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When I returned from a trip to Alaska at the end of June 2024, it took weeks for the euphoric feeling of wildness to drain from my body. I live in the South Toe Valley of Yancey County, one of the most pristine river valleys in North Carolina, alongside the wildlands of the Black Mountains, but our thick forests and clean river suddenly felt miniscule and adulterated compared to the vastness and quality of Alaska’s wilderness. The Blacks harbor about 15,000 designated roadless acres (split between Balsam Cone and Bearwallow roadless tracts) but most of the entire state of Alaska is roadless. Imagine erasing 99% of the roads in the entire state of North Carolina; that’s what Alaska is like.
Alaska’s vast roadless nature has long served as a reservoir of American wildness. When the bald eagle was all but extirpated from the continental US, a thriving remnant Alaskan population helped repopulate the rest of the nation. In addition to saving the bald eagle from extinction, we can thank Alaska for preserving and protecting trumpeter swans and timber wolves. Closer to home, that reservoir theory can be applied to the relatively modest patches of wild forest of North America’s eastern seaboard. The Southern Appalachians are fortunate to have one large tract of wilderness (the Great Smoky Mts NP’s 400,000 acres of roadlessness) but more modest roadless pockets in places like the Black Mountains play an increasingly important role in the sheltering of native species. Many Eastern species were lost or endangered when the forests were largely cleared between one and two hundred years ago. The remaining tracts of forest and their unique inhabitants have largely recovered and spread over the past century, thanks to the natural communities that found harbor in those wild refuges.
Three months after returning from Alaska, my home in the mountains was hit by Hurricane Helene. Geologists have not determined the exact number of deadly landslides and debris flows that were instigated by roads, but experts in geomorphology who I’ve consulted say road scars on our mountains caused many, if not most, destructive landslides. When a road is constructed on a mountainous landscape such as ours, it changes the grade both above and below the roadbed, making those areas much more vulnerable to slope failure. These failures too often lead to deadly debris flows. When Helene came to this valley, we received a record-breaking 31” of rain in 48 hours. It was not a coincidence that not a single South Toe resident died in a debris flow. Several died in the paths of debris flows in the Cane River Valley – just on the other side of the Black Mountains where the USFS land is not protected under roadless statutes.
Lastly, I run an ecotour business which employs myself and several part-time employees, and is utterly dependent on the Balsam Cone roadless area. I am a fee-paying, permitted guide and outfitter in the Pisgah NF; its roadless areas and the clean tributaries protected by them are the most valuable assets of my business. Ecotourism is increasingly becoming an essential part of our WNC economy. I would urge you to preserve the 2001 Roadless Area Conservation Rule. Thanks for taking all this into consideration!