May 9, 2007: Joy and free beer
The buzz began at sunrise. Flurries of e-mails and whispers fluttering up and down main street — rumor was, that Telluride had done it. The town had raised the $50 million it needed to buy the Valley Floor.

 All winter, Telluride had been in the throes of a feverish, town-wide push to come up with $50 million, the court-ordered price Telluride needed to acquire the Valley Floor through eminent domain. The town had been chasing the three-mile spread of land for years, and no matter whether you thought it was a foolish or noble pursuit, by last spring, it was nearly the only topic on people’s minds. The town anted up $26 million in public money and asked private donors to give the rest.

Fundraising surged during the winter, but during the bottoms of off-season, it seemed like the needle had stalled, and people began to wonder whether all the effort and court fights and lawyers’ bills had been for naught.

And then came that buzz on a warm May morning. There would be a “major announcement” in Elks Park that afternoon. A keg was being rolled out, and speakers set up. By the time then-Mayor John Pryor stood up before a crowd of whooping Telluriders and dancing cows, everyone knew what he was going to announce:
“We have fought the good fight, we have prevailed,” he exalted. Whoops and cheers followed.

May 23: Dropping the rope
For six years, the Valley Floor was close enough to touch but entirely out of reach. Once, people had hiked and biked and explored the privately owned land, but when it became apparent that Telluride would go ahead with plans to take the property, landowner Neal Blue clamped down.

No trespassing. Violators would be prosecuted. There were some clandestine hikes out there, and some acts of civil disobedience, but for the most part, the land remained untouched by everyone except cows and elk.

And then the gates were flung open. With the $50 million deposited in the bank, a district judge gave Telluriders permission to once again set foot on the 572-acre Valley Floor — the right to “limited possession and use.” The town hadn’t won its court battle to take the land, but people could enjoy the meadows and streams in the meantime, as the case wended its way through the legal system.

“It’s exciting,” said Kevin Geiger, the town attorney. “It’s a nice, significant development for the people of the town.”

The town and San Miguel Valley Corporation — the company which owns the property — more or less reached a détente that allowed various uses. Yes to bikers, hikers, kayakers and rafters. Yes to cross-country skiers and balloonists. No to dogs, four-wheelers, campers or snowmobilers.
And after six years, the No Trespassing signs came down.

June: Work to do
As some people euphemistically put it, the Valley Floor was getting loved too much. But really, it was getting pretty mucked up. Mountain bikers were slogging through wetlands when the old bike trail petered out. Dogs were running around.

The town took steps to tend the land. Signs were bought and hung on fences, telling people exactly what they could and couldn’t do on the property (hint: NO DOGS!!). The Bear Creek ranger started walking the land to patrol trails. Small wooden bridges were built, and bikers were detoured around sensitive marshy areas.

It was all part of Telluride’s interim use plan for the land. The estimated cost of cleaning up and refurbishing the land — which is littered with mine tailings — runs from $10 million to $15 million. The town couldn’t even consider those outlays unless it won the court case. But town officials wanted to show that, in the meanwhile, they could care for the land.

“We’re just kind of keeping an eye on it and trying to be good stewards,” then-councilwoman Roberta Peterson said at the time.

July: Choosing a partner
The Telluride Town Council, during a work session, made it clear that they’d be entrusting the San Miguel Conservation Foundation to put a conservation easement on the Valley Floor, preserving it forever. The Foundation also has easements in Bear Creek Preserve.

August: An opening salvo
Even after Telluride raised its $50 million, the San Miguel Valley Corporation had no intention of going quietly into that good night.

The town was still rushing to fundraise when SMVC filed its notice to appeal the case to the Colorado Supreme Court in late March. The landowners insisted that Telluride had no right to pursue the land using eminent domain, and said that a 2004 state law would prove them right.

In mid-August, lawyers for SMVC filed a 40-page appeal to the state’s highest court outlining their arguments. The heart of their argument was this: The state legislature had passed a law that prohibited towns from condemning land outside their borders for open-space uses, which essentially outlawed Telluride’s pursuit of the Valley Floor.
A lower-court judge had already declared the law in question — the 2004 Telluride Amendment — to be unconstitutional. But SMVC said the judge had erred, and they asked the Supreme Court to overturn his decision and keep the Valley Floor in Neal Blue’s hands.

September: Taking action
The town moves ahead with an Action Plan for the Valley Floor. The plan is a voluminous To-Do list, outlining the timeline for studies, planning, public comment that would be involved in taking ownership of the land. It would need aerial photos, environmental studies, management plans and a conservation easement.

October: Telluride fires back
The court battle raged on.

After digesting and processing SMVC’s legal brief to the Colorado Supreme Court, Telluride offered its own — a spirited and vigorous defense of its right to use eminent domain to take the Valley Floor. Telluride argued that the 2004 Telluride Amendment was unconstitutional, and that by weighing in on the question of Telluride’s eminent domain powers, the state legislature had passed an illegal law.

“The state has no legal right (much less an interest) to dictate to home rule municipalities what property may or may not be condemned, and for what purpose,” Telluride’s lawyers said in their 9,400-word brief.

In other words: Butt out.

The appeal would focus on myriad constitutional questions and property cases dating back to the dawn of the 20th century, but two of the most important questions will be these:

Does Article XX of the state Constitution give Telluride the power to condemn lands for open-space uses, even though it never mentions the words “open space,” “parks,” or “recreation”?

Does a state law have the power to limit Telluride’s eminent-domain authority?

Jan. 22, 2008: Facing off
It all came down to this courtroom, these arguments, these seven justices. A curtain parted, and the seven members of Colorado’s high court entered their Denver courtroom, and heard an hour of oral arguments over who should own the Valley Floor — Telluride or the San Miguel Valley Corporation.

Dozens of people from Telluride and Denver packed the courtroom to watch the morning arguments. Court officials set out extra chairs to accommodate the crowds, and lawyers for each side spoke to the significance of the case.

“In 100 years of case law, the precise issue of this case has never been decided,” said Darrell Waas, the lead attorney for Neal Blue’s San Miguel Valley Corporation.

By the end of the hour-long arguments, town officials and observers were confident in Telluride’s chances. One justice had said that Telluride seemed to have the constitutional power to take the Valley Floor using eminent domain. Another said that a key constitutional argument by Blue’s side seemed to clash with the court’s past rulings.

Today: The waiting
More than three months have passed since that winter day, and hundreds of people from Denver to Telluride are now waiting, watching the Supreme Court for a glimpse of white smoke from the chimney. When will a decision come? Who will prevail? As Dumas said, wait and hope. No matter which side you’re on, that’s all you can do now.

Wait, and hope.