The "largest unbroken tract of virgin hardwood timber in the U.S.," according to a 1940s Department of Conservation description, the Porcupine Mountains area encompasses tens of thousands of acres in Gogebic and Ontonagon Counties on the shores of Lake Superior in the western Upper Peninsula. The Mountains "are startling in their infinite variety of cool, dense forests; breath-taking heights; roaring and rumbling waterfalls; and awe-inspiring vistas," said the Department of Conservation in a booklet describing its hopes to purchase a recreation area.

But as World War II ended, there was a threat.

Said the Department: "Logging companies are nibbling at the fringes and promise to invade the interior at an early date. The country they have left behind them is typical hardwood cut over land cleared of all standing timber except the defective trees. This should not happen to the Porcupine Mountains."

As early as 1925, state parks chief P. J. Hoffmaster had proposed a state park in the area, his first recommendation calling for a minimum buy of 22,000 acres. But the Legislature had never appropriated the money.

In 1942, conservationists joined with the department. The legendary Aldo Leopold wrote in Outdoor America that the remaining unlogged land in the Porcupines was "a symbol. It portrays a chapter in national history which we should not be allowed to forget. When we abolish the last sample of the Great Uncut, we are, in a sense, burning books…To preserve a remnant of decent forest for public education is surely a proper function of government, regardless of one's view on the moot question of large-scale timber production."

Michigan outdoor writer Ben East also decried the potential loss of the Porcupine forest, lamenting, "The mistakes made in the great pine harvest 50 to 75 years ago, mistakes Michigan still has ample cause to regret, are being repeated day by day in the hardwood country of the Porcupines."

Raymond Dick, an Ironwood produce dealer, was already on the case. In 1940, he had established the Save the Porcupine Mountains Association, an unusually effective lobbying instrument which eventually included in its membership Vice President Henry Wallace, the director of the National Park Service, former Governor Chase Osborn and Leopold. Dick invited Governor Kelly to visit the area. Kelly, who had lost a leg in World War I, was only able to get to the mouth of the Presque Isle River but saw enough of the area's beauty to commit himself to the project. He said the area should be "purchased for preservation as a timber museum" to hold the land in trust for future generations. The Legislature acted with unusual swiftness, appropriating $1 million before the end of February. But the Porcupines were not yet safe.

Lumberman Gordon Connor had asked the Legislature to carve out 8,000 acres from the proposed 43,000-acre park but had been refused. Only 2,880 acres, or about one-third of the Connor holdings, were excluded. In response, he accelerated his timber cutting.

Hoffmaster refused to back down. The company wanted to skin lands along the Presque Isle River, which his department said were among the most scenic in the park, and timber along the shoreline between the river mouth and the mountains. By then the company had laid track for a railroad across the Presque Isle River to cut through three-quarters of a mile of the park to get into land it owned outside the boundaries.

Hoffmaster asked the Conservation Commission to initiate condemnation proceedings to take the remaining land. The Commission did so in April, asking the Attorney General to go to court to restrain Connor Company from cutting any of the lands now included in the park boundaries. Although the condemnation proceedings bounced around in courts for eight years, the state was able to secure the lands and the company never touched the prime acreage.

The victory was an enormous one, celebrated nationally. "…[I]t is no exaggeration to say it is being done in the nick of time," wrote Dorothea Kahn of the Christian Science Monitor. "The axes of lumbermen could be heard at the borders of the forest."

The Porcupine Mountains State Park faced two subsequent threats. In 1958, mineral companies took an interest in copper ore believed to lie beneath the park. The Bear Creek Mining Company asked in May of that year for a lease to explore over 900 acres under the park and another 5,200 acres of Lake Superior bottomland.

On one side were the company and many residents of the area, which suffered chronically high unemployment. On the other was a coalition of groups led by the Michigan United Conservation Clubs and guided by its executive director, James Rouman. The coalition united under the banner of the Porcupine Mountains Wilderness Association. Selling 85,000 stamps featuring the Lake of the Clouds, the Association marshaled both state and national public opinion against the proposed lease.

The organizing effort worked. Bear Creek lost its support on the Conservation Commission and withdrew its request for the lease in January 1959.

The climactic battle to save the Porcupines from development occurred in 1971. Prepared in consultation with local officials and environmentalists alike, a proposed state management plan would set side 35,000 acres of the park as permanent, unspoiled wilderness. A parade of witnesses at a public hearing in Lansing argued for the wilderness designation. Margery Fahrenbach, the daughter of the late Department of Conservation Director Hoffmaster, emotionally pleaded with the state: "My father fought long and hard to help acquire this area for the people of Michigan. He loved those mountains with their wild and unspoiled beauty, and I believe he envisioned them as a 'preservation,' a bit of country that should and can be preserved as God made it."

The only witness speaking in favor of development was Gordon Connor, president of the firm that had raced in 1944 to log what was now the state park. But the Department of Natural Resources rejected his plea, and the park got a new name: "Porcupine Mountains Wilderness State Park."