By JESSICA C. WEBER

Parklands' use: Consensus impossible?

The Department of Conservation mages the state's system of parklands. It also must try to reconcile the conflicting interests of those who use them for recreation — from hunters to hikers. The land is limited; so is the money to manage it

FROM the cool blue-green Illinois Beach Park near the Wisconsin border to the swampy lushness of Ferne Clyffe Park in the southern part of the state, Illinois' more than 300,000 acres of recreational lands encompass forests and plains, rivers and the sandy lowlands where rivers used to run, cliffs and lakes and trails. There's wildlife ranging from rattlesnakes to song sparrows, plant life that runs the gamut from the sturdy native prairie plants to elegant ferns and orchids. With all that, you'd think there would be

Canoeists on the Vermilion River near Matthiessen State Park are pictured above; below are snowmobilers on a trail at the Mississippi Palisades.

plenty of everything for everybody. But in fact the converse appears to be true: There doesn't seem to be enough of anything for anybody.

Part of the reason for that can be explained simply in terms of acreage versus population. Illinois is "land-poor," said Ed Hoffman, supervisor of the Comprehensive Planning Section of the Illinois Department of Conservation (DOC); most of Illinois' rich, fertile lands have been claimed for farming, mining and industrial development, leaving comparatively little for public recreation. To bring Illinois to the acres-per-citizen level of such states as Wisconsin and Minnesota, Hoffman said, "We'd have to ship people out of the state."

Even if that were a viable alternative, you'd have to be careful to ship out like-minded people; otherwise the most difficult part of the problem would still be here: a myriad of recreationists who want to use state-owned lands in mutually exclusive ways. And it is a difficult problem, because opinions on the subject tend to come down to a question of values and as such aren't readily negotiable.

For example, to choose one of the more emotional issues, it's possible to make an excellent rational argument in favor of permitting hunting on state parklands. Hunters point out that their licenses help support the whole park system, that they thin out animal populations to give the remaining animals a better chance at a decent survival, and that death at the hands of a competent hunter is kind and clean compared with what most animals would face in the natural order of things. Those are strong arguments — but they don't cut much ice with someone who has a gut conviction that it is just plain wrong to kill animals. "I just don't think it's right. Animals in state parks should be protected and hunting shouldn't be allowed," said one adamant opponent of the sport.

And the hunters versus the antihunters is just one example. The families who like to play together want more picnic facilities and improved camping areas. The strict preservationists want to leave untouched as much land as possible. The cross-country skiers feel the snowmobilers destroy their peace and quiet. The canoers claim the motorboaters pollute the waterways. And nobody seems to care much for the dirt bikers, who don't have a mile of state-owned trail to call their own. In many cases, the issue comes down to choosing between conflicting rights; and the decisions are based on a complex of factors including money available for development of facilities (very little at the moment), the persuasiveness or clout of the various interests, and the bias of the director of conservation. In the case of the current DOC director, David Kenney is biased toward access — the greatest recreational opportunities for the greatest number of people. "The person who wants to use the out-of-doors in one way and deny those who want to use it another way is very

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Courtesy Illinois Department of Conservation A quiet trip in Lusk Creek Canyon State Nature Preserve is pictured at top left. Top right are cyclists on a bicycle trail near Springfield. At left below is a pleasure boat on the Illinois River near Starved Rock State Park. Below at right are hikers at Giant City State Park.

short-sighted," said Kenney. "We don't really seek what we call wilderness areas. . . we don't have that luxury."

And, he feels, the desirability of immense untouched tracts of greenery is not as universal as proponents may feel. He remembers when groups of city children were treated to a trip to Illinois Beach Park. "They were scared to get off the parking lots. They'd take a basketball. . ."

But access is limited by money for development. That's why dirt bikers have been excluded from the park system, Kenney said, not that the sport is the target of conservationists who claim the bikes tear up the terrain and citizens who have firm images of blackleather-clad Hell's Angels. "These trails just require a certain amount of development and we don't have money to build trails in a suitable area." He makes a very convincing case.

So does Stan Hall, president of the Illinois Motorcycle Dealers' Association, who said his group has been trying for a decade to get the state to provide off-road facilities for dirt bikers, and has yet to reach its goal although they are willing "to work with Conservation or anyone else to find a plan where there would be the least impact on the land." He points out that dirt bikers are taxpayers (including sales tax on their $800-to-$3,000 machines). He has files of plans and studies his group has made of dirt-bike trail systems in other states. He points out, very persuasively, that no self-respecting Hell's Angel would be caught dead on the little off-road vehicles used for dirt biking. But despite all that, the dirt bikers have no trails — only sad stories like the one about Sand Ridge Forest, where bikers built, with private funds, 26 miles of trail in the little-used region. The trail was open only four hours, Hall said, when it was closed in the face of objections from environmental groups. Studies showed the bikes would destroy fragile terrain, Kenney said of the case. But he feels it's "regrettable" the state hasn't been able to provide trails. "It is a legitimate sport," he said.

Because of the scarcity of resources, the use of what land and money there is must be carefully planned. Decisions are based on a comprehensive statewide recreation plan and on master management plans for individual pieces of land. The latter are documents running into a hundred or more pages delineating objectives for the parcel, inventorying resources of the region and the site, and setting forth long-range plans for development, management and land acquisition. One such plan, for example, contains a small-print inventory of plants, birds and mammals found in a 29-page, among other astoundingly detailed information. Hearings precede the development of the master plan, Kenney said, and input is always welcome. And input there is. DOC hears from any number of groups: "We get petitions, formal, informal, some much better organized than others. . . typically polite and civil, and, in the best cases they back up their requests with rational arguments," said Kenney. Words like "objective" and "rational" recur often as Kenney discusses the decesion making processes at DOC. It's all very very persuasive, and very hard to argue with.

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Unless you come from an entirely different perspective, as does Alan Donn, legislative chairman of the Sangamon Valley group of the Sierra Club. "DOC mainly caters toward access for hunters and sportsmen," he said, and other claims get short shrift — for example,

'We get petitions, formal, informal ... in the best cases they back up their requests with rational arguments'

preservation of Illinois' wetlands. The state has lost 90 percent of these lowlands that flood easily and provide a unique habitat for many kinds of plant and animal life. DOC has shown no interest in preserving those resources, Donn said, and he has, in fact, moved to eliminate the budget of the Nature Preserves Commission, charged with preserving such areas. He cites other cases where he feels conservation has taken a backseat to other interests: the fiercely-debated and much-publicized Pike County conservation battle, where the planned Illinois Expressway threatens the Illinois nesting grounds of the eagles; ana an incident in which DOC procedures resulted in a decision to allow logging in part of Pere Marquette State Park a few years back. (Conservationists won that one with a court injunction.) The Sierra Club is also concerned, Donn said, about DOC's continuing interest in reclassifying state-owned lands — a reclassification he calls "downgrading" and DOC spokesman call "upgrading." Which term is more accurate depends on your perspective of protection versus access. And all this is without even mentioning preservation of historic rivers, access to canoeing streams, and other conservationist objectives that aren't being addressed. "Kenney is very accessible, very easy to talk to — but we don't feel he's a strong advocate for conservation at present. We never seem to be involved in the decisionmaking process," Donn said. He feels the Sierra Club's input into the Master Management Plans has been limited to tinkering after the main thrust of the plan has been determined.

The Sierra Club is gearing up to take a stronger stand for its own values,

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Donn said, forming coalitions with other conservation-oriented groups. He thinks President Reagan's Secretary of Interior James Watt, hated by conservationists everywhere has, ironically, given a shot in the arm to the conservation movement.

Who is right? It's hard to say. Tom Mills, who has been watching the conservation scene for 10 years from the vantage point of a public member of the Illinois Recreation Council, thinks some of the differences could be resolved if the various groups would talk out their conflicts. But "they don't want to talk; they're afraid they'll lose their identity. If we could ever get those people together and have a 'sit-down' — " he said wistfully. Mills has ideas about how to resolve other recreation problems, too. The issue of the director of Conservation's supposed bias doesn't worry him too much because he's seen too many of them come and go, and feels their influence evens

Mills' proposal is that the state should turn those bits and pieces over to county recreation commissions

out over the years; for example, environmentalist Tony Dean was followed by sportsman Kenney. But he would like to see DOC governed by a board of commissioners which would appoint the director (now appointed by the governor). And he'd like to see user fees charged in the parks, a proposal that surfaces from time to time. A good argument can be made for it, based on the fact that some users already pay fees in the form of hunting, fishing and boating licenses.

Most interestingly, Mills feels Illinois doesn't own too little parkland, but too much, in the form of bits and pieces all over the state. And it's true that the state has more than a hundred pieces of recreational land in various classifications, some of it less than an acre (most of the tiniest are historical preservations). This is the result, Mills said, of pressure by legislators for the purchase of little parcels of land in their home districts. Mills' proposal is that the state should turn those bits and pieces over to county recreation commissions, which would do a better job of managing them for local use, and concentrate state money and planning on the big tracts. He has an example: citizens in Vermilion County voted to tax themselves for a conservation district which has over 4,500 heavily used acres. "They pay for it, they're proud of it, there's very little litter problem," Mills said. Mills said he continues to lobby for his proposals within the Recreation Council, and is getting more members interested.

It's all very persuasive — Mills' sit-down, Kenney's rational planning procedures, the dirt bikers' studies and figures, the Sierra Club's coalitions and legislative actions. All good, sound thinking. But unfortunately, none of it can deal with the issue of which is more important: A canoeist's right to peace and quiet or a motoboater's right to enjoy his chosen sport. A conservationist's interest in preserving irreplaceable wetlands or a family's need for picnic and playground facilities. A hunter's right to pursue his sport or the right of those opposed to hunting not to have their convictions offended on tax-supported lands. However much planning, talking and restructuring may come about, use of Illinois' recreational lands still is going to be decided in a juggling act among resources and conflicting interests. There seems little likelihood that everybody ever will be satisfied.

But, on the other hand Illinois does have those 300,000 acres of forests and lakes, rivers and streams, wildlife and plantlife. The 66 state parks, 22 conservation areas, four state forests, seven fish and wildlife areas and 22 historic sites may not be perfectly managed by anybody's standards, but they do go some distance toward filling the rock-bottom purpose of a state-supported recreational system, as succinctly stated by Mills: "There's got to be an opportunity to get outside."

Jessica C. Weber is assistant director of communications for editorial services at the Illinois Association of School Boards. She has worked in public relations and journalism in Springfield and southern Illinois.

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