landmark in the nation’s environ-mental history as well as a touch-stone for subsequent battles over theboundary waters.4

A catalyst for this conflictlay in the tremendous increase inoutdoor recreation in Minnesotaafter World War II. According toenvironmental historian SamuelHays, the sweeping economic andcultural changes fueled by wartimeeconomic expansion spawned agrowing interest in outdoor activi-ties. Propelled by rising incomes,increased education levels, rapidgrowth of the middle class, andgreater leisure time, Americansflocked to parks, forests, and beaches.5

With travel and outdoor recreation

modified state of nature” on state-owned lands in the Shipstead-Nolanarea. Then, in 1938 and 1939, theU.S. Forest Service established Supe-rior, Little Indian Sioux, and CaribouRoadless Areas within the three-million-acre Superior National Forestin northeastern Minnesota’s Arrow-head country. While logging andmotorboats were allowed in theseareas, public roads were banned.Two years later, the Forest Servicecreated a “no-cut” zone covering362,000 acres. Meanwhile, conser -vationists, led by Oberholtzer, hadestablished the Quetico-SuperiorCouncil, and President Franklin D.Roosevelt created the Quetico-Superior committee in 1934. Bothbodies worked to secure a treatybetween the United States andCanada to coordinate protection ofthis vast wilderness region.3

While the Wilderness Societycouncil and Minnesota activists tooksatisfaction in these steps, the post-war years presented new threats tothe boundary waters. Earlier dis-putes had often centered on pro-posed dams, roads, and logging inthe roadless areas. Now, a growingnumber of conflicts emerged overthe use of motors by those enteringthe region. Activists fought to keepthe boundary waters free of motors,which, they maintained, spoiled thewilderness experience; opponentscontended that rising demand foraccess called for greater use of mo-torboats and airplanes. From themiddle 1940s into the 1960s thisdebate proved significant regionallyand nationally. In Minnesota, thecontroversy over motorized recre-ation defined the debate among

ever more popular, northern Minne -sota communities close to the Supe-rior National Forest increasinglyturned to tourism. Towns such as Elyand Grand Marais, where logging andmining had steadily declined, wel-comed tourism as a vital and growingsource of income. Catering to boatingand fishing enthusiasts had been apart of northern Minnesota’s economysince the late nineteenth century, butthe post-World War II years proved tobe a boom period.

Rapid growth in numbers of visi-tors, coupled with improvements inoutboard motors, spawned new lake-side resorts in the boundary watersoffering canoe and motorboat services.Motorboat usage increased apace;Basswood Lake, with more than adozen resorts and private camps, wasespecially popular, and Crooked andKnife Lakes each had two by the early1950s. Resorts catered to those whopreferred motors and those who didnot, yet by one estimate, about 25percent of canoeists used square-sternmodels designed to accommodatesmall motors.6

The proliferation of motorboatswas accompanied during the waryears by airplanes flying into privateresorts deep inside the roadless areas.Hydroplanes proved attractive tomany resort owners who found agrowing base of customers desiringquick access to the dozens of remotelakes along the international borderthat held bigger and more plentifulfish. The lure of “virgin fishing” thusincreased the use of planes andspawned new resorts on private landswithin the roadless areas, includingone established in 1942 near CurtainFalls at the outlet of Crooked Lake

132 Minnesota History

Renowned conservationist Ernest Oberholtzer, 1940

Fall 2002 133

and another on Friday Bay on thesame lake in 1943. Other new resortscropped up on Lac La Croix, LakeSaganaga, and Kekekabic Lake. Inthe summer of 1945, 11 private planesflew out of Ely “carrying passengersand supplies to the various interiorresorts and even transporting lumberand other materials for new construc-tion.” This relatively small number offlights increased, with 69 planes ac-cessing the roadless areas in 1948.7

Wilderness lovers generallyscorned the airplanes. They believed

that motor noise spoiled the solitudethat made the boundary waters adistinctive place to gain peace andserenity away from the sights andsounds of “civilization.” They con-tended that, besides being noisy in -trusions, airplanes violated the prin-ciple that the roadless areas were tobe managed for public enjoyment.Individuals like Sigurd Olson, oftenaccused of being elitist for their in-terest in preserving wilderness, be-lieved that resort owners who flewcustomers to private lands deep in

Motorboats mingle with nonmotorizedcraft on the water at End of the TrailLodge, Saganaga Lake, in Superior National Forest’s roadless area, 1960

134 Minnesota History

the boundary waters were the pri-mary beneficiaries of the roadlessareas. As Olson put it, the resorts “arebeautifully situated for they are pro-tected and completely surrounded byfederal lands. They are immune fromcompetition. It is as though the gov-ernment had given them the exclu-sive right of monopoly to the wilder-ness canoe country around them.”8

While the attempt to bring quietto the boundary waters was a shared

effort, no individual proved as im-portant in that campaign as Olson.After teaching school and serving asa school administrator in Ely, Olsonbecame a full-time conservationist in1948 when he joined the Izaak Wal-ton League and served as its chiefspokesman for protecting the bound-ary waters. He later joined the coun-cil of the Wilderness Society andplayed a crucial role in lobbying toinclude the boundary waters in the

1964 bill establishing the nationalwilderness system. Like Oberholtzer,Olson had explored vast reaches ofthe boundary waters by canoe andwas dedicated to protecting theroadless areas from commodity in-terests and motorized recreation.Olson’s distinctive contributionproved to be his many essays forsporting and conservation publica-tions such as Nature Magazine, Liv-ing Wilderness, and National ParksMagazine, that eloquently presentedthe values of the wild.9

Olson believed that the boundarywaters were among the last greatparcels of primitive America. In a1947 letter he wrote that the bound-ary waters “is the playground of themiddle west, the only area of its kindbetween the Adirondacks and theRocky Mountains, the only areawhere there is any extensive stretch ofwild and undeveloped country.” Al-though portions had been logged,much of the region appeared rela-tively unchanged since the heyday of the fur trade when NorthwestCompany canoe brigades criss-crossed the region. Fascinated withthat era, Olson thrilled in followingthe same routes and portages asAlexander Mackenzie, Sieur de la

Men fishing from a seaplane, a north-woods scene captured on a large-format color postcard, 1945

Writer and conservationist Sigurd Olson, about 1960

Fall 2002 135

Vérendrye, Pierre Esprit Radisson,and Sieur de Groseilliers. He wascaptivated with their journals and headored the names that they left: LacLa Croix, Deau Riviere, Saganaga,and Kahnipiminanikok. “When Ientered the fastnesses of the Quetico-Superior I would become a part of allthat,” he wrote. “It would be like lift-ing the curtain on another world. Nolonger would I belong to the twenti-eth century. I would be a voyageur ofthe seventeenth, a man from TroisRiviere or Montreal. I would see thecountry through his eyes.”10 For Ol -son, to enter the wilderness meanttaking a journey into the past.

Olson maintained that wilder-ness outings brought physical andemotional restoration to tired,stressed urbanites beset with noiseand crowds. In his years as a canoeguide he had met numerous individ-uals who experienced spiritual andphysical renewal after a few days ofpaddling and fellowship around acampfire.

Far from the towns and all they

denote, engrossed in their return

to the old habits of wilderness

living, men begin to wonder if the

speed and pressure they have left

are not a little senseless. Here

where matters of food, shelter,

rest and new horizons are all im-

portant, they begin to question the

worthwhileness of their old objec-

tives. Now they have long days

with nothing to clutter their minds

but the simple problems of wilder-

ness living, and at last they have

time to think.11

Olson also associated the plea-sures of the boundary waters with

the work required to survive there,with the toil and energy required tohoist a heavy pack, brave the ele-ments, and accept nature’s demandson body and mind. He believed thatpeople ferried into the boundarywaters by air missed a crucial aspectof this encounter. Once, after beingjolted by the droning engine of afloat plane, Olson acknowledgedthat those on board would likelyenjoy their outing but had been“robbed . . . of their sense of achieve-ment. Real understanding of wilder-ness was reserved for those whoworked for it. It was impossible todrop into a remote area by plane andget the full meaning of exclusion.”12

These beliefs sustained Olson’sdetermination to keep airplanes fromintruding into the boundary waters.Yet the amount of private landswithin the national forest and road-less areas made finding a solutiondifficult. During the war, the IzaakWalton League had estab lished afund to purchase private lands andadd them to the national forest. Afterthe war, the League and its alliesstepped up this effort by pushing forfederal legislation for land purchases.In 1947 the Minnesota legislatureadopted a resolution favoring onesuch bill promoted by MinnesotaCongressman John Blatnik and Sen-ator Edward J. Thye. After workingout the complex and highly sensitiveissues involving fair reimbursementto local counties for a reduced taxbase, Congress passed the Thye-Blatnik Act in 1948, authorizing thesecretary of agriculture to acquireprivate lands within the boundarywaters wilderness. The act providedan initial fund of $500,000; wilder-

ness proponents soon realized thatadditional money would be requiredto complete the land purchases.13

While the League’s efforts andthe Thye-Blatnik land purchasestook effect, fly-ins to resorts contin-ued, prompting the search for amore immediate solution. By 1948Olson, Oberholtzer, Ely canoe out -fitter William M. Rom Sr., and anew organization called Friends ofthe Wilderness had joined withseveral Forest Service officials tosecure a presidential order desig -nating an air-space reserve over theboundary waters. As preservationistMiron L. Heinselman succinctly putit, this effort proved “bitter, drawnout, and legally complex.” But itworked. On December 17, 1949,President Harry S. Truman signedthe order prohibiting flights below4,000 feet as of January 1, 1951.Flights into private resorts would bepermitted for one year beyond thatdate “provided that air travel was a

Minnesota Senator Edward J. Thye, 1955

customary means of ingress to andegress from such lands prior to thedate of this order.”14

Creation of the air-space reservewas a major triumph for wildernesslovers, but it did not put the issue torest. Pilots and fly-in resort ownersprotested the ban as an intrusioninto Minnesota affairs and a burdenon their livelihoods. As the ban tookfull effect in 1952, one pilot, ElwynWest, challenged it by flying to theCurtain Falls resort and to anotherat Friday Bay on Crooked Lake. In

September 1952, federal districtcourt judge Gunnar Nordbye inDuluth upheld the air ban. Whenother violations followed, federalmarshals seized planes. Several moreyears of wrangling elapsed before afederal district judge ruled in May1956 that the only legal access toprivate resorts was by canoe, boat, or portage.15

As the finality of the air-spacereserve settled on northeast Min-nesota in the middle 1950s, the cul-tural and political divide over mo-tors in the wilderness deepened.While effectively prohibiting flights,the ban had also crystallized publicdebate over sound in Minnesota’s

136 Minnesota History

recreational economy. Lovers ofsilence rejoiced. To them, the bancapped years of controversy andfurnished a layer of federal protec-tion supplementing the safeguardsof the Shipstead-Nolan and Thye-Blatnik Acts. Resort owners andtourist businesses in Ely and othercommunities, however, consideredthe air ban unfair and burdensome.For those who had relied on planesand continued to utilize motorboats,noise was not a troubling problem.They argued that the sounds weretemporary; when the planes or mo-torboats arrived at the cherishedfishing spot, motors were shut off.To resort owners, of course, main-

Forest Service employees portaging inSuperior National Forest, about 1920

taining easy access to their lands wasthe most crucial issue.16

This standoff provided the back-drop for an equally contentious dis-pute in the late 1950s over a bill toprotect wilderness nationwide. Ironi -cally, the status of the boundarywaters had little to do with this new -est campaign by American preserva-tionists. As Olson, Oberholtzer, andFriends of the Wilderness knew, noother wilderness area in the nationenjoyed such privileged legal status.With shorelines and parts of theroadless areas closed to logging andinsulated from airplane use, theboundary waters was the nation’sbest-protected wilderness.

Wilderness areas had beendesignated inside many nationalforests since the 1920s. ForestersAldo Leopold and Arthur Carhartwere among the leading advocates;at Carhart’s urging, the Forest Ser-vice in 1926 had established the firstregulations protecting the primitivecharacter of the Superior NationalForest. In 1929 the Forest Serviceestablished “primitive areas” acrossthe United States where logging androad construction would be mini-mized though not prohibited. In1939 more stringent regulationsbanned logging and motorized vehi-cles in primitive areas while alsosetting into motion Forest Servicereviews of these areas that continuedinto the 1940s and 1950s. Thesereviews involved public hearings andclose study of primitive areas inorder to evaluate their boundariesand the demands for logging, min-ing, and recreation. The Forest Ser-vice then altered some boundaries

bill. He began by inserting Zahniser’sspeech into the Congressional Record,signaling his intent to help launch thewilderness-bill campaign. Then, onJune 7, 1956, he introduced the bill inthe Senate, joined by several cospon-sors.19 Humphrey proved to be thesingle most important proponent inCongress during the early years of thislengthy legislative effort.

The bill proposed to codify wil -derness by federal statute, to recog-nize by law that wilderness was “anarea where the earth and its commu-nity of life are untrammeled by man,where man himself is a member ofthe natural community, a wandererwho visits but does not remain andwhose travels leave only trails.” Thelegislation sought to prohibit log-ging, mining, and motorized vehiclesin wilderness areas, although thefirst drafts of the bill were ambigu-ous on the final point.20 As the con-troversy unfolded, the use of motor-boats quickly became the mostcontentious issue.

Along with Senator Humphrey,Olson, and Oberholtzer, Minnesotasupporters of the bill included Friendsof the Wilderness, led by WilliamMagie of Duluth. “Wilderness,” Magiewrote in 1957, “is needed to preservethe core of America’s strength; it isour last remaining link to our sturdypioneer past and it can be our salva-tion in the harried necessary environ-ment of our present.” Friends of theWilderness emphasized the growingvalue of wilderness recreation tonorthern Minnesota’s economy; itstressed that the boundary waterspromised to become a dominant re -cre ational area for many who cher-ished the quiet and remote waters

Fall 2002 137

before reclassifying primitive areasinto “wilderness” and “wild” areas.17

Reclassification, however, by nomeans guaranteed permanent pro-tection. Wild and wilderness areasremained subject to Forest Serviceregulations, leaving them vulnerableto shifting demands for timber, min-erals, and grazing as well as stateand national politics. FollowingWorld War II, increased timbersales, fueled by a growing housingand construction industry, causedthe Forest Service to reduce the sizeof several primitive and roadlessareas in order to open more acreageto multiple uses. Seeing such reduc-tions, the Wilderness Society and itsgrassroots supporters concluded thatonly a new federal law would protectwilderness permanently.18 In 1956the Wilderness Society determinedlylaunched a campaign for a nationalwilderness preservation system.

Leading the Society’s effort in thenation’s capital was Howard Zah-niser, executive secretary and editorof Living Wilderness. Zahniser hadworked with Oberholtzer and Olsonfor more than a decade and had him -self canoed the boundary waters ontwo occasions. His speech in 1955 inWashington, D. C., “The Need forWilderness Areas,” caught the atten-tion of Minnesota Senator HubertHumphrey, who understood thegrow ing desire to preserve the bound -ary waters wilderness within hishome state. Humphrey felt con fidentthat national interest in wil dernesswas growing. With a strong base ofsupport in the Twin Cities and fromsome resort businesses in the bound-ary waters, Humphrey sought a lead-ing role in promoting the wilderness

Senator Hubert H.Humphrey addressing

the Hibbing Chamber ofCommerce in 1956, ascontroversy swirledaround the proposed

wilderness bill; posterwith Francis Lee Jaques

drawing, about 1960,in support of the still-unpassed legislation.

138 Minnesota History

“where the beaver slaps his tail atnight, and the lonesome call of theloon is heard day and night.” Friendsalso emphasized that communitieslike Ely and Winton could no longerrely for economic security on timberharvesting and sawmills and arguedthat tourism offered long-term eco-nomic security.21

Local support for the bill wasquickly overshadowed by a strongwave of opposition, primarily fromnortheast Minnesota. The forest in-dustry disliked the legislation, awarethat it meant reductions in harvestinglevels and curtailed business. TheAmerican Forestry Association (AFA)objected that the bill violated thetime-honored multiple-use principlegoverning the national forests. Wil -der ness, argued the AFA, was a “sin-gle and exclusive use” and could notbe reconciled with logging, mining, or grazing. The AFA also objectedbecause the bill would take control of wilderness designation away fromForest Service officials—whom theAFA considered to have the scientificand economic expertise to make suchjudgments—and place it into thehands of uninformed, easily pressuredmembers of Congress.22

The mining industry, having ex-perienced rocky times since the GreatDepression, also objected. Iron min-ing had been a major sector in Ely’seconomy, but since the 1930s severalmines had closed, unemploymenthad increased, and property valueshad dropped. Many residents of Elyand other communities found it troub-ling that the wilderness bill proposedto prohibit all prospecting. To coun-teract their opposition, Sigurd Olsonremarked that mining had devastated

the landscape around Sudbury, On-tario, and noted that the wildernessbill would prevent such a calamity onlands surrounding the boundarywaters. Yet the mining industry con-tinued to express its concerns. Oneexecutive felt certain that “the canoe -ist and boyscouts are more of a detri-ment in their slovenly woods habitsthan any serious minded prospectorever was.”23

A particularly outspoken oppo-nent of Humphrey’s bill was Fred C.Childers, editor of the Ely Miner,whose criticisms of the restrictionson motorboat usage helped turn that issue into the focal point of thegrow ing controversy. In a sharplyworded editorial, Childers quotedlong passages from the bill to em-phasize its prohibitions on mining,logging, and airplane and motorboatuse. “We wonder,” the article contin-ued, “how sincere the senator is inserving his constituents or when heloudly proclaims in his campaign onLabor Day about being a friend ofthe people and the working man.”Such language revealed the editor’sconviction that working-class sports-men were among the biggest recre-ational users of the boundary watersand would not tolerate laws pro-hibiting motorboats. That messagewas reinforced by the Ely Chamberof Commerce, which complained toHumphrey that “through the years,we have seen this area regulated stepby step [and the bill] is about thefinal step in tying up a program bycertain conservationists who don’tcare about Ely.”24

Childers hit a nerve with Hum -phrey because northern Minnesotawas a Democratic-Farmer-Labor

Party stronghold. Many working-class residents of its lumber, mining,and resort towns were among the big-gest gainers from America’s middle-class prosperity in the postwar years.They were also a backbone of theDFL. While Humphrey felt secure in relying on the Twin Cities forsupport of the wilderness bill, heunderstood that he risked losingpolitical capital in northern Minne -sota. But Humphrey did not waver.He believed that Ely and other com-munities had relied on corporatetimber and mining firms for toolong, and that these industries hadearned substantial profits from thearea and shown little regard for itslong-term economic well-being.Humphrey remained confident thatrepeated cries from timber and min-ing firms that the wilderness billwould “lock up” valuable resourceswould not be universally accepted.Olson, for his part, reminded Hum -phrey that Ely “has always been ahot bed of dissension as far as wil -derness preservation is concerned.”25

Humphrey also sensed thatChilders’s editorial was meant tosettle old scores. The senator told amember of his staff, “This fellowChilders is a reactionary editor inEly. He hates my guts, and he hasbeen after me for years. He feels hehas a good issue now, so I want totake him on—head on.” Humphreyresponded to Childers with a longletter charging that his editorial “isthe same kind of propaganda thatcomes from the large mining compa-nies and the timber interests.” Headded that the bill “does not in anyway jeopardize, threaten, or removeany rights that any person now has

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140 Minnesota History

Ely, about 1947, a town whose economy increasingly depended on tourism; (below) postcard of “car campers” at the town’s tourist park, about 1935.

Fall 2002 141

under present law relating to recre-ation, mining, forestry, land use,grazing privileges, mineral explora -tion. The bill specifically states thatpresent rights and property rightsare fully protected and honored.”26

Whether or not this wasindeed the case shaped much of thecontroversy that played out in Min-nesota. For the first two years of thelegislation’s course, Humphrey andwilderness proponents found them-selves on the defensive, struggling toclarify the bill and dispel misconcep-tions. Many Minnesotans felt that, ifenacted, the legislation would place“undue restrictions” on tourism,logging, and mining, ban outboardmotors, and even lead to seizure ofprivate homes and resorts. Althoughsome of these fears were groundless,their expression compelled wilder-ness advocates to emphasize howlittle the bill would alter existingmanagement practices. After all,much of the roadless area was alreadyclosed to logging and mining, andthe bill merely sought to place thoseregulations into statute law. Thisexplanation generated more opposi-tion: was the bill really needed if itwere merely going to implementpolicies already in place?27

Sharp reaction against the billpartly reflected the urban-rural tugof war over wilderness fought inMin nesota and much of the countryduring the 1950s. Small towns suchas Ely, historically dependent on ex -tractive industries and motorizedrecreation, resented the attempts ofconservationists from the Twin Citiesand distant Washington, D. C., tochange the rules.

Tensions at times also seemed to reflect class differences, with somenorthern Minnesotans accusing thebill’s supporters of being wealthyelitists who wished to have theboundary waters as their own play-ground. “I’d call that class legisla-tion,” wrote Stan Pechaver, secretaryof the Ely Chamber of Commerce.This barb touched on a host of deeplyrooted social and cultural percep-tions and prejudices often entangledin debates about wilderness. Pecha -ver voiced the common perception inworking-class communities such asEly that outsiders, typically urbanenvironmentalists, would try to dic-tate how the boundary waters wereto be enjoyed. His view also bolsteredanother deep-seated conviction thatwilderness recreationists lacked re-spect for the livelihoods—indeed thephysical work itself—of timber andmine workers. How people workedand how they enjoyed their leisuretime thus became wellsprings ofconflict about how the boundarywaters should be utilized. In addi-tion, Pechaver charged, “If regula-tions are carried out, it means onlythose physically able to paddle andpack can enjoy our wilderness.”28

Thus, the issue of motorboat usagebecame the center of the mountingcontroversy.

Barring motorized vehiclesfrom wilderness areas had been theaim of activists since the 1920s whenroads and automobiles first becamea threat. Yet Zahniser wrote the firstdraft of the wilderness bill in 1956 ina compromising spirit, saying that innational forests where airplanes andmotorboats had been customarily

allowed and usage was well estab-lished, such uses “may be permittedto continue.” He adopted this word-ing from a 1954 amendment to aForest Service regulation, which heldthat the landing of airplanes and useof motorized vehicles (includingboats) would not be permitted “ex-cept where such use . . . has alreadybecome well established.” That pol-icy was already in force in the Supe-rior Roadless Area. Regional For -ester Jay Price had made that clearin a 1950 memorandum, stating thatmotorboats would be allowed “onlakes on which there are developedresorts and which are now reachedby larger boats by truck or tramwayportages.” Given this establishedpolicy for the roadless area, thewilderness bill’s phrase that motor-boat usage “may be permitted” wasambiguous. Opponents of the billquickly seized on this ambiguity,noting that the word “may” was notthe same as “shall.” Minnesota resortowners also expressed their worries.Martin Skala Jr., a canoe outfitterand lodge owner on Lac La Croix,told Humphrey that the bill wouldbe “very harmful to me and to themany others who make their livingfrom the tourist industry in this partof the country. . . . The air ban veryseriously hurt us but we have man-aged to survive. . . . This new bill willmake it almost impossible for us toremain in business or even get to ourproperty by outboard motor boats.”Meanwhile, the National BoatingAssociation called the bill “an exam-ple of the creeping acquisition policyof the rabid conservationist.”29

The stiff backlash made it clearto Humphrey that resort owners

142 Minnesota History

sure resort owners and motorboatusers. At an important meeting in St. Paul in December 1957, he told a room packed with owners andsports men that while the original billdid not specifically preclude motor-boat use, his revised draft clearlystated “that nothing in this act shallpreclude the continuance withinthese roadless areas of an alreadyestablished use of motorboats.”Humphrey quipped, “I told the mendrawing up the bill to put it in lan-guage even I could understand.”Humphrey’s loophole permittingmotorboat use proved to be a key togaining support for the bill acrossMinnesota’s north country.31

Controversy over the wilderness bill now quickly dimin-ished in Minnesota, and the battleshifted to the far western states.During the late 1950s and early1960s, the Rocky Mountain and

were the most important element ofthe opposition and that they must beappeased. Florence Frederickson, aresident of Ely and a resort owner,kept the senator aware of public sen -timent. Frederickson wrote to Hum -phrey that the most damaging word-ing in the bill was that motorboats“may be permitted”; if Humphreywould substitute “shall” for “may,”the ambiguity bothering most resortowners would be removed, ensuringtheir support for the legislation.30

Humphrey took her advice. By1957, after a year of sometimes harshcriticism of the bill, he realized thatcompromise with motorboat userswould be necessary to achieve sup-port from a majority of Minne so tans.By then Sigurd Olson had also con-cluded that a complete ban on mo-torboats would not be accepted—while he also vehemently denied thathe had ever supported a total ban.Humphrey soon took steps to reas-

Letter (detail) protesting the wildernessbill from Martin Skala Jr., a resortowner “very seriously hurt” by the airban but “doing fairly well under themost trying circumstances.”

West Coast states became the centerof the acrimonious debate as miningand logging companies, ranchers,and advocates of water developmentstridently opposed the wildernessbill, while dude ranchers, outfitters,and hunting and fishing enthusiastssupported it. In Congress the con -troversy swirled around SenatorsGordon Allott of Colorado, JosephO’Mahoney of Wyoming, and Clin-ton P. Anderson of New Mexico. In 1959 and 1960 Allott and O’Ma-honey introduced amendments tothe legislation to protect the ranch-ing and mining industries and toensure that Congress would estab-lish wilderness by “positive legisla-tion” rather than by merely vetoing adesignation of wilderness by theexecutive branch.32

For his part, Allott deeply resentedHumphrey’s compromise permittingmotorboats in the boundary waters.Allott felt that Humphrey had cleverlysplit the political ground in Minnesotato avoid offending anyone; he alsoresented the prospect that no wilder-ness area in Colorado or the Westwould be permitted similar motorizedaccess. “Let Hubert Humphrey eat thesame cake as the rest of us eat,” theColorado senator fumed, as he pro-posed an amendment to eliminate thespecial provision governing the bound -ary waters.33 But Allott could not gainsufficient support for his amendment,so the unique provision allowing mo-

Fall 2002 143

torboats within the boundary watersremained in the final bill.

Congress at last enacted the billin the summer of 1964, and Presi-dent Lyndon B. Johnson signed theWilderness Act into law on Septem-ber 3. The law declared that it is “thepolicy of the Congress to secure forthe American people of present andfuture generations the benefits of anenduring resource of wilderness.”The words “an enduring resource ofwilderness” were penned by HowardZahniser, whose intense lobbying forthe bill ended on May 5, 1964, whenhe died in his sleep at age 58. WhileZahniser did not live to see it en -acted, the new law fulfilled much ofwhat he, along with Sigurd Olson,Ernest Oberholtzer, and Friends ofthe Wilderness wanted to achieve. Itcreated a national wilderness preser-vation system with an initial 9 mil-lion acres including the BoundaryWaters Canoe Area, or BWCA, as itwas now called. Permanent roads,motorized vehicles, and commercialenterprises were barred along withlogging, while grazing and miningprospecting were permitted for sev-eral years. It set into motion a reviewof remaining primitive areas forfuture designation as wilderness byCongress.34 The Wilderness Actstands as a landmark achievement in the protection and management of lands defined as wilderness in theUnited States.

Ironically, the new law also en-sured that the long-standing con -troversy over motorized recreation in Minnesota would continue. Itsmajor provision affecting the bound-ary waters held that “nothing in thisAct shall preclude the continuance

within the area of any already estab-lished use of motorboats.” While thatloophole capped years of controversy,it also planted the seeds for a subse-quent phase of the debate that peakedin the 1970s with the Boundary Wa-ters Canoe Area Wilderness Act thateliminated much motorboat usefrom the BWCA.

Nor did the Boundary WatersCanoe Area Wilderness Act of 1978put to rest the sometimes passionatearguments over how much motorizedaccess should be allowed in wilder-ness or national park areas. In recentyears the popularity of jet skis, snow-mobiles, and all-terrain vehicles has

prompted debates reminiscent ofearlier battles over motorboats andairplanes. In some respects, the cur-rent debates must be distinguishedfrom those of 50 years ago; muchconcern is ex pressed now, for in -stance, about the impact of snow -mobiles on wildlife and on the land-scape itself. Nonetheless, the olderconflicts remain at the core of thediscussion today. The place of motor-ized equipment in Minnesota’s recre-ational economy opened a rift in thepopulace more than a half-centuryago, and that rift continues to dividelovers of Minnesota’s prime recre-ational lands. �

Poster by the Boundary WatersConservation Alliance, formedin 1977 to lobby for broaderaccess to the area, includingby motorized vehicles

144 Minnesota History

Notes

1. “News Items of Interest,” LivingWilderness 12 (Autumn 1947): 29. Themost comprehensive histories of theboundary waters during the first half of thetwentieth century are R. Newell Searle,Saving Quetico-Superior: A Land Set Apart(St. Paul: Minnesota Historical SocietyPress, 1977), and Miron L. Heinselman,The Boundary Waters Wilderness Ecosys-tem (Minneapolis: University of MinnesotaPress, 1996). On Oberholtzer, see JoePaddock, Keeper of the Wild: The Life ofErnest Oberholtzer (St. Paul: MinnesotaHistorical Society Press, 2001).2. MacKaye to Council, June 2, 1947,

file 14, box 170, MacKaye Family Papers,Special Collections, Dartmouth College,Hanover, NH.3. Kevin Proescholdt, Rip Rapson, and

Miron L. Heinselman, Troubled Waters:The Fight for the Boundary Waters CanoeArea Wilderness (St. Cloud: North StarPress, 1995), xii; Chester S. Wilson, “GunLake Road Project, St. Louis County, inrelation to the Roadless Wilderness Areasof the Superior National Forest,” memo-randum, July 21, 1954, in Senatorial Files,Correspondence (Legislative), box 102,Hubert H. Humphrey Papers, MinnesotaHistorical Society (MHS), St. Paul; Searle,Saving Quetico-Superior, 220; Heinsel-man, Wilderness Ecosystem, 276. For a finediscussion of the early Quetico-Superiorprogram, see Searle, Saving Quetico-Superior, 60–142. 4. For an analysis of the debate over

motors in more recent years, the standardworks are Proescholdt et al., TroubledWaters, and James N. Gladden, The Bound -ary Waters Canoe Area: Wilderness Valuesand Motorized Recreation (Ames: IowaState University Press, 1990). 5. Samuel P. Hays, Beauty, Health, and

Permanence: Environmental Politics inthe United States, 1955–1985 (New York:Cam bridge University Press, 1987), 2–5,13–39. 6. Bill Rom to author, Aug. 12, 2000,

copy in author’s possession. Rom operateda canoe concession in the boundary watersfrom 1946 to 1975. 7. Chester Wilson, “Last Chance to Save

Quetico-Superior Wilderness,” in Conser-vation Volunteer 9 (May–June 1946): 5.Airplane statistics in Galen Pike to I. H.Polk, Exhibit C, Mar. 23, 1949, SuperiorNational Forest Records, Roll 13, MHS. Onthe proliferation of resorts, see SigurdOlson, “Wings Over the Wilderness,” Amer-ican Forests 54 (June 1948): 279.

8. Olson to J. Hammond Brown, Dec.10, 1947, copy in box 36, Sigurd F. OlsonPapers, MHS.9. See the splendid biography by David

Backes, A Wilderness Within: The Life ofSigurd F. Olson (Minneapolis: University ofMinnesota Press, 1997). Olson’s writings in -clude “We Need Wilderness,” National ParksMagazine 20 (Jan.–Mar. 1946): 18–23,28–29; “Why Wilderness?” published origi-nally in 1938 and reprinted in J. Baird Calli-cott and Michael P. Nelson, eds., The GreatNew Wilderness Debate (Athens: Uni versityof Georgia Press, 1998), 97–102. See alsoMike Link, ed., The Collected Works of Sig-urd F. Olson, The Early Writings: 1921–1934(Stillwater: Voyageur Press, 1988).10. Olson to Brown; “‘Voyageur’s Re-

turn,’” Nature Magazine 41 (June–July1948): 290. See also Grace Lee Nute, TheVoyageur’s Highway: Minnesota’s BorderLake Land (St. Paul: Minnesota HistoricalSociety, 1941). 11. Olson, “Why Wilderness?” 101. 12. Olson, “Wings Over the Wilderness,”

254. 13. Heinselman, Wilderness Ecosystem,

276; Searle, Saving Quetico-Superior,143–64. 14. Heinselman, Wilderness Ecosystem,

278; order quoted in Searle, Saving Quetico-Superior, 176. Founded in 1949 to coordi-nate the volunteer efforts of individualsand organizations working to preserve thewilderness character of Superior NationalForest’s roadless areas, Friends of the Wil -derness claimed 3,800 members nation-wide (350 in Ely alone) and 128 supportingorganizations; Frank Robertson and Wil -liam Magie, “Statement from Friends of the Wilderness in Support of the NationalWilderness Preservation Act,” Aug. 5, 1957,Senatorial Files, Correspondence (Bills andResolutions), box 146, Humphrey papers;Robertson and Magie, “A Statement fromFriends of the Wilderness in regard to therecent attack upon it by Lake SuperiorNorth Shore Association,” Sept. 16, 1957,box 44, Olson papers. 15. Searle, Saving Quetico-Superior,

178–92, ably chronicles the legal battle overthe air ban. See also, “U.S. Restrictions onForest Flights In Minnesota Area Upheldby Judge,” New York Times, Oct. 4, 1952. 16. Martin Skala Jr. to Hubert Hum -

phrey, Aug. 14, 1957, box 146, Humphreypapers, MHS; Gladden, Boundary WatersCanoe Area, 8–9. 17. Searle, Saving Quetico-Superior,

17–33; David Backes, “Wilderness Visions:Arthur Carhart’s 1922 Proposal for theQuetico-Superior Wilderness,” Forest &

Conservation History 35 (July 1991):128–37; Michael Frome, Battle For theWilderness, rev. ed. (Salt Lake City: Uni-versity of Utah Press, 1997): 121–26. Wil -derness areas comprised 100,000 acres ormore; wild areas embraced 5,000–100,000acres.18. In 1957, for example, 53,000 acres

were eliminated from the Three SistersPrimitive Area in Oregon’s Willamette andDeschutes National Forests; “Decision ofthe Secretary of Agriculture Establishingthe Three Sisters Wilderness Area,” copy inbox 45, Olson papers. A general account isin Craig W. Allin, The Politics of WildernessPreservation (Westport, CT: GreenwoodPress, 1982), 102–08. See also James P.Gilligan, “Wilderness in a Democracy,”Living Wilderness 20 (Spring–Summer1955): 25–29. 19. Zahniser’s speech appeared origi-

nally in the Congressional Record, June 1,1955, and has been reprinted in WhereWilderness Preservation Began: Adiron-dack Writings of Howard Zahniser, ed.Edward Zahniser (Utica, NY: North Coun-try Books, 1992): 59–66. 20. An early draft of the bill is found

appended to remarks of Humphrey andRichard L. Neuberger, CongressionalRecord, Feb. 11, 1957, 85th Cong., 1st sess.,p. 11 (quote). 21. Robertson and Magie, “Statement

. . . in support of the National WildernessPreservation Act,” Aug. 5, 1957; L. H.Furcht to Humphrey, Aug. 14, 1957;Charles H. Stoddard, letter to the editor,Minneapolis Sunday Tribune, Aug. 11,1957—all in box 146, Humphrey papers. 22. The executive committee of the AFA

passed a resolution opposing the Hum -phrey bill in July 1956. The resolution andAFA Chief Forester Kenneth Pomeroy’sJuly 16, 1956, letter to Humphrey are in box48, American Forestry Association Records,Forest History Society, Durham, NC. Seealso Pomeroy’s statement on the bill beforethe House Subcommittee on Public Lands,published in American Forests 63 (July1957): 7; Lowell Besley to Humphrey, Apr.5, 1956, Senatorial Files, Research Files, box649, Humphrey papers. 23. See editorial, “Will Ely Become A

‘Ghost Town’?” in Ely Miner, and MesabiDaily News (Virginia, MN), Aug. 22, 1957,clippings in box 44, Olson Papers; WillardS. Domich to Humphrey, May 10, 1957,Senatorial Files, Correspondence (Bills andResolutions), box 145, Humphrey papers. 24. Fred C. Childers, “Humphrey Bill

Threat to Ely’s Economic Life,” Ely Miner,July 18, 1957, clipping, and Stan Pechaver

Fall 2002 145

to Humphrey, Aug. 3, 1957, both box 146,Humphrey papers. Childers first expressedfears about a ban on motorboats in a letterto the editor of the Duluth News-Tribune,Nov. 14, 1954. 25. Olson to Humphrey, Sept. 1, 1957,

box 44, Olson papers. 26. Humphrey to Herb [Waters], mem-

orandum, July 20, 1957, and Humphrey to Childers, July 22, 1957—both box 146,Hum phrey papers. 27. Olson to Ted Bergquist, Sept. 17,

1957; Olson to Humphrey, Aug. 14, 1957—both box 44, Olson papers. Einar Karl-strand, editor of the Duluth News-Tribune,informed Humphrey of this current of pub -lic opinion in a letter, Aug. 2, 1957, box 146,Humphrey papers. 28. Pechaver quoted in Mesabi Daily

News, n.d., clipping, box 44, Olson papers.In a provocative essay, historian RichardWhite has examined the myriad ways thatenvironmentalists tend to overlook thephysical labor of those who rely on natural-

resource industries; this, in turn, adds tothe rift between them and the people whotypically reside near wilderness areas. See“‘Are You an Environmentalist or Do YouWork for a Living?’: Work and Nature,” inUncommon Ground: Toward ReinventingNature, ed. William Cronon (New York: W. W. Norton & Co., 1995), 171–85. 29. The initial version of the bill is found

along with Humphrey’s remarks in theCongressional Record, Feb. 11, 1957, 85th

Cong., 1st sess., p. 17 (quote). “WildernessRegulation Clarified,” Living Wilderness 19(Winter 1954–55): 33; Jay Price, untitledmemorandum, May 19, 1950, SuperiorNational Forest Records, Roll 12, MHS;Martin Skala Jr. to Humphrey, Aug. 14,1957; Elliott B. Hoffman to Humphrey, July31, 1957—both box 146, Humphrey papers.30. Florence Frederickson to Humphrey,

July 30, Aug. 27, 1957, box 146, Humphreypapers. 31. Backes, A Wilderness Within, 272.

Humphrey’s skirmishes and compromise

are clearly detailed in Proescholdt et al.,Troubled Waters, 7–10. Humphrey quotedin Minneapolis Tribune, n.d., clipping, box146, Humphrey papers. 32. O’Mahoney explained the amend-

ments in Congressional Record, Feb. 18,1960, 86th Cong., 2d sess., vol. 106, pt. 4, p.2894–98. 33. Allott quoted in Daily Sentinel

(Grand Junction, CO), Feb. 27, 1963, clip-ping in box 139, Wayne Aspinall Papers,Penrose Library, Special Collections andArchives, University of Denver. 34. Here and below, Wilderness Act

of 1964, quoted in Heinselman, Wilder-ness Ecosystem, 280, or see Public Law 88-577, 88th Cong., 4 sess. (Sept. 1964) orwww.fs.fed.us/outernet/htnf/wildact.htm.James Gladden concluded that the “BWCAwas designated a wilderness area, but at thesame time legislators allowed uses that theWilderness Act of 1964 declared were in-compatible with such a designation”; seeBoundary Waters Canoe Area, 23.

All images are from the MHS Library. The photo on p. 132 is by Bob McClary; p. 134 (bottom) by Eugene D. Becker; and p. 136 by Harry D. Ayer. The letter, p. 142, is from the Hubert H. Humphrey Papers.

Members of a snowmobile caravan on a trip from Crane Lake, Minnesota, to Fort Frances, Canada, 1967

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