The Tortoise Wins in Utah Preserve

Unlike the senior citizens swarming to this booming retirement town, the desert tortoise is declining in numbers --enough to be placed on the federal endangered species list.

That could have been bad news for one of the fastest-growing areas in the West, where new homes pop up almost daily on the red rock mesas where the threatened tortoises live. Instead, St. George, in Utah’s southwestern corner, has become a model for finding the middle ground between development and wildlife.

“A lot of the old molds don’t work,” said Bill Mader, the administrator of the Red Cliffs Desert Reserve, a 61,000-acre swath of protected tortoise habitat just north of town. “We just wanted to come up with a formula that made things implementable and benefited wildlife and people on the ground, not just a paper document that would sit on a shelf and be forgotten.”

Red Cliffs was created under a federal habitat conservation plan designed soon after the tortoise was listed as endangered in 1989.

There are dozens of similar plans nationwide protecting as many different species. But Washington County’s is considered one of the success stories.

The plan swapped chunks of private, state and federal land to create an undeveloped stretch of desert for kit foxes, Gila monsters and the Mojave desert tortoise, which lives in California, Nevada and southwest Utah.

In exchange, property owners on about 21,000 acres outside the reserve boundary were allowed to develop their land without fear of federal reprisal for “taking” an endangered species--that is, harming a tortoise or destroying its habitat.

Today, million-dollar homes are under construction along the edge of the reserve, while hikers, bikers and horseback riders use its trails to escape into the desert. And while some residents resent Red Cliffs, especially those who once held property within its borders, much of the community has come to embrace it.

“I think people are beginning to see the tortoise not really as a threat but are seeing the preserve as open space, as a connection to the past and what this area used to look like,” said Ann McLucky, a state biologist charged with monitoring the reserve’s tortoises.

Things were far more contentious when the habitat conservation plan process began in 1990.

“At that time, there had only been two successful HCPs in the entire nation,” said then-county commissioner Scott Hirschi, who played an active role in designing the plan. “So it was a pioneering effort.”

Some residents wanted to leave tortoise protection to the federal government. Others insisted the Endangered Species Act itself was unconstitutional and unenforceable. Still others argued that the tortoises were not endangered--or even not native.

Indeed, in the 1960s the slow-moving critters were so common that gas stations on the road to Las Vegas gave one away free with each tank of gas. In those days, St. George’s human population hovered around 5,000.

Now it’s 10 times that, with much of the growth coming in the last decade from retirees and out-of-staters drawn to the area’s 310 days of sunshine and proximity to Zion National Park. The 2000 Census shows Washington County grew 86% in the 1990s to 90,354 residents.

While the region boomed, adobe-style subdivisions sprang up, rising onto the cliffs beyond and dwarfing the Mormon temple that is the city’s major landmark. Outlet stores arrived, golf courses were built, and the arid land some families had owned for more than a century suddenly became valuable.

To make the tortoise plan work, the Bureau of Land Management bought or swapped for about 6,700 acres at a value of about $52 million, including $15 million in cash. There are deals pending with about 10 other property owners.

One notable holdout remains. James Doyle, who owns a 1,500-acre parcel, says his land would be worth at least $37 million based on its value if it could be fully developed. The BLM says the tortoises’ presence has decreased the land’s value and won’t pay that much.

A bill that has passed the House of Representatives would give Doyle a $15-million down payment if approved by the Senate, and would give the BLM 90 days to settle the matter or send it to a federal judge.

“It’s all but destroyed his life financially,” said Doyle’s attorney, Tim Anderson. “Imagine moving into a major development project, spending millions of dollars to get it planned and ready and then have the government throw a fence around it, place it off-limits and then say you can’t develop it.”

While Doyle fights for his property inside the reserve, much of the land outside Red Cliffs has increased in value.

“When you know that no one’s going to be building behind you and you have an incredible view, that definitely makes a difference as to how much your land is worth,” said Mary Griffith of S&S; Homes, which owns the Paradise Canyon development on the reserve boundary. Homes there, which tout access to hiking and biking trails, sell for an average of $200,000 apiece--$75,000 more than the subdivision across the street.

“The turtle preserve was part of why we bought here,” said William Hall, a resident of the nearby Kachina Springs development, where homes that back up to the cliffs cost $500,000 and up. “We like the open space, and it was important to us that we not have a lot of people living nearby.”

That’s important to the tortoises, too. Humans bring not just habitat destruction but also ruthless predators: cars, off-road vehicles, dogs and even children threaten the slow-moving creatures, which usually don’t begin breeding until they’re 25 years old.

An adult tortoise can live to be 100 years old if it manages to stay off the highway. Foot-high fences around the edge of the preserve have helped, biologists say, and even a casual hiker can spot a foot-long tortoise on the red desert sand.

But the reserve has protected more than just the tortoises.

“What we’re saving is an entire assemblage of species. We’re saving open space for humans,” said Ted Owens, a wildlife biologist for the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service in Salt Lake City.