By Tim Rova

Guest Op-Ed

For more than 25 years, the Roadless Rule has quietly achieved something extraordinary: protecting our national forests while keeping them open to the public. I know this not just as someone who values these lands, but as someone whose life has been shaped by them.

  Since 2001, this policy has protected nearly 58 million acres of national forests from new road construction and large-scale industrial development. This policy does not restrict access or enjoyment. Instead, it prevents destructive, high-cost development that undermines ecological health and scenic beauty. The Roadless Rule has preserved the ecological health and scenic beauty of our forests without restricting public access or enjoyment. It’s a quiet success story, and one we can’t afford to undo.

  My family and I have fought fires for generations. These forests are our home and livelihood, and when you’ve stood on the front lines of a wildfire, you understand what’s at stake. Roads and industrial development don’t just destroy landscapes; they increase fire risk, which can threaten our communities. Repealing the Roadless Rule would increase both, putting lives, property, and ecosystems at risk.

  I’ve seen up close how quickly things can change when nature is disrupted. After the historic Boundary Waters blowdown in the late 1990s, I worked with crews to clear hazardous fuels in the Superior National Forest’s Roadless areas. Navigating those storm-toppled woods reminded me that fire and wind shape our forests as much as any policy. Targeted work—like prescribed burns and sustainable logging—reduces wildfire risk, restores red and white pine, and supports local jobs. Importantly, the Roadless Rule does not impede necessary ecological work, such as fuel reduction or maintaining access for fire crews. These are the kinds of science-driven actions Roadless allows—and that our forests need.

  But this isn’t just about fire. It’s about how these forests sustain life and livelihoods. I’m a hunter, and healthy forests mean healthy wildlife. It means clean water, clean air, and thriving ecosystems. It means jobs and stability for communities across northern Minnesota, where tourism and recreation aren’t luxuries; these protected lands are critical financial lifelines. When visitors come to hike, fish, or hunt, they’re looking for the wild beauty that makes these places special. Every new road carved into our wilderness chips away at that.

  These lands also hold deep meaning for Tribal Nations, including the Bois Forte Band of Chippewa and other Ojibwe communities across the Great Lakes region. During my years with the Superior National Forest, I saw firsthand the importance of honoring treaty rights—ensuring tribal members can hunt, fish, and harvest as they have for generations. True stewardship means keeping these places whole and accessible, so that cultural traditions and spiritual connections endure. The Roadless Rule helps protect this continuity.

  I grew up in a family with deep roots in this region, and I see these forests as more than a resource—they’re a living legacy. Generations before me depended on these woods for timber, game, and fishing, living on the land with respect and reciprocity. Today, the Roadless Rule protects not just the forest, but a way of life rooted in observation, care, and connection to place. There is much to learn from the way those who came before us cared for our forests—especially regarding fire and forest health.

  Today, that balance is under threat. The Trump Administration argues that repealing the Roadless Rule would promote “active land management.” I agree that thoughtful management is essential to forest health. However, tearing up long-standing protections to build more roads isn’t management. It’s short-sighted exploitation that benefits a narrow set of interests while leaving communities to shoulder the risks and costs. True forest management works with natural systems, not against them.

  No policy is perfect, but the Roadless Rule’s purpose is sound: to protect what makes these places irreplaceable. Undoing it would be a mistake for our forests, our communities, and our future.

  Timo Rova is a retired wildland firefighter and former West Zone Fire Management Officer for the Superior National Forest. Born and raised in Minnesota, he spent 34 years fighting fire across the country, including nearly two decades as a smokejumper. He now lives near Ely, where he enjoys hunting, wild ricing, and sharing the beauty of public lands with his community.