Battle for the North
Power line will scar area and ruin their lives, residents say
(Second of two parts)
By Rob Zaleski - The Capitol Times
December 20, 1999
LADYSMITH -- Silhouetted against a turquoise November sky, the pine and white birch forests of
Rusk County seem unusually serene -- and vulnerable -- as the leaders of the grass-roots
organization Save Our Unique Lands (SOUL) gather for a meeting at the Nielsen farm, some 15
miles north of Ladysmith.
Their passions bolstered by several pots of fresh-brewed coffee, each has a story to share about
how the proposed 250-mile "Power Up Wisconsin'' transmission line from Duluth, Minn., to Wausau
would threaten not only the woods and rivers of northern Wisconsin, but their own personal lives as
well.
Besides Eric Nielsen, 45, and his wife Geneva, 43, there is Mary Zimmerman, a retired 51-year-old
chiropractor from Westboro who contends that the utilities have vastly understated the hazards of
stray voltage and electromagnetic fields.
And there's Roger Steffen, 65, a retired electrical engineer who invested his life savings in a 480-acre
wooded paradise near Hawkins and now fears it will be forever tarnished.
There are also Sandy Lyon, 50, Springbrook, a mother of three and longtime critic of the Crandon
mine; Linda Ceylor, 45, a farmer and postal worker who's spent dozens of hours researching the
Power Up Wisconsin project and seems as well versed on the issue as any utility exec; and Robert
Ringstad, 67, a retired Ladysmith construction worker who owns property on the Chippewa River
and recently learned that it would be virtually worth peanuts if the line goes through as planned.
Ringstad says that when he questioned Wisconsin Public Service Corp. officials about the matter at
several public meetings the utility conducted last fall, they never gave him a straight answer. Now he's
ready for war.
"I mean, what the hell is going on here?'' he growls, angrily tugging on his gray baseball cap. "This is
the most unbelievable thing I have ever seen. This has got to stop. That property is my retirement!''
Staying put: The Nielsens, of course, also have a story to tell. Eric's great-grandfather, an immigrant
from Denmark, purchased this land from a lumber company.
Today, Eric owns 120 acres, though the farm itself is now run by his 26-year-old son, Doug. His
brother, Phil, 57, owns an adjacent 460 acres.
Not surprisingly, the Nielsens have no interest in living elsewhere. Nor are they interested in living on
land that has a monstrous 345-kilovolt power line slicing through it.
Fallout: Like others directly affected by the line -- the utilities estimate the number at 1,100, while
SOUL says it's closer to 9,000 -- they've been checking out their options.
"We had an insurance agent and a banker sit here yesterday and tell us that insurance companies will
walk away if people here start to experience problems because of stray voltage, electrical fires,
children getting sick,'' says Geneva Nielsen, her voice cracking. "They will walk away. They will not
insure us!''
The Nielsens -- who have six kids from previous marriages -- have been together three years.
"And the reason I got involved (in SOUL) is because I love this man,'' Geneva says, wrapping an
arm around her husband. "That's the bottom line. He holds the ancestry of his entire family in his
hands here.
"This power line has the potential to financially devastate us. We can lose our farm for many reasons
if this line comes across the property. And if that happens, they'll take a part of him I'll never get
back. I am not willing to sacrifice that -- not for something that there are viable alternatives to.''
And please, she adds, don't suggest this just another example of NIMBYism (Not in My Back
Yard).
"Urban people don't realize, when a power line goes up four blocks from them, it may be noisy and
ugly, but they get in their car and they go to their job and it doesn't change their lifestyle,'' she says.
"This will completely change the way we operate our businesses.''
Growing opposition: It's not just those directly in the line's path who believe Power Up Wisconsin is
a horrible idea.
Chippewa Valley Bank has donated $2,500 to SOUL's cause. Some business leaders are worried
about the possible effects on tourism. And environmentalists like Mark Stremer, a Sierra Club
member who teaches at Marathon High School, say the line will only encourage Manitoba Hydro in
Canada -- which will produce much of the electricity for the line -- to build more dams and power
plants.
Over the last two decades, that utility's dams have flooded thousands of acres owned by the Cree
Nation and, in the process, caused extraordinary hardship for the tribe, Stremer says.
Steve Hiniker, executive director of the Madison-based Citizens' Utility Board, says he has visited
with SOUL members and feels for every one of them.
What's more, they do raise some valid points, he says. Some of the line's electricity undoubtedly will
go to Chicago. The question is, how much? Also, while he's not an expert on stray voltage and
electromagnetic fields, Hiniker says there's enough evidence to suggest that people who live near
345-kilovolt transmission lines have reason to be concerned.
That's putting it mildly, says Ed Garvey, the Madison attorney representing SOUL. He notes that
farmers have been warned not to pour gasoline while standing in the vicinity of such lines. And that
people with pacemakers also should keep their distance.
"I can almost see the highway signs now,'' Garvey says. "Not `Look out for deer,' but `Those with
pacemakers stop here.' They'll have a big pacemaker with a line through it.''
Whatever the case, Hiniker says there's no denying that Wisconsin has a serious energy reliability
problem at the moment -- although the picture will dramatically improve in the next few years.
CUB, he says, has just begun to review the 4,000-page application that the utilities filed with the
state Public Service Commission last month and probably won't be taking a position on the line for
some time.
But in his mind, there are two critical questions, Hiniker says: "If we need the line to bring in more
electricity to southeastern Wisconsin, will this line do it? And, two, is there a better alternative?''
Alternative solutions, he says, "could be anything from the distributed generation idea of fuel cells and
micro-turbines all the way up to some properly situated, traditional power plants in southeastern
Wisconsin. Or perhaps a mix of some larger generation, a lot of smaller generation and things like
energy conservation.''
Not so fast: In any event, Hiniker says the utilities' goal of having the Public Service Commission rule
on the project by next fall and then having the line operating by 2002 seems extremely optimistic.
Why? Because, even if they get their way, the utilities "are going to have to do a lot of property
acquisitions,'' he says. "And you can't restrict the right of the people to go to court to defend their
rights. So I think it's going to be tied up in the courts for years.''
Moreover, "given the amount of time it will take to construct a line like this, we ought to be looking
very, very seriously at alternatives that could meet our needs a lot sooner.''
Garvey, for his part, finds the utilities' time frame not only highly optimistic, but outlandish.
"What is the rush to put this scar right through the heart of Wisconsin?'' he asks. "I mean, criminy,
these 125-foot-high towers will be similar to a four-lane highway. And once this line is there, it's
there.''
Airing grievances: Tom Kreager, SOUL's president, says that before the process is completed, he
and other SOUL members hope to meet personally with Gov. Tommy Thompson.
Actually, several group members confronted the governor during a Highway 29 ribbon-cutting
ceremony in Wittenberg last July, and Thompson indicated he would be willing to meet with the
group at a future date, Kreager says.
"And we're going to take him up on that.''
To Garvey, the entire issue can be summed up rather simply.
"I think much of it, quite honestly, is the land ethic thing. There's a sense that this is just a corporate
decision to make a hell of a lot of money and the environmental consequences be damned.''
However one defines it, Lyon, the longtime Crandon mine foe, says people in the rest of the state
should realize that the members of SOUL not only aren't going to back off, they're symbolically
drawing a line in the sand.
"To destroy all these farms in northern Wisconsin for the sake of keeping the lights and the air
conditioners on in Milwaukee and Chicago? No!'' she exclaims.
Would somebody please explain, she asks, "how our lives are less valuable?''
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