Sunday, April 27, 2003
Copyright © Las Vegas Review-Journal

NEVADA VIEWS: Protecting Red Rock

Development is not inevitable

The Clark County Commission and the Legislature appear poised to stabilize current zoning requirements for the Hardie gypsum mine property on Blue Diamond Hill, between the Las Vegas Valley and Red Rock Canyon National Conservation Area. The tenor of an April 17 Review-Journal editorial is that this level of zoning (one residential household every two acres) will adequately protect the Red Rock area -- that our American freedom and prosperity dictate that Jim Rhodes must now be invited to construct something like a Lake Las Vegas resort on the eastern ridge of Red Rock Canyon.

Elsewhere in the 17 April edition, BLM officials view this property as woefully "ripped to shreds" and therefore undesirable as a possible purchase with funds available from the 1998 Southern Nevada Public Land Management Act. Somewhat ironically, the BLM has a long history of accommodating activities that are known to produce high levels of disturbance -- activities such as mining, grazing and motorized off road vehicle recreation -- on lands under its jurisdiction.

The BLM spokesman goes on to ask: "If we were in a position to buy that property, what would the public interest be?" I would submit that the answer lays in the dual, related, realms of its biological and aesthetic importance. While a significantly "scarred landscape" might on the surface not appear to possess a high degree of either, I think we can develop a strong argument for both. The essence of both lies not entirely within the intrinsic quality of that particular property, but rather in its physical location -- as a much-needed filter between the unrelentingly urban Las Vegas Valley and the relatively intact landscapes of Red Rock.

First, the biological argument: There appears to be wide consensus that the Red Rock National Conservation Area offers irreplaceable recreational value. The fundamental root of that value is in its state of relative wildness. As such, it incorporates a wide array of species and ecosystems that still operate in a more or less ecologically intact state. Legislators recognized these qualities in their creation of the La Madre wilderness area last year.

In land-use planning, conservation biologists argue forcefully for recognition of diffuse, multiple-use "buffer zones" between intact "core" natural landscapes (such as those represented by wilderness areas) and highly altered urban landscapes. Why? Because ecological processes do not end at the border of a wild area. Mountain lions cannot read a sign that says, "Houses begin here -- do not trespass or you will be killed." Coyotes don't really care if they are feeding on rabbits or house cats.

Nevertheless, many kinds of recreation are compatible with the maintenance of some level of ecological integrity (e.g., hiking, horseback riding, mountain biking, or using motorized vehicles on designated roads). Multiple use buffer zones can be used as valuable management tools, and I am therefore puzzled by the lack of interest by BLM in considering Blue Diamond Hill in that context.

As for the mined hill itself, the scarred landscape need not necessarily reduce its biological value. For example, we strongly suspect that human disturbances have led to a severe reduction in local populations of the highly sensitive Townsend's big-eared bat, once probably common in the Red Rock Canyon area. These cave-dwelling bats are known to utilize abandoned addits and mine shafts as roosting sites when their original cave roosts have been disturbed. Perhaps then, one or more of the previously worked openings into this hillside is serving as important substitute roost sites for these bats.

Perhaps the type of mining here has not produced suitable roost sites, but at the very least, the possibility should be addressed and surveys performed before we write the Hill off as a biologically unimportant landscape.

Then there is the aesthetic argument. We need to ask ourselves what exactly it is that people cherish about the Red Rock Canyon landscape, and second, what will constitute a significant deterioration of those qualities? Each proponent of the "Save Red Rock Canyon" movement will develop a slightly different answer, but let me provide these scenarios for consideration and perhaps as a rallying point.

If you are sufficiently healthy and unafraid of walking on rocks exposed to steep drop-offs, take a day and hike to the top of Bridge Mountain. If you are unable or unwilling to take that hike, stop for a few moments at the overlook pullout, half way around the scenic loop (the highest elevation point on the loop).

In either case, look across the canyon to the top of the Hill and reflect upon how you might feel if you were looking down on a mosaic of rooftops that blend into the urban sea of the Las Vegas Valley -- after all, a residence per two acres is still a lot of houses -- rather than the currently scarred but otherwise still undeveloped landscape. I myself much prefer the latter.

So, it would appear premature to sign the death warrant on the Hill as a critical biological and aesthetic buffer zone separating the urban from the wild landscapes in Southern Nevada.

Why should we consider the case necessarily closed and walk away accepting the inevitability of further residential development in the Red Rock Canyon area? Why should we believe that questioning the inevitability of Rhode's entrepreneurial juggernaut undermines our American values?

As expressed by Edward Abbey, an American who wrote often in defense of the need for both protection of private property rights and public open spaces in a healthy and free democracy, "growth for the sake of growth is the ideology of the cancer cell," and as such, "the developers and entrepreneurs must somehow be taught a new vocabulary of values."

Write to the BLM and ask it to not prematurely dismiss the merits of purchasing the Hardie mine property from developer Rhodes. Tell the BLM you want all parties involved to be engaged in an open discussion of the merits of the Hill as a link in the non-urbanized lands mosaic of southern Nevada. Don't give up just because a newspaper said it was the proper American thing to do.

Brett R. Riddle is a professor of biology at UNLV.