Breath of Wilderness

by Kristin Eggerling

  Sig Olson’s guiding philosophy was, “A man fights for the land he loves, and if he loves it enough he will never give up.” Sig never wavered from his beliefs, but he was practical, and he learned that in order to accomplish great things, sometimes you have to compromise. Before President Lyndon Johnson signed the Wilderness Act in 1964, creating the National Wilderness Preservation System, Sig had worked closely with US senator Hubert Humphrey from Minnesota to gain support for the landmark legislation. While the Wilderness Act was considered a major victory for conservationists, it did allow for practices like logging and motorized vehicle use in wilderness areas. Sig was unhappy with the compromise, but he and the other conservationists wanted the bill to pass and realized some concessions were necessary.

  When a fellow conservationist and former student, Bill Rom, questioned him about logging that was taking place in the Superior Roadless Area, Sig defended the US Forest Service, because he believed that the timber was diseased and that clear-cutting the tract was the best way to prevent a forest fire. He acknowledged that this solution wasn’t appealing in the short term, but he felt it was the best option for the future of the forest. (Later, his thinking on the matter evolved, and he stood firm against any clear-cutting.)

  Sig was well-known and loved throughout the United States, but life in a small town wasn’t always easy. People in northeastern Minnesota were angry that he wanted to place restrictions on the wilderness. They thought that they would lose their jobs and their way of life if they weren’t allowed to use the wild places as they had in the past. The townspeople felt that Sig had betrayed his community,

  and Sig and Elizabeth became two of the most unpopular residents of Ely. People crossed to the other side of the street to avoid them. Fellow parishioners moved away from them in church. Clerks refused to serve them at the grocery store. The mayor referred to him as a “far-fetched dreamer,” and others swore at Sig and Elizabeth and called them obscene names.

  Once Sig met a good friend and former student on the street. When he yelled, “Hello, Jack,” he was greeted with only a grunt. Neighbors scowled. Letters to the editor were printed in the local papers making false accusations about Sig’s work to preserve the environment. One accused him of being “a peddler of two-faced propaganda,” and another charged that he was in the fight only because as a wilderness guide he would benefit financially. One of his critics stated in reference to Sig, “One can question his motives in trying to segregate a large part of the recreational section of the country for the exclusive use of his customers.” To counter the attacks on his character, Sig sold his outfitting business in 1951.

  It was a lonely time for Sig and Elizabeth. Most of the other conservationists involved in the environmental movement lived outside the area, allowing them to escape the hostility, but Sig and Elizabeth lived in Ely, at the heart of the battle. They could not flee the fury directed at them. Those times were a harsh test of standing up for what they believed, and once again, they never backed down. Sig never fought back with rude or aggressive behavior. He remained calm even during intense arguments, because he understood where his neighbors were coming from, even though he didn’t agree with them. Sig told a fellow activist in a letter, “It is easy to carry on this sort of cold warfare when away from this town, but to live here and face it every minute is another matter. … I suppose anyone who espouses a cause as controversial as this must expect attack and defamation of character.”

  The worst example of the hostility came during a congressional hearing held in Ely in 1977 to consider a bill that would ban motors, logging, and mining in the Boundary Waters Canoe Area. That July morning, as Sig walked up to the school building where the hearing was being held, a stuffed dummy hung from one of the logging trucks parked in front. A lump swelled in Sig’s throat, and he inhaled deeply. The dummy, a likeness — an effigy — of Sig, had been hung there to scare him and the

  others who were fighting for the preservation of the wilderness.

  More than a thousand people crammed into the school for the emotionally charged hearing. When Sigurd stood to testify, the unruly, intimidating crowd jeered and booed him. Without flinching, he waited patiently to speak until the hecklers quieted down. “My name is Sig Olson, my home Ely, Minnesota,” he began. He reminded the audience that “if any of these battles to preserve the BWCA had been lost, there would be no wilderness to argue about today.” He also urged that “the time for action and immediate passage is now. I have crisscrossed the BWCA and its adjoining Quetico Provincial Park by canoe countless times since my early guiding days. This is the most beautiful lake country on the continent. We can afford to cherish and protect it. Some places should be preserved from development or exploitation for they satisfy a human need for solace, belonging, and perspective. In the end we turn to nature in a frenzied chaotic world, there to find silence — oneness — wholeness — spiritual release.” He turned around and returned to his seat.

  In 1978, the BWCA bill declaring the Boundary Waters Canoe Area a wilderness area passed and was signed into law by President Jimmy Carter. It was a huge victory for Sig and other conservationists.

  Sig Olson spent his whole life fighting for the wilderness, and he never felt like the battle was over. In 1981, US Department of the Interior secretary James Watt, who was serving under President Ronald Reagan, wanted to award him its highest civilian honor, the Conservation Service Award. Sig refused to accept the award because of his unhappiness with the Reagan administration’s track record on wilderness protection. He told a friend that Interior Secretary Watt was “doing his [best] to destroy the environment.”

  Just three years earlier, the town of Ely had honored Sig. Now they considered him a traitor. Area residents wanted the freedom to snowmobile, drive motorized boats, or sell the timber from the wilderness area. Because of his national stature, Sig received the brunt of their anger.

  Sigurd, left, at the BWCA hearing in Ely. Later he said, “I have been facing this same sort of opposition for the past fifty years.”

  Seven

  Listening Point

  For many years, Sig yearned to have a cabin in the wilderness. In 1955, when he was in his mid-fifties, he bought twenty-six acres of land near the shoreline of Burntside Lake, not far from Ely. Ancient green stones left on this land by a glacier ten thousand years earlier reminded him of the human connection to all things in the natural world, present and past. After searching the area around Ely, he bought an old log building, disassembled it, and moved it to his land. Sig and Elizabeth put much thought into the placement of the cabin. At first they planned to place it near the shoreline, but they realized that doing so would mar the view of the lake and shoreline for others. They built a stone foundation back in the trees

  Sig found inspiration for his writing at Listening Point. He wrote some of the chapters for his book Listening Point there and had planned to write more at his cabin, but he never did.

  and rebuilt the one-room cabin there to keep the lake view as natural as possible. They gathered stones on the property to build a fireplace and later built a sauna nearby.

  Sig and Elizabeth welcomed friends, family, and even Sig’s publisher, Alfred Knopf, and other conservation leaders to visit Listening Point.

  At the cabin, Sig and Elizabeth could escape all the stress of everyday life. One evening, they picked blueberries along the shore and then launched their canoe on the lake. As they paddled slowly along, Sig baited a hook and cast a line with his fishing pole. It wasn’t long before he felt a tug and reeled up a small bass. The setting sun cast a glow on the lake, and they floated in the tranquility. As he wrote in a letter to one of his fans, “All the fury and turmoil of the world outside seems so far away and almost unreal, all that counts is the fact we are here.”

  Sig loved sitting with his grandchildren in the steamy sauna at Listening Point. There he told them stories about how fawns got their spots. In between the stories, Sig hummed. When he and the children couldn’t stand the h
eat one moment more, they made a mad dash to the dock and then dove into the chilly water of Burntside Lake. Sig’s laughter rolled out across the bay. For breakfast they made blueberry pancakes and bacon. Afterward, Sig waited for his chipmunk friends to arrive, lured by the tantalizing aroma, so he could share the meal with them.

  Sig and Elizabeth’s daughter-in-law Vonnie described the cabin as a “listening post” for the wilderness and suggested they name it Listening Point. They loved the idea. As Sig said, “Everyone has a Listening Point somewhere.”

  Sig especially loved the silence and the sounds of nature at Listening Point. In his mind, he also heard the voices of friends and loved ones who had visited him there.

  Through the years, the existence of Listening Point became well-known. It wasn’t always the quiet spot Sig had envisioned, but he loved spending time there anyway. After he died, his ashes were scattered at Listening Point.

  Sometimes they were loud, other times like “soft whispers in the breeze.” While at Listening Point, he saw countless animals, including coyotes, rabbits, porcupines, mink, deer, and a diversity of birds. One late February morning, he arrived at Listening Point to discover the tracks of two bobcats. Thrilled by the opportunity to see these elusive cats, he abandoned his plans for the day and began to follow their tracks. He spent the next eight hours hiking through underbrush and swamps, over ridges, and along the shore as he traced their trail. Midafternoon, he sat on a rock and scanned the landscape in hopes of catching a glimpse of them. As the sun went down, he returned to the woodpile where he had first seen signs of their presence and listened intently for their yowls. Instead, he heard the hoot of an owl. Yet, he didn’t mind. Later he wrote that even the possibility

  The Listening Point Foundation owns and cares for Listening Point. Listening Point was named to the National Register of Historic Places in 2007.

  of hearing bobcats “meant much to me, for like all the music of the wilds, this had meaning, too.”

  Listening Point is a popular destination for Sigurd’s fans today. Inside the rustic one-room cabin, paddles decorate the walls, a canoe hangs from the rafters, and a coffeepot waits on a burner. Visitors can tour the lakeshore property on Burntside Lake near Ely with a guide to experience the sounds, trees, and rocks and see the cabin and sauna that Sig and Elizabeth built.

  Eight

  Passing the Torch

  Sig had a unique ability to connect with people of all ages. Even when he was consumed with the important work of preserving wilderness throughout North America, he always took the time to listen, ask lots of questions, and encourage others. And he never took himself too seriously.

  Sig had a special way of relating to others. He “planted hope in the hearts of young people.” Former Minnesota governor Elmer L. Andersen said, “Sig conveyed a religious fervor and a depth of conviction that no one else I know succeeded in generating. Others could win adherence. He produced disciples.” Governor Andersen meant that Sig inspired and motivated others to devote themselves to the wilderness cause like no one else had.

  He made silly faces and loved joking. He was calm and gentle, and his passion was infectious.

  One way Sig instilled the love of nature in others was by having fun in the wilderness. Once he guided some men from Chicago who complained constantly about the weather, the food, and even the land. Sig became frustrated, especially with one man who complained most. “How can they not love it here like I do?” he wondered.

  One afternoon he told the group that he would stay behind to make supper and encouraged them to take the canoes out without him. The complainer asked if Sig would dry his jeans over the fire while they were gone. When the men left, Sig took the buttons off the pants, hid the pants in his packsack, and put a piece of material in the fire along with the buttons. Then Sig lay down next to the fire. When the men returned, Sig sat up and rubbed his eyes, pretending he had fallen asleep and had accidentally let the jeans burn. The man saw the burned material and the buttons in the fire and yelled, “My pants! They’re all burned up!”

  Sig sheepishly offered to make the man some pants out of a scratchy old poncho. The man had no option but to wear the uncomfortable makeshift trousers for the rest of the journey. When they reached the end of the trip, Sig said, “Wait a minute. I think I’ve got your pants in my packsack,” and he took the jeans out and handed them over. He always laughed when he remembered the incident, recalling, “It was a sad farewell for him but his two pals laughed with me [that] day.”

  Sig knew that he wouldn’t be around forever to keep fighting to save the wilderness, yet he realized that the threats would continue. He expected younger generations to keep up the fight to preserve wild places like the Boundary Waters Canoe Area. He reminded them, “There is a need for constant

  vigilance if the area is to be preserved.” And in a reply to a young fan he wrote, “The continuance of the wilderness is in the hands of young [people]. … Long after I am gone there will be problems and new battles to win.”

  Later he wrote, “That is really our fight, to protect the wilderness canoe country for the youth of America and to keep it possible for them to enjoy a primitive experience. ... Where else in America can young people have so much healthful fun as out on a canoe trip?” Sig believed the Boundary Waters Canoe Area to be especially meaningful for children. He explained, “After seeing [the Boundary Waters], youth goes home truly conservation-minded, with a vision of green forests and pure water to work for the betterment of their own community.”

  Sig shared his love of the wilderness with his grandchildren. He had a special relationship with his grandson Derek, in part because of a common love of nature.

  One summer night, Sig slept under a pine tree in the wilderness with six-year-old Derek. They lay in sleeping bags near the flickering light of a campfire and gazed at the stars in the sky. Just as he had done years earlier with his sons, Sig wove playful tales of moose and bear and fish. Then he told Derek the story of the dream net. “Derek, above us is an ancient net. The night is full of dreams both good and bad. Can you see them?” Derek nodded and admitted, “I can feel them around me.” Sig reassured him, “Only the good dreams can get through that net,” and Derek closed his eyes and went to sleep. After the fire had grown dark and the stars shone bright, Sig woke Derek to point out the constellations, including Great Bear, Cassiopeia, and the Pleiades.

  Sig forged special relationships with other children too. Once he presented the daughter of a colleague, nine-year-old Jeannine, with his lucky rabbit’s foot that had accompanied him on all of his canoe trips. He gave her brother a figure of a knight, and told him that when he grew up he would need to be a knight in shining armor to help save the wilderness. Sig and Jeannine began a dedicated pen pal relationship that lasted until Sig’s death. They wrote many letters back and forth, sharing news of their recent trips into the wilderness or canoeing expeditions, and also their ideas, philosophy, and passion for nature.

  “Dear Jeannine,” Sig wrote, “I was delighted to get your letter telling me of your many adventures on your canoe trip all over the Quetico, which I know you love more than any other place in the world.” In another letter, he wrote, “Who knows? You might be a writer some day and a conservationist, too. ... Love to my future Voyageur.”

  Toward the end of Sigurd’s life, he was plagued by poor health. He battled cancer and shook constantly due to stress. But he still approached life with a sense of wonder, and his love for the wilderness never waned. He continued to write and spend time outdoors every day.

  One bitterly cold January morning, he worked for a while in his writing shack and later went snowshoeing with Elizabeth. Elizabeth turned back because of a problem with her snowshoes, and while she was gone, Sigurd suffered a heart attack. He died there in his snowshoes doing what he loved most, enjoying the outdoors.

  The day of the funeral his family discovered that he had left a note in his typewriter in his writing shack. It said:

  A New A
dventure is coming up

  and I’m sure it will be

  a good one.

  Visitors to Sigurd Olson’s writing shack can see this note, just as he left it.

  Afterword

  Sigurd Olson has been credited by many for saving the Boundary Waters Canoe Area. Without his constant vigilance, it is unlikely we would still have the virgin, untouched wilderness we know now. Today the BWCA includes over one million acres of land and is the most heavily used wilderness area in the United States, with more than 200,000 visitors a year. The largest wilderness area east of the Rocky Mountains and north of the Everglades, the BWCA provides a sanctuary for all kinds of wildlife, including black bears, timber wolves, moose, bald eagles, and numerous other bird species. It is the nation’s largest lakeland wilderness, where visitors travel primarily by canoe, unlike most wildernesses where hiking and horseback are the main means of travel.

  The BWCA is adjacent to Quetico Provincial Park in Canada. Quetico includes almost 1.2 million acres. Together the Quetico and BWCA cover about 2.3 million acres, an area slightly larger than Yellowstone National Park.

  Open to anyone, the BWCA offers complete isolation and a remote adventure where young or old can know the thrill of wilderness and the sacred heritage that has been preserved. Children who visit the BWCA canoe, swim, and explore. They experience physical challenges and learn to value silence and to leave no trace. They escape from the noise and busyness that often overwhelm their daily lives.

  Threats to the BWCA continue, such as hard-rock mining and the construction of cell phone towers. Sig was correct when he said that the fight to protect the wilderness will never end. Unfortunately, compromises that helped pass the Wilderness Act in 1964, such as allowing logging and motorized vehicle use, continue to cause conflict in the BWCA.