PWAC Victoria: Tom Koppel, Writing Sample

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Investing in the Environment

by Tom Koppel ©

Taking a quiet, non-confrontational approach, the Nature Conservancy of Canada hustles to secure the future of our habitat one acre at a time. Published in Canadian Living, Jan. 1997.

Spring on Bodega Ridge, the high, rocky backbone of northern Galiano Island in British Columbia's Gulf Islands. I walk cautiously along the narrow trail, skirting sheer cliffs that drop dizzily to majestic old-growth Douglas firs below. Beyond, a placid inland sea stretches away through a patchwork of green wooded islands. Out over the ocean, bald eagles soar gracefully on updrafts. Eagles, ospreys, even a breeding pair of rare peregrine falcons regularly perch on tall snags overlooking the sea.

The windswept ridge is also home to a mix of plant life that is almost unique in Canada. Carpeting the rocks and thin soil are lichens, mosses and a Milky Way of delicate white fawn lilies. Crowning the ridge itself are twisted Garry oaks and sun-loving arbutus trees with peeling red bark. Most unusual of all, clinging bravely to the cliff tops are the low rounded profiles of hairy Manzanita shrubs, with their fuzzy leaves, dark red bark and grape-like clusters of white spring blossoms. Manzanita, common in northern California, grows in only a scattering of places on B.C.'s inner coast. Bodega Ridge hosts a rare ecosystem that is unspoiled from sea level to 328 metres.

In recent years, though, this priceless wild area has been threatened by development. And little wonder. Galiano is only one hour by ferry from Vancouver's rapidly sprawling suburbs. It is easy to imagine the ridge carved up into spectacular "seaview acreages." In fact, house construction is already encroaching nearby. But now, thanks to a nip-and-tuck campaign led by the Nature Conservancy of Canada, Bodega Ridge will be kept intact as a protected area.

The Nature Conservancy is one of the most effective and fastest growing of Canada's diverse conservation and environmental groups. It specializes in acquiring ecologically significant natural areas, usually through the donation or outright purchase of land. Then it arranges to preserve them in perpetuity as nature reserves or parks or through other kinds of protected status. Unlike environmental advocacy groups, which lobby governments, challenge private economic power and mobilize public opinion, the Conservancy takes a quiet, non-confrontational approach. Although it works closely with community groups and government agencies, most of its large donors and key fundraising volunteers are from the corporate sector and wealthy philanthropic foundations.

"In fact," laughs executive director John Eisenhauer, "we're often called the real estate arm of the environmental movement." This doesn't bother a man whose Toronto office bookshelf includes titles like the Real Estate Dictionary and Big Gifts. "We complement the other groups, but we're different." Rejecting the strident ideology and purist agendas of some "green" organizations, the Conservancy applies its real estate and financial savvy to the complex hands-on business of land acquisition and property management. By twisting arms in corporate boardrooms, soliciting matching government funds and mobilizing other groups and government agencies, the Conservancy coordinates land-acquisition campaigns and obtains the maximum conservation bang for its philanthropic buck.

Alone, or in various partnerships, the Conservancy has helped establish some 570 nature reserves across Canada and adds a new one about every two weeks. Comprising over one-half-million hectares, these reserves range from small islands in Quebec's St. Lawrence River to vast expanses of Yukon tundra grazed by caribou. One protects a rookery for the noble great blue heron. Another is habitat for two-thirds of Canada's population of the humble Furbish's lousewort, an endangered member of the snapdragon family.

With its record of tangible results, the Conservancy has grown rapidly. Since 1989 the paid staff has gone from four to seventeen. There are now six regional offices. Revenues have mushroomed from $1.5 million in 1989 to $37 million, and individual contributors from 1,800 to 20,000. But it's still a streamlined organization that spends less than 13% of its budget on fundraising and administration, while 82% goes to land acquisition and research.

By remaining lean, private and non-bureaucratic, with its own donor network and panels of volunteer scientific advisors, the Conservancy has the financial clout and flexibility to act quickly and meet the deadlines involved in options to purchase land. In 1992, for example, fundraising came down to the wire for the Conservancy's contribution to the Commonwealth Nature Legacy, 888 hectares of spectacular mountain and shoreline north of Victoria, B.C. CANFOR (formerly Canadian Forest Products) CEO Peter Bentley got on the phone for the Conservancy and raised the last $250,000 in just two hours from his resource company colleagues.

Quick response was also crucial on Galiano Island, B.C., where the Conservancy salvaged an ambitious but floundering community effort to preserve Bodega Ridge. In 1991 forestry giant MacMillan Bloedel put its Galiano lands--more than half of the island, including Bodega Ridge--up for sale. Fearing a wave of clearcut logging, land speculation and residential development, environmentally conscious islanders scrambled to buy and preserve the parts of their island they held most precious. With matching funds from the Conservancy, they scrounged up $20,000 for a forested mountaintop owned by a broadcasting company. On their own, they raised $250,000 to buy another scenic mountain, an impressive accomplishment for a year-round population of 950.

Then they tackled the much larger challenge of securing Bodega Ridge, comprising 147 hectares, in three parcels, and priced at around $1.3 million. One parcel was bought to be held temporarily by four mainly affluent individuals. The mortgage on another was guaranteed by a larger group of committed islanders with more modest incomes. To hang onto the third parcel, a community association had to come up with $3,700 each month for three years just for interest on the mortgage.

There was non-stop fundraising, with dances, art auctions, bake sales, even a psychic fair where New Agers paid $10 for a tarot card reading. But bitter divisions emerged in the community, and its financial resources were stretched to the breaking point with no permanent solution in sight. One group proposed to subdivide a waterfront portion of Bodega Ridge and sell four pricey lots to pay for the rest. Others were horrified at the idea, but time was running out. One mortgage was held by a private lender who could foreclose at any time. As John Eisenhauer recalls, "They were like people in a boat, all rowing hard, but in different directions."

Eisenhauer knew that the B.C. government was willing to budget some money for preserving key pieces of habitat. He, personally, was also determined to prevent a housing subdivision from fragmenting this pristine natural area. Trust me, he asked the Galiano factions. Let the Conservancy inject outside money and sort out this complex situation. Islanders agreed.

The Conservancy took over payments on two mortgages. The province and federal government agreed to match it two dollars to one, leaving some $350,000 in private money to raise. There were direct-mail appeals for money and crises when the proposed deal almost fell apart. A crucial anonymous contribution came from a wealthy individual from Victoria. Deadlines came and were extended, while people on Galiano fretted. Finally, using interim financing, the Conservancy briefly took title to the entire ridge and signed it over to B.C. for stewardship as part of the Pacific Marine Heritage Legacy. Islanders sighed with relief, then threw a big bash.

Many Conservancy projects involve direct land donations. In one huge corporate gift, Shell Canada gave 8,944 hectares of prime wilderness in southeastern B.C. to create the Mount Broadwood Heritage Conservation Area. Its forests and grasslands provide winter range for an estimated 800 elk, 250 California bighorn sheep and 250 mule and white-tailed deer. With grizzly, black bear and cougar as well, it is one of the prime areas in Canada for large mammal diversity.

"Cynics," says John Eisenhauer, might see such a gift as Shell's way of "buttering up their corporate image, but in fact, we came to them." Shell's President and CEO, Jack MacLeod (since retired), had been speaking publicly about a "sustainable future," and this was a chance to back the talk with action. Appraised value of the land: $1.8 million.

Not all projects are in the megabuck range. In 1972 Eric and Doris Hopkins built the only house on remote Coyote Lake, 100 km southwest of Edmonton, Alberta. Situated in a transition zone between boreal forest and aspen parkland, it is a richly diverse but rapidly vanishing habitat. The Hopkinses, serious birders, have counted 154 species of birds there, including nine that are at risk. There are also five types of orchids and 22 species of mammals. In winter they watch coyotes cross the frozen lake. One time, they saw a newborn moose calf struggle to its feet, nuzzle its mother and take its first milk.

Eric, 86, and Doris, 72, long sought a way to preserve the land around the lake as wilderness. Failing elsewhere, they approached the Conservancy and offered to donate their house and 129 hectares (representing most of their life savings) if the two other properties on the lake could be secured. Alberta designated one--a piece of Crown land--as a natural area. The Conservancy needed $145,000 to buy the remaining privately owned land. Working the phone and through direct personal appeals, Conservancy volunteer Edgerton King, former president of Canadian Utilities Ltd., raised the bulk of the money in three months, half of it from a retired Edmonton businessman. The Hopkinses will live at Coyote Lake as long as they can. Then, they hope the property will become an outdoor education centre.

Some sizeable cash donations to the Conservancy are made for very personal reasons. Bill Menzel, a retired Toronto oil executive, was born into a family of forest wardens in Germany and always had a commitment to the environment. His wife, Oivi, shared his love and respect for nature. But she died of cancer at the age of 33. Menzel threw himself into his career, rising to a high position with Shell Canada, but never remarried.

With age, Menzel became contemplative. He was no multimillionaire, but had hefty savings and no children. Deciding to do something for conservation in Oivi's memory, he contacted John Eisenhauer and offered to help purchase a piece of endangered habitat. The Ontario Ministry of Natural Resources had identified some rare wetlands. One area, the West Plain Fen near Napanee, was wild and untouched with a little lake in the centre and only a trail in. Just two hours from Toronto, in choice cottage country, the watershed was full of frogs and snakes, deer and foxes. "But," says Menzel, "it could have been destroyed in one hour by a bulldozer putting a road through and draining the fen."

The owner of the key central parcel surrounding the lake wanted too much, so Eisenhauer waited him out. (The Conservancy never pays more than appraised market value.) When the recession of the early 1990s deepened, the owner became more realistic and a deal was struck.

To stretch Menzel's contribution (over $150,000), the Conservancy got the province, the Ontario Heritage Foundation and the Canadian Wildlife Service to contribute. "So for every dollar I put in, we got two dollars more," Menzel exults. Though much of the money was public, Bill Menzel praises how the Conservancy coordinated the entire effort. The government bureaucracy, he says, "is just not structured in a way to do these things."

Like many who give time, land or money to the Nature Conservancy, Menzel was motivated by a sense that time is running out to preserve our vanishing wild habitat. With Toronto's rapid growth, he says, this was "the last chance, to buy that piece of land and put it away. We could never do it again."

Tom Koppel
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