Saving the Slopes

Like California in the past, Colorado is being promoted as the new haven for Americans who, weary of the dreary densities of urban life, are eager for skiing, hiking and clean air. "Own a piece of Colorado!" cry the real estate men. The spiel works. Throughout the state, reports the Rocky Mountain Center on Environment, bulldozers are preparing at least 1,000,000 acres for subdivisions.

The result is the fast trading easy money of a land boom. Ranchers near Denver or Boulder can sell their holdings of sage and scrub for as much as $3,000 an acre. Colorado is now one of the nation's fastest-growing states (seventh after Nevada, Florida, Arizona, Alaska, California and Maryland). But there is a mounting fear that the developers' busy bulldozers threaten the very qualities of their state that Coloradans cherish most. Worried, the Colorado Institute on Population Problems has taken to statewide TV to urge: "Think small."

Should Colorado try to halt its growth? No, thinks Republican Governor John Love. His feeling is that the state is not as prosperous as it could be and therefore must attract more industry. Since more industry necessarily means more people, the real problem is how to accommodate them. For this reason Love believes that the state desperately needs at least minimal control over its land.

To many, it might seem a strange concern for a state whose vast prairies roll wide and empty to the horizon, whose lonely mountains range back toward the cloud-capped Continental Divide. But these spaces and slopes are more vulnerable than the site seeker might think. Take so-called "view locations"--sites high on the slopes of the Rockies, which real estate men have been selling off by thousands from Fort Collins to Colorado Springs. Unpolluted air. Privacy. Dazzling vistas. House tastefully set amidst thick stands of ponderosa or lodgepole pines. No insults to the visiting eye.

But there is an environmental catch. Because the slopes are steep, they hold little water, and homes seemingly far apart must compete for it in scarce underground pools. Neighbors also foul each other's water, since septic tanks do not work well in less than four feet of topsoil, and the slopes have much less. As a result, virtually raw sewage seeps downhill to contaminate wells, ponds or streams.

Nor do the problems end there. Developments on steep slopes often are served by a single access road that by itself alters the natural flow of moisture. Moreover, with only one road for access, any subdivision can become a dangerous firetrap. "Many developers seem not to realize that fire runs uphill faster than on the flat," says Oscar Schmunk, deputy forester. Even now, the slopes are occasionally marked by the lonely stone chimneys of burned-out homes. The fire fighters call them "tombstones." They predict that within five years, if the present rush to live on the slopes continues, Colorado will have disastrous slope fires like California's.

In 1970, Governor Love started to correct the blatant misuse of the land by appointing a seven-man land use commission. Nine months later, it brought forth a basic program and got it approved by the legislature. The Land Use Act seems bland enough. It merely requires each of the state's 63 counties to 1) set up its own planning group, which would be two-thirds funded by the state, and 2) write regulations, based on the commission's model rules, to control the creation of subdivisions.

Even so, land owns men's hearts and roils their blood. Cattlemen and farmers, especially, feared that the state was going to grab power from local government by imposing statewide zoning restrictions. One sign in a rural county administrator's office typifies the most prevalent complaint: THE HELL WITH HOW THEY DO IT IN DENVER. THIS IS SUMMIT! Lobbyists swarmed to Denver to kill the program.

But the commission surprised them by inviting representatives from all concerned groups--friends and foes alike--to participate in some 30 special workshop sessions in communities across Colorado. At those meetings, the commissioners remained mostly silent. "We were learning," says Claude Peters, the commission's consultant planner. "We needed to be aware of the local problems." Adds Commission Chairman John Crowley: "We ran across old records that showed how much life a certain piece of land could support. Old ranchers with good memories fed us valuable information. AH the pieces came together."

Ultimate Tool. By last month the commission had worked the pieces into an inventory of Colorado's resources (land, water, forests, minerals) and the threats to those resources. More important, the commission had also gained wide support in the counties for its policies and recommendations. And why not? The counties retain power over land use, provided they follow the state's guidelines.

A key recommendation, which Governor Love will urge upon the legislature next week, would compel developers to get an official certificate that sufficient water was available and that proper sewage-disposal facilities would be installed. "We've already got various tools--zoning and transportation--to stimulate the economy of Colorado's small towns and to prevent urban sprawl," Love says. "Water would be the ultimate tool."

Despite criticism from what Governor Love terms "a growing group of ecologists," the commission refuses to go faster or get tougher. "Decisions about public affairs," says Chairman Crowley, "should be made by elected representatives at the appropriate level." Such careful honoring of local government is precisely why Colorado has a good chance to protect its land and preserve its beauty.

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