In Tribute to Jim

I thought I might weigh in on another dog story. Jimmy and electronics were like oil and water so I was not all that surprised one evening to receive a “pocket dial” from Jim’s cell phone and nothing on the other end but background noise. The next pocket dial came minutes later and it was much the same and obviously at a dinner out somewhere that surely included Jack Daniels and while not all the conversation was discernable, it was unmistakably “Jimmy Boy Holding Court” somewhere. The short version of this story is that there was nothing I could do to stop the “pocket dialing” since my number remained the last dialed! I would be lying if I did not divulge that I tried everything including a diatribe in Jim’s fashion hoping that he would hear it when I tried calling him back (least we forget his hearing)….God Damn it Jimmy Boy answer your phone! The whole exchange continued on and off for at least an hour and them seemed to stop. The last call I ignored and let it go to voicemail knowing full well there was nothing more I could do. I wish I had that message today but I have no doubt all of you can hear him loud and clear. This “pocket dial” started somewhere between his car and the front door of the house and continued on for at least 10 minutes as Jimmy greeted his dogs, talked to the dogs, sang to the dogs, feed the dogs and cajoled with them as if they were his 2 very best friends (and we all know they were) and called them every one of the pet names he had for them. I laughed till I cried. What was I thinking deleting that message!!! Bill Dawson

Jim....

This is a poem we read at my father's celebration of life....as you knew, he was a lover of the outdoors too.

This is how I want to remember you...in the elements of this vast open country that you lived and loved so fully. Your spirit free as it lives on, you will be forever with us and in our hearts

Do not stand at my grave and weep

I am not there; I do not sleep

I am a thousands winds that blow,

I am the diamond glints on snow,

I am the sun on ripened grain,

I am the gentle autumn rain.

When you awaken in the morning's hush

I am the swift uplifting rush

Of quiet birds in circled flight,

I am the soft stars that shine at night.

Do not stand at my grave and cry,

I am not there; I did not die

(author unknown)

your friend, Heather

Please send our heartfelt condolences to Allison and her family. We just heard of your loss, and our thoughts are with you all.

Sincerely,

Bill and Karen Butcher

To the Family and Friends of Jim Range

I am so sorry to hear of Jim’s passing. Shocked really. And brought to tears more than once. I had sort of lost contact with Jim over the years but, I thought of him often. Jim touched so many people over his life and he made such a difference in this world of ours. So many people have so many good stories about their friendship with Jim. Here is mine:

I have known Jim almost my whole life. When I was twelve years old he and A.B. sort of took me under their wing and let me tag along on waterfowl hunts most weekends in the 1970’s up on the Chesapeake. In high school, when I turned sixteen, I played football on Friday night and left the locker room as quick as I could to drive up to Cambridge Maryland in time to hunt geese Saturday morning with them.

Jim Range did a lot of things for this great country we live in. He made a difference for sportsmen and sportswomen for generations to come. And, he made a difference in a punk kid from Tennessee with passion for hunting and no one to take him. I learned so much from Jim. Jim taught me how to shoot and how to blow a duck call. He taught me how to identify ducks in flight, do the dishes, move the boat in or out with the tide and how to set a decoy spread. Jim taught me how to cuss, how to drink and how not to drink. He taught me how and when to beat a dog (one time when young Jabo ate a duck), and how to love a dog (when he had to put old Plague down). Jim taught me how to brush a blind, pluck a duck, eat an oyster and pick a crab. He taught me how to lay out of school (only on a cold front), and how to drive (when John David and I wrecked his yellow truck).

Jim and I talked or ran into each other every few years. He always invited me to come out to Montana and I always promised to go. I meant to. I really wanted to go out and reconnect with Jim. I wanted to tell him all I had done and what I had achieved over the years. I wanted to tell him how much he had influenced me in my youth and how much I needed it at that time in my life.

I didn’t know Jim was sick. On the day he passed away, I was in a layout blind in a corn field in the middle of a bunch of goose decoys. A lone bull Pintail dropped in to dry feed (in Tennessee!) and I killed him. “What a gift”! I thought. I know you all agree, Jim Range was a gift to all that knew him. That duck will go on my wall as a small tribute to Jim. I will always cherish his memory and will be forever grateful that he came into my life. Jim taught me one more thing. He taught me how to become a man. Godspeed Jim

David McMahan

Working for Jim at TRCP was a great honor and learning experience. Jim was a tremendous leader and motivator. He lead by example and his actions made you want to do the absolute best you could - not only for the resource but for him as well.

Jim did a lot of ‘talking’ with his eyes. I was struck by how he could look at you and emote a certain intensity, thoughtfulness, cheerfulness, and sincerity all at the same time and without saying a word. There was no greater display of this than when he was speaking about the beauty of the land and wild spaces and of those who loved such places. He could look off in the distance and you could tell he was contemplating something serious – as if viewing a mountain range or beautiful stretch of river.

As much as Jim loved the outdoors and to hunt and fish, I think that he loved equally to share that experience with others. On my first trip to Montana and to his ranch, Jim learned that I had not yet had the experience of fishing his beloved Missouri River. Upon hearing this, he leaned back in his chair and gazed off into some alternate dimension with those eyes. I could tell he was plotting some grand scheme that, while not on the itinerary that day, would get us all out on the river. After a moment, he returned from his gaze and said in his distinct Range voice, “we just might have to take a little trip today.” An hour later, we’re in the truck bouncing down a dirt road to a nice bend in the river. When we get there, Jim takes the time to point out the ‘fishy’ looking holes and runs and provides some instruction on looking for the tell-tale rings of rising fish.

We split up and Jim finds a nice spot upstream while I make my way to within casting distance of another run. Before I even get wet, Jim is hooked up on a nice brown trout. “They’re keying on caddis,” he pronounces. After a while, and it’s 3-0 in favor of Jim, he calls me over. I take a circuitous route to get to him so as not to disrupt his water. In the meantime, he catches another fish. 4-0. When I get there, Jim takes a look at my fly and immediately makes a diagnosis. He snips it off and opens his own flybox. He carefully selects the correct size elk hair caddis and ties it on. After a few more minutes of instruction on casting and reading the river, he sends me on my way. In the meantime, he catches another fish. 5-0. Once in place, it only takes a couple of casts for me to hook into a nice brown and Jim’s diagnosis is proved correct.

Satisfied that I am now on the right track, Jim then moves on up the river and disappears for a couple hours. I had a wonderful time that afternoon enjoying the river, learning on my own, and landing several more rainbows and browns. Jim appears as it is time to head back with a devilish grin on his face. When asked how he did, he said “I lost count – but it was a good day!”

Thank you Jim for sharing a very good day with me. You are missed.

Geoff Mullins

Death Was a Coward

Death was a coward
when he came for Jim.

Knowing he'd lose a
fair fight, Death used stealth
to strike a cruel fatal blow.

Death.

Your reputation has suffered.

Tim Richardson

Dear Family and Friends,

While those of us at Orion The Hunters’ Institute are pretty much strangers to many of you, we have in recent years been associated with Jim and his work. Please accept our deepest sympathy for both the personal and professional loss you now endure. In reading the many reviews and sketches of Jim’s life and accomplishments we are becoming painfully aware of the loss we, and the fish and wildlife resources we cherish, must now bear.

Since our main office is in Helena, Montana we are familiar with the Flyway Ranch on the Missouri River near Craig, Montana. In recent years we have had occasion to meet and present material to Jim, the TRCP board and staff, and other guests. The purpose and message was always hunting, fishing, and what must be done to preserve the land, water, and cultural resources that make it all possible.

Because we live near the Flyway Ranch, we knew JimRange before we met him. We were familiar with an outside bank on the last big bend of the Missouri up stream from the Craig bridge. For a long time it was kind of a raw and eroding place. We often drifted by, and so we noticed when the subtle rock jetties were freshly installed. After a time, the bank vegetation, relieved from over grazing, gradually covered the modest engineering. When the waterfowl shooting blind appeared near the end of the river’s long run, we were pretty sure we knew JimRange.

In time we met Jim and enjoyed his company. Now, during this dark time, we learn the full measure of his many accomplishments and achievements. The river-bank’s restoration is now less of a mystery and we more fully appreciate what Jim leaves us all. While our time on this earth is limited, the fish and wildlife resource will carry each person’s legacy across many generations. Those of us living near the Flyway Ranch will visit that river-bank, cast to the caddis fly hatch, and the trout will respond – of this we are sure. And, probably when I am alone, I will tell the trout of JimRange - before I let it slide back into the eddy behind one of those rock jetties.

For the Board of Orion The Hunters’ Institute: Eric Nuse, Gayle Joslin, Mark Hirvonen, Randy Newberg, and John Organ. Jim Posewitz, Executive Director

I first met Jim holding court amid others who cared deeply about conversation. The topic at this gathering was the nascent North American Waterfowl Plan. I, like many others were drawn to Jim’s flame – his deep care for fish and wildlife, his mischievous smile, his humor, and his candor. Candor and humor are oft times a scare commodity in Washington DC and beyond, but never with Jim.

In the years since it was my honor to be one of Jim’s foot soldiers – whether it was working for National Fish Hatchery reform, or designing a National Fish Habitat Plan, or launching of TRCP. As the memorial gathering at Flyway Ranch made so vividly clear, Jim will be deeply missed, but he will help guide many of us for the rest of our lives . Whitney Tilt Bozeman, Montana

Dear Jim,

I am so terribly sad about your premature passing. Like so many others, I believed you to be as immortal as a human man can be. Like so many others, I counted on a lot more days with you in the field or wetting a line. Your died too soon.

Yours was not a life in vain. Every time any of your many friends wade a river, sit in a blind, pole a flat, walk a field or even just pet a good dog we will think of you and thank you. I agree with what Steve Williams wrote "We will all have to step up our game to help fill the giant void that you have left in our world." Your memory will motivate us all to do just that.

My prayers and thoughts are with your family, Anni and her boys. I will miss you

To Jim’s Family---

Jim and I re-met a few years ago through business. While talking – in our first meeting – about how to make the world safe for ceiling fans, he recruited me on to the Board of ABC. He was, as you all know well, full of energy and passion for what he loved. How could I resist?

I recently remarked that Tennessee Jim Range talked fast enough to shut up a New Yorker (me). And, that means something.

His death robs us of a leader, a prodder, a cajoler, a dreamer and a lover of all things natural. We need more – much more -- of what he gave to this Earth.

Please accept my most heartfelt condolences.
Connie Campanella

I didn’t know Jim as well as many who have posted, but I was surprised and saddened to hear of his passing. I remember first meeting him at either the 1^st or 2^nd Congressional Casting Call and could tell right away that he had the kind of character and color that you don’t see too often in Washington where bland personalities are too often the norm. We re-connected a couple years later when I was out pounding the pavement looking for a job and he was very generous with his time when he really didn’t need to be. Then I interviewed him for a chapter in a book I was writing and he gave me some great background on the history of Fletcher’s Boat House and his involvement in some behind the scenes maneuvering to get its concessions lease renewed. He really lit up when explaining the story. The passion of a true believer in Fletchers and all it stood for poured forth along with cunning sharpness of a man who enjoyed working the levers of government. I hadn’t seen much of him after that except in passing down at Fletcher’s usually after he spent the dawn putting the wood to some of those mammoth spring stripers. Fish on, Jim! Sebastian O’Kelly

A VIDEO TRIBUTE TO JIM

SEE JIM RANGE PHOTO GALLERY

SEE MORE PHOTOS AFEILD

JIM'S Obituary

A thank you.

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