House in Columbia River Gorge Sparks Property Rights Battle

From the Oregon side of the Columbia River Gorge, the three-story house with the green roof emerges as a man-made break in the rugged regularity of evergreens and basalt cliffs.

Beverly Tolman, who takes weekly hikes across the river from the Skamania County, Wash., structure, admits she didn’t even notice the custom cedar cabin until it came up in the news. Now she wants it gone.

“If they let it stay, I’m afraid other people will get the same idea,” she said.

From this scenic viewpoint, Tolman stands firmly on one side of the debate that has raged over the “Gorge House”--the four-bedroom, 4,000-square-foot home being built by Jody and Brian Bea that has become a symbol in the property rights war.

The house went up under the noses of a commission charged with protecting the 85-mile Columbia River Gorge National Scenic Area. It was nearly complete before passers-by realized its high visibility put it in violation of federal law.

Now the Beas are left with an unfinished house, unable to complete it until state, county and federal officials can agree on whether to move it, tear it down or leave it be.

“It’s a travesty,” Brian Bea said. “All this bureaucracy. All this waiting and red tape. And we’re left hanging.”

It was supposed to be their dream home, built on the historic patch of land that Bea’s grandfather homesteaded. The young couple planned to finish construction in time to spend their baby’s first Christmas in front of the impressive bay windows and stunning vistas.

At first, the process seemed to go smoothly. Skamania County approved their plans in 1997 after months of review, tacking on 33 conditions to ensure the house wouldn’t violate the national act. The gorge commission reviewed the application, the county issued a permit and the Beas started building on the 20-acre parcel.

But last July, about the time the cedar siding went up and filled in the frame, the house suddenly stood out and became visible from Multnomah Falls, one of the state’s most popular tourist destinations. People complained. The commission ordered work stopped until the matter could be sorted out.

Four months later, the commission voted that the house was in direct violation of the scenic act. A final decision is expected later this month.

Although commissioners haven’t ruled on a specific solution, they’ve said they prefer moving the house to a less visible location on the property--a remedy one member called “the least-worst of a lot of terrible solutions.”

Hoping to sweeten the pot for the Beas, the Friends of the Columbia Gorge, a watchdog group, offered to cover the $35,000 to $45,000 cost of the move under a settlement offered late last year.

The Beas won’t bite.

“Until the highest judge in the land is holding my permit in his hand and tells the American people it’s no good, then I’m not moving anything,” Bea said.

Commissioners put most of the blame for the predicament on Skamania County and Bea, saying he disregarded the planning department’s conditions concerning visibility and the county didn’t enforce them.

The county, although acknowledging that enforcement was lax, criticizes the commission’s attempt to reverse a land-use decision made 18 months earlier.

“Does this gorge commission have some kind of super-authority to appeal any decision at any time?” asked Planning Director Harpreet Sandhu. “This puts all our decisions in the scenic area at risk. What’s the difference between this and a decision that’s 5 years old?”

Bea doesn’t know who to blame, only that he holds a building permit giving him permission for a house with a day basement and a loft.

“The biggest tragedy is the fact that you own the property, you pay the taxes on it, yet you have no control over what you can do with that property,” Bea said. “It looks like the only place we have to go is to court.”

As the finger-pointing continues, conservationists and experts on the gorge act agree: If the federal protection is to have any teeth, the house can’t stand as it is.

Designed to protect one of the most scenic stretches in the Northwest, the act was widely considered a compromise when it was enacted in 1986. Because the gorge was already populated, it was seen as a way to control development and preserve the scenery--all while trying to appease six counties, two states and more than 50,000 residents.

The Bea house as it stands could set a dangerous precedent, said Carl Abbott, a Portland State University professor who co-wrote a book about the landmark act.

“It would really send a message to the people who have been trying to comply that they’ve been wasting their time,” he said.

The house has become a rallying cry in the debate over public versus private property rights, with conservationists calling the case one of preservation and property rights advocates calling it another example of overreaching government.

It has also emerged as an issue in the Oregon and Washington legislatures, where members have been squaring off over future funding of the commission. The two states split the cost of the 12-person panel and support staff.

Bea, who estimates his own losses could top $300,000, said he resents being stuck in the middle of the political battle.

“I ended up being the poster child for both groups,” he said. “Eventually it had to come to this. I just wish it didn’t have to be us.”

Any legal action is on hold until the commission issues its final order Jan. 25--a decision the county has threatened to appeal.

The house, meanwhile, will likely remain where it is for months--unfinished, unoccupied and in full view of people like Tolman, who continue to wonder how it could have happened.

“It was too bad Skamania County and the commission didn’t get together before those people put the house up,” Tolman said. “They need to clear up the regulations and make sure this doesn’t happen again.”