Riches extend tribe's reach
Casino profits help fight development of ancestral land

January 16, 2005
Section: MAIN NEWS
Page: A1


By   Mary Lynne Vellinga

Bee Staff Writer

--Jessica Tavares recalls with awe her visit to Clover Valley in Rocklin, an oak-studded glen that holds the detritus of at least 4,000 years of American Indian life.

"I've never been anyplace like that," said the 55-year-old chairwoman of the United Auburn Indian Community. "It was like finding Moses' ark (of the covenant)."

Until recently, Tavares hadn't even heard of the years-long fight over planned development of the northern portion of Clover Valley, a stretch of forests and wetlands largely hidden amid Rocklin's tract homes.

Now, armed with riches from its new casino outside Lincoln, Tavares' tribe has emerged as a powerful player in the effort to stop the valley from becoming the backdrop for hundreds of upscale houses.

The tribe recently pledged $40,000 to the Clover Valley Foundation, a group of environmentalists and residents working to prevent development on the 622-acre property. In addition, the tribe's public relations consultant will help the volunteer foundation with its outreach campaign.

"It's kind of a dream come true," foundation board member Elaine O'Deegan said of the tribe's contribution, the largest the foundation has received.

Because the developer does not allow public access to Clover Valley (the dirt road leading in is plastered with "No Trespassing" signs), residents know little about why it's worth saving, she said. The money from the tribe will be used to conduct a public outreach campaign.

Clover Valley is part of a swath of territory once occupied by the Nisenan, a branch of the Maidu people. Tavares' Auburn tribe, made up of a combination of Maidu and Miwok members, traces its roots in part to the Nisenan.

Clover Valley encompasses 33 Indian dwellings, work areas and burial sites, a number of them dating from 2000 B.C., according to a consultant's report commissioned by the property owners.

These include four burial sites, mortar rocks where Indians used pestles to grind acorns, and artifacts such as tools and arrowheads and spearheads.

"We want it preserved in its natural state," Tavares said. "How would you guys feel if we paved over your cemeteries? These are our ancestors."

If need be, Tavares said, the Auburn tribe would consider buying the land, on which 689 houses are planned.

The tribe's involvement in the fight over Clover Valley is the latest example of growing cooperation between tribes and environmental groups. Tribes seeking to build casinos and accompanying hotels often encounter their own opposition from environmentalists, but there are times when the interests of the two groups converge.

Near Mount Shasta, environmental groups and Indian tribes sued to block construction of a geothermal energy facility in the Medicine Lake caldera. And in the Klamath region, tribes and environmentalists are pushing to remove dams on the Trinity River with the goal of restoring historic salmon runs.

In Southern California, the Pala Band of Mission Indians is fighting a landfill slated for construction at the foot of Gregory Mountain, a place the tribe considers sacred.

Terry Davis, coordinator of the Sierra Club Motherlode Chapter, said he believes the state will see more such pairings in the future.

"I see a natural alliance happening between environmental groups and Indian tribes because they have a built-in cultural respect for the land, a respect for archaeological sites and an appreciation of wildlife," Davis said.

The owners of Clover Valley have a different perspective. They are frustrated by the tribe's sudden decision to get involved, given that the project has been years in the planning, with three years devoted just to completing a plan for preserving Indian artifacts. Developers Marvin "Buzz" Oates and Rick Massie expect to win final approvals early next year.

Their representatives note that the tribe has development plans of its own. It bought 1,100 wooded acres near Camp Far West Lake, outside Lincoln, for tribal homes. Long-term plans also call for a hotel and conference center next to its Thunder Valley Casino on Highway 65.

Project manager Gerry Kamilos said he consulted extensively with a member of the Auburn tribe, Sam Starkey, who was registered with the state as the tribe's representative on such issues.

"It's a little frustrating that they have chosen this project to be a target, because I think we've done everything a responsible developer would do," Kamilos said.

Tribal chairwoman Tavares said Starkey was not authorized to sign off on the mitigation plan for Clover Valley because he was not an elected member of the tribal council. She said the council wasn't informed of what was happening. "It was almost too late when we found out," she said.

Kamilos said the developers have done everything they can to preserve the Indian sites while maintaining a viable project. The development plan shows meandering homesites on the valley floor and ridges, designed to spare tribal sites and 22,000 of the valley's 28,600 oak trees.

No burial mounds are being dug up or paved over, he said. A handful of sites he described as less than significant will be incorporated into home lots. One deposit of artifacts will have to be partially excavated to accommodate a road.

"We have moved roads; we've eliminated lots," Kamilos said. "We went from 974 lots originally down to 689 lots. We're providing 320 acres of open space."

He deemed the tribe's opposition "perplexing."

That the Auburn band can even contemplate buying such an expensive piece of real estate is a stunning indication of how much life has changed since its Thunder Valley casino opened in 2003. Before the casino, much of the tribe lived in dire poverty on a parched rancheria outside Auburn.

While the tribe won't release financial records, data filed with the federal government suggest the casino turned a $300 million profit in its first year, making it one of the most lucrative gambling spots in the country.

Buying Clover Valley would put a significant dent in the tribe's budget, even so. In today's heated real estate market, Clover Valley could fetch anywhere from $70 million to well over $100 million if sold to home builders.

Clover Valley already is well along in the development approval process, which makes the land more valuable. The city of Rocklin annexed it in 1998, and at the same time approved a development agreement. The only significant obstacle left is completion and city approval of an environmental review and mitigation plan.

David Zweig, the tribe's environmental consultant, said purchasing the valley would be a "last resort." But the tribe hasn't ruled it out.

"Now that the tribe has the resources, preserving cultural sites is at the top of their agenda," said Gregory Baker, administrator for the Auburn tribe. "There's been a lot of abuse by developers in the past."

It's common for developers working in the Central Valley and Sierra foothills to stumble upon evidence of Indian habitation. Rob Jackson, an archaeologist unconnected to the Clover Valley project, said 5,000-year-old sites are "by no means rare."

State and federal laws require that sites be identified and steps be taken to protect them. Usually the matter is dealt with quietly, because nobody wants potential vandals to know where artifacts and bodies are buried.

Archaeological sites have been incorporated into the golf course in Twelve Bridges, a burgeoning development just north of Clover Valley in Lincoln, said Melinda Peak, an archaeologist hired by the developer.

"You don't even know you're walking by them," Peak said. "It's passive protection."

While Zweig said Clover Valley is one of the most significant remaining Indian sites in the country, Peak described it as run-of-the-mill.

"These sites are comparable to what was found at Twelve Bridges, they're comparable to what was found at Whitney Oaks, they're comparable to all the sites that had a little bit of water and that people could occupy," Peak said.

Yet tribal representatives say the very fact that Clover Valley remains an untrammeled vestige of an Indian village in the midst of suburbia makes it worth saving, regardless of how such places were treated in the past.

"There's very little left," Tavares said.

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The Bee's Mary Lynne Vellinga can be reached at (916) 321-1094 or mlvellinga@sacbee.com.

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