In 1961,
when George Cofer and his friends from West Lake Hills entered the halls
of what was then O. Henry Junior High on West 10th Street, they ran
smack into an Austin version of culture shock.
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| Photo by Laura Skelding |
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“West Lake
primarily was known for bootleggers, stonemasons and cedar-choppers,”
Cofer, 64, drawls with amusement about the rap on his hometown, then
considered on the “wrong” side of the river.
“Those were not derogatory
terms at the time to us. The Tarrytown girls labeled us hicks. They’d
been to cotillions and coming-out parties. We’d been out hunting and
fishing.”
Although Cofer became one of the most recognizable
players on Austin’s environmental scene, the head of the Hill Country
Conservancy never abandoned his elemental zeal for the out of doors. He
stayed active in Scouting, swam competitively and water-skied with his
wide circle of friends. He fought to save Barton Springs and camped out
at Edenic spots, such as Storm Ranch in Hays County, open space that the
Conservancy later helped to preserve.
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| Photo by Laura Skelding |
“George found his ‘niche’
in the fight to protect Barton Springs,” says Mary Arnold, godmother to
Austin’s green movement. “We and future generations will
benefit
from his dedication, his energy, his way of educating others to the
value of conserving the land, and his determination to find resources to
accomplish the conservancy’s goals.”
Cofer has led the charge to
snap up conservation easements in the Hill Country, allowing some
private projects, thereby securing legal protection for other open space
in perpetuity.
Soon, his group will help break ground on Phase 2
of a grand project — the 30-mile Violet Crown Trail that will link the
parks and greenbelts in Austin’s urban core toward a spine of Hill
Country that arcs across the Barton Springs recharge zone.
“What open space the community is able to preserve in the
next
25 years is probably the only land that will be forever in a natural or
green state,” he says. “As we say at the conservancy, when it’s gone,
it’s gone for good. When the conservancy preserves the land, it’s here
forever.”
Texan through and through
Few
Central Texans come to a love of this land — and an understanding of how
power works — with family credentials as sterling as Cofer’s.“We don’t talk about it,” says the sixth-generation Texan. “But we are very glad we have those deep roots.”
On his father’s side, Cofer is descended from Texas
lawyers,
judges and elected officials. His father,
Texas land commissioner among her relatives. A
school nutritionist, Chapman also served as an executive assistant for a state legislator.
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| Photo by Laura Skelding |
Hume Cofer, served as state
district judge. His mother, Carolyn FitzGerald Chapman, counts ranchers,
aldermen and at least one
Cofer’s
parents divorced when he was 15 and both remarried. He remains close
with siblings and step-siblings. One brother, Bill Cofer, runs the
ancestral ranch on the Frio River.
“We were riding horses at the
ranch since we were babies,” Cofer says. “My grandmother’s preference
was that we stop in San Antonio at the Menger Hotel. When she grew up
going to the ranch it was a two-day trip. She never got quite used to
driving straight through.”
His step-dad, deceased banker Neal Dow
Chapman, was quite the fisherman, friend of famed Central Texans Conrad
Fath and Russell Lee, and he served as Cofer’s Explorer troop
scoutmaster.
“Our vacations were really fun camping trips to
places like Mexico or Port Aransas,” Cofer fondly recalls. “We used to
camp for a week at Hamilton Pool — right by the pool!”
Cofer swam
freestyle sprints for the Austin Aquatic Club and later the University
of Texas. His Scouting career peaked with the 1960 National Jamboree in
Colorado Springs, Colo., and an enviable trip to Philmont Scout Ranch in
New Mexico.
Did he inherit this propensity for the natural world?
“I’ve
always been interested in how much is social and how much hard-wired,”
Cofer says. “I must have some genetic affinity for the great outdoors,
but I think Scouting and ranching contributed to that life.”
Winding paths to maturity
In
seventh and ninth grades, at least when the legislature was in session,
Cofer didn’t go to school at all. He worked instead as a Senate page or
a House clerk at the Capitol.
Later, he and his brother ran a Lake Austin beer joint called the Pier.
“I’d
go to UT in the morning, the Capitol in the afternoon, the Pier at
night,” he says. “We were lake rats, living in a shack on the lake.”
Throughout
his youth, Cofer was social and something of a ne’er-do-well. Among his
high school friends were future power broker Ed Wendler Jr., Salt Lick
owner Scott Roberts and golf course designer Roy Bechtol. His “running,
trouble-making buddies” were Roy Duckworth, Robert Furlow and Kristy
Billy.
“Yes, Billy was his last name,” Cofer says. “His dad owned
several beer joints — Pink Flamingo and Bamboo Hut — we had fun in those
places as well.”
Somewhat tongue-in-cheek, Cofer says he chose
University of California-Santa Barbara for his pre-UT semesters because
Playboy rated the No. 1 party school in America. While studying
aerospace engineering — he wanted to be an astronaut — he also got in
plenty of surfing.
In an almost inevitable rite of passage for the 1960s, he followed his sister up to Haight-Ashbury in San Fransisco.
Back
at UT in Austin, he discovered the best parties were in the Classics
Department — “they drank wine” — then moved on to seek a bachelor of
arts. He took his time.“That term ‘slacker’?” he says.
“We all
had Ph.D.s in Slackerism. UT cost $200 a semester. You could be at the
lake in 10 minutes. We had the best music in the world, all the good
honky-tonks. It was easier, freer, more open then.”
He graduated
in 1971. Following the logic of the time, the lover of fine woodworking
and remodeling started Hill Country Haze Construction, which lasted
until 1984. His first marriage in the 1970s produced one daughter,
Chesleigh Lloyd. He’s been married to Mary Elizabeth Morgan since 1987.
She had one daughter from a previous marriage, Hanna Robin Morgan, whom
Cofer adopted Feb. 19. “Which I think sets the record for slowness,” Cofer jokes. “Twenty-six years it took.”
The early green years
The
Rollingwood resident attended his first meeting for the Save Barton
Creek Association — the precursor to Save Our Springs (SOS) — in 1990.
“I
had not been paying attention to the debate about land use and
development or whether development in the Barton Creek watershed would
affect Barton Springs,” Cofer admits. “I asked: ‘What do you mean
there’s a debate?” I’d witnessed significant changes to the creek going
back to the construction of Barton Creek Mall.”
Green pioneers
such as Jack and Jackie Goodman, Shudde Fath, Wayne Gronquist and Bert
Cromack had manned the environmental barricades for at least 15 years at
this point. It was Cofer’s turn.
“George was never seeking
personal recognition, but always willing to be in the background and
help with whatever needed to be done,” Mary Arnold says. “And he was
willing to stay involved for the long haul. And a long haul it has
been!”
Grassroots fundraising was his first goal.
“Bill
Bunch and I were able to get Jim Hightower to agree to have Robert
Redford to do a fundraiser for Barton Springs at the Umlaufs,” Cofer
says. “It was 100 bucks a person. Sold out because of Mr. Redford.
Couldn’t be a nicer guy.”
Cofer was drafted to serve as programs
manager — unpaid at first — of the association. He did what he continues
to do well — gave outdoor tours, organized clean-ups, worked with
educational and governmental groups.
“It was definitely a labor of
love,” he says. “What mattered was that I was doing something I thought
was important. We were fighting the good fight.”
Educating folks
on how the underground aquifer directly affected water quality was not
easy at first.
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| Photo by Laura Skelding |
Nevertheless, Austin passed a series of water protection
ordinances collectively known as “SOS.” The Texas Legislature and some
local politicians maneuvered to get around SOS.
Eventually, though, Cofer also changed his tactics.
Working
on a retail project proposed for the MoPac Boulevard extension near the
Barton Springs recharge zone in Southwest Austin, he broke with the
all-or-nothing, line-in-the-sand strategies of some fellow activists.
“Instead
of proposing to develop 15 percent of the land, it was more like 45
percent,” Cofer recalls of the developers’ daring plan. “In return,
though, landowners gave up 300 acres and a very significant cave. And
built a huge runoff pond. It made more sense.”
The Save Our Springs advocacy group — he served on the board at the time — vehemently opposed it. So Cofer resigned.
From
that point on, Cofer, who remains friendly with SOS leaders such as
Bill Bunch, became associated with alternative strategies for preserving
open spaces. He embraced notions such as encouraging quality density in
the urban core as an antidote to limitless sprawl.
“People can
love or hate SOS,” Cofer says. “But I do credit it with starting a
serious conversation about environmental protection and water quality.
Now it has evolved into a discussion of water quantity as well.”
The conservancy model
“George
is a leader,” says innovative developer Terry Mitchell. “He does not
speak to be heard, but to accomplish his mission. George is respected by
the environmental community, the real estate community and civic
leaders throughout the Austin area.”
The legal notion of private
entities buying up development rights and investing in physical
improvements goes back at least 100 years. The enormous, nationwide
Nature Conservancy was founded in 1951 and the Texas Land Conservancy
got going in 1982.
The Hill Country Conservancy, which Cofer
founded in 1999, focuses on land near recharge zones southwest of
Austin’s core. The group also works to influence development codes and
regional planning.
This land trust project grew out of peace talks
between green leaders and the developers. Cofer introduced the idea of
easements.
“I knew about conservation easements from the
landowners side,” he says, referring to the family ranch on the Frio.
“It made sense to me. In a document recorded at courthouse, the terms
are perpetual and set out the rights that the family reserves and the
rights that are extinguished.”
One rhetorical sidestep helped to win over landowners, some of whom had joined the land rights movement in the 1990s.
“The
Hill Country Conservancy is not for or against growth,” he says. “But
when families want to preserve their land for a ranch, or a nature
preserve, or a bed and breakfast, or a vineyard, or a hunting lease,
it’s incumbent on all land trusts to make sure in the agreement that the
family reserves enough rights to be economically successful.”
Critics accuse the conservancy of preserving the views of owners already rich in land, but to Cofer, open space is open space.
One
of the biggest “gets” was Storm Ranch between Drippings Springs and
Wimberley. Cofer had grown up with the children of late oilman and
rancher Lynn Storm, who treasured his 5,700-acre ranch.
At one point during a ranch tour, Cofer recalls, a documentary film crew member posed a question to the ranch owner.
“Mr.
Storm, this is an extraordinarily beautiful place and obviously worth a
lot of money, have you ever thought about selling it,” Cofer retells.
“He said: ‘I would sooner go to hell.’ It got very quiet in the truck.”
The
agreement allows the Storm descendants to continue traditional
agriculture, hunting and horseback riding, but protects the water and
land as a single ranch.
At the Dahlstrom Ranch, right outside
Buda, the relatives of Gay Ruby Dahlstrom had held 2,300 acres for three
generations. It now supports an exotic game ranch, operated by
fun-loving Jack Dahlstrom, her son, and small gravel quarry. Yet the
ranch hid another extraordinary value.
“Jack pointed out cave
entrances,” Cofer recalls of his first visit. “Some were covered with
dirt, looked like low spots in the pastures. We got together with cave
and aquifer experts and cleaned them out. They are still finding caves
on that place. When it rains, water pours directly into the aquifer.
What goes in, comes out at Barton Springs.”
Protecting caves like these makes economic sense as well.
“The
water that comes off our yards, streets and parking lots has to be
cleaned up,” Cofer points out. “It is exponentially more cost-effective
to keep the water clean at its source. That’s the key link between land
conservation and the water.”
Luckily, Gay Ruby Dahlstrom understood, as Cofer learned during negotiations.
“She
had not mentioned any partitioning or rights to build homes,” Cofers
remembers. “I said ‘Mrs. Dahlstrom that’s a beautiful vision, but
wouldn’t you like to reserve the right to partition a small piece of the
ranch and sell part of it, or give it to your children?’ She stopped me
and said: ‘Mr. Cofer, what part of this conversation do you not
understand?’ ”
A vision of green networks
Cofer
foresees the Violet Crown Trail becoming the “trunk line” of 200-mile
system that links up with the Butler Trail around Lady Bird Lake as well
as the northern and eastern trails, including those along Shoal and
Waller creeks.
The section between Zilker Park and Sunset Valley,
including four miles along the Barton Creek Greenbelt, is done. Phase 2,
to cost $6 million, will take two years to construct and extend the
network to the Lady Bird Johnson Wildflower Center and the Circle C
Veloway.
“Connectivity is the big goal in these neighborhoods,”
Cofer says. “But the Violet Crown Trail will not go all the way to Onion
Creek because we don’t want it trashed like Twin Falls and Sculpture
Falls get trashed every weekend on Barton Creek.”
The trail also showcases land that the Conservancy has saved since the 1990s.
“This
may well be a game changer in how Central Texans can experience the
beautiful Texas Hill Country,” Mitchell says. “I am hopeful that
George’s leadership will provide a road map for many of us to take steps
to preserve our unique environment. A lot of people talk about helping
the environment, but no one in this city has done as much as George to
improve and preserve it.”
Michael Barnes writes about Austin’s people, places, culture and history.
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