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I had not the pleasure of meeting him, but anyone devoted to the cause as he was, i surely love him. thanks jim, we will carry on! Tom Kuntz

Jim – I was so stunned when I heard the news of your passing. How could someone so full of life, so at the top of his game, leave us at such a young age? Jim, you were as smart and as dedicated a man as I have ever met, and I admired you for that. You were also a helluva nice guy, always willing to sit down and chat no matter how busy you were. I regret I was never able to take you up on one of your offers to hunt with you in your beloved Montana. I guess the lesson really is to live for today, because you never know if there will be a tomorrow.

I remember attending a dinner at the Roosevelt Hotel in New York City seven years ago, one that you asked certain members of the outdoor media to attend, to discuss this concept of a new conservation organization based on the principles that Teddy Roosevelt held so dear. And I remember looking around that room and thinking wow, if this guy Range can bring all these different people together, he must have something going for him. You did. And don’t worry, we’ll keep your ideas going, Jim — especially now, when the polls show that the preserving the environment is quickly becoming less important to people who are more worried about the economy and the war. Theodore Roosevelt never let that stop him in his day. It wasn’t stopping you. And it won’t stop us.

Rest in peace, old friend.

Jay Cassell

Dear Jim,

It is hard to believe we first met more than 30 years ago. It is even harder to believe that I won’t be hearing your (mostly) wise, (usually) profane, and(always) irreverent counsel on how to fix all that ails the world any more. Your friendship, support and loyalty will be sorely missed by me and everyone you touched during your incredibly rich life, including the critters.

We have covered a lot of ground since that fateful late night cab ride from the Hill to the corner of Wisconsin and R. We have been in a lot of battles together (including our covert partnerships) and, despite our shared battle wounds and scars, managed to fare pretty well. You patiently and, no doubt with great frustration, tried to teach me to fish. You wisely never put a gun in my hand. By graciously hosting a Sports ‘n Suds “tent city” at your ranch, you surprised your neighbors. Your day trip to St. Thomas for my wedding surprised everyone there and, as you so often did, made me smile.

You touched my life and made it better. I feel fortunate to have been among those who got close enough to know what a big and generous heart you had. You will be missed more than you dared to imagine.

With love from your friend,

Steve Shimberg

Dear family and friends of Jim Range:

Did not know Jim had passed until getting a call from my dad last night.

In Tom Sadler's column, the image of Tom and Jim looking out the window

at the "wild places" brought tears to my eyes. Thank you, Tom.

When Jim was minority council on the Senate Environment and Public Works

Committee, my dad, Gordon Wood was minority council on the House Public

Works Committee. They worked together on passage of the Clean Water

Act. Jim and some of his buddies, family and colleagues, including my

dad, had an association of sorts that involved a cabin, a few blinds in

an around the Choptank River near Cambridge and a lot of know

how--mostly Jim's. I was lucky to get to tag along at the

impressionable age of 15 and boy did that make a difference in my life.

At the time Jim had two labs, his old dog, Plague and the younger one,

Jambo. He loved those dogs. Not only did we hunt ducks and geese

there, but deer, quail and the occasional rabbit too. I recall the

first time I saw a woodcock. It was a beautiful sunny day, no good for

duck hunting, so Jim decided we should check out the marsh next to the

cabin. A bird came up and we both had it in our sites. I pulled up,

realizing I hadn't seen one of these before and didn't know if it was

OK to shoot. Jim answered that for me quickly with a single clean shot.

From that short trip through the marsh, we brought back several quail,

the woodcock and a rabbit--my first rabbit dinner. This was supposed to

be a goose hunting trip! As I write this the memories are flooding

back. With a big assist from my dad, I learned some of my most

interesting vocabulary from Jim, a taste for Jack Daniels on ice, the

importance of being ready, and most importantly a love and enthusiasm

for the beauty, bounty and utter pricelessness of the wild outdoors.

How lucky could a suburban kid be to get to tag along with this group

where senators, colleagues, relatives, locals and even green teenagers

were equally welcome.

He let me know I was always welcome to keep in touch and I did. One

summer when I was interning at EPA, he took me to lunch at Duke

Zeibert's down the block from his office on Connecticut Avenue. I told

him I was heading off to graduate school at UVA to work on a Master's in

urban and environmental planning. I'll always remember his first

comment, "I hear that's a good place to drink and chase women." His way

of signaling approval.

When my wife Claire and I were married in Leesburg, he sent a plain

crystal bowl as a wedding gift--simple and elegant and now priceless to

me.

As a young and green professional, I attended George H.W. Bush's speech

to the Federal City Chapter of DU in 1988 where the President proclaimed

the new national policy of no net loss of wetlands, words written by Jim

Range.

More than 15 years later, when I became concerned about whether the U.S.

would vigorously defend the jurisdiction of the Clean Water Act before

the Supreme Court, it was Jim I called. Though I hadn't spoken with him

in years, he called me right back at home over the holidays, like an old

friend. He did his part.

In a meeting with EPA water leadership a couple years later, Jim was

there--it was an important meeting--Hadn't seen him in years. He took

one look at me, in front of everyone, gave me a hug and said, "Good to

see you boy."

I didn't take up fly fishing until just five years ago and it's clear

I'm a lifer. Rapidan, White Oak and Hughes are like friends calling me

back when I have a few hours--it's 81 miles from my door to the Rapidan.

I don't know that I've ever seen anything more beautiful than a plump

native brookie. Many more rivers to meet. Always in the back of my

mind has been the thought that I would get to fish with Jim too. That's

not going to happen in this lifetime. I guess I didn't learn my lesson

well enough, to be ready.

My teenage son Brian and I have camped, hiked and fished in the

Shenandoah. I hope and plan for many more of those trips. There

couldn't be a sharper contrast between the bliss of those experiences in

the outdoors with someone you love and the harsh reality that Jim Range

is gone. God speed, Jim, indeed.

Sincerely yours,

Rob Wood

Dear Jim,

I can not believe you are gone. I had the personal and distinctly rewarding opportunity to work with you for over a quarter of a century in the nation's capitol. You never spoke much about your roles in formulating and passing so much of America's primary environmental and conservation legislation. But I know. I know it was not a coincidence that you staffed a significantly important position for Senator Baker's Environment and Public Works Committee when Clean Water, Clean Air, Endangered Species, and other foundation legislation passed the U. S. Congress and were signed into law. Such a period of enlightened environmental policy adoption has never happened before or since. I know you played the central role with Senator Chaffee to engage the U.S. Congress in striped bass restoration legislation at a time when this species was threatened with survival along the entire east coast. I know that Senator Wallop invariably refers to the commonly referenced Wallop-Breaux Act, which invests hundreds of million of dollars each year in recreational fishing and boating projects as the "Jim Range Act". This list could continue.

But you were so much more to me. Cheerleader, mentor, fishing guide and friend. I will never forget one visit, out of many such trips to your ranch in Craig, when we were scheduled to work on our proposed national fisheries habitat legislation. However, for much of that visit, I ended up, by your side, on my hands and knees planting a wildlife shelter strip. And I was delighted to do it. Such was my admiration and affection for you.

Somewhere, before a roaring fire, with the aroma of grouse on the stove, Jim Range sits with a Jack Daniels in one hand a Harry Middleton book in the other and a faint smile on his face. I know the smile mirrors Jim's quiet reflection of a job well done. A job well done indeed, Jim.

Norville Prosser

I miss Jim Range and will miss him immensely every time I pick up a shotgun. I have read these past few hours and days of his conservation achievements. The nation has lost a true conservationist but I have lost my hunting buddy.

For over twenty years Ranger and an unlikely group of diverse men have met periodically on the prairie at their cherished “crane dominium” to share bourbon and birds. A place that time forgot produced a bond not possible in the cluttered world most are forced to live in. We pursued sandhill cranes, ducks, geese and sharptail grouse from dawn til dusk. As darkness approached we shared bourbon and boisterous stories of wingshooting and women.

Time is cruel our group dwindles. First Jay Hair followed by Bill Howard. Now my friend and companion Ranger. I will miss his laughter, counsel and friendship.

Waite for me I’ll be there.

Skip Baron

It’s amazing how much can change in a minute. While walking alongside the U.S. Capitol to take part in President Obama’s inaugural festivities, my phone rang. What followed was the worst of news. A friend and mentor, Jim Range, had died overnight.

As I turned homeward so the revelers wouldn’t see my tears, my perception of the Capitol dome shifted. Just moments before, it had seemed so full of hope, the theme of the day. Suddenly it seemed empty, in part because I knew of how much Jim had done within its walls, and in part because I knew he’d not get the chance to do so again.

A native son of Johnson City, Tenn., Jim Range came to D.C. in the early 1970s from the U.S. Attorney’s office in Miami. He was counsel to the National Commission on Water Quality in 1972. From 1973 to 1980, Range served as minority counsel to the U.S. Senate's Committee on the Environment and Public Works. Range was chief counsel to Senator Howard Baker during the period between 1980 and 1984 when the senator served as Majority Leader.

Most of the landmark environmental laws that Congress produced during this period – and there were a lot of them – benefited from having Jim Range’s fingerprints on them. As someone raised in a world made better by things like the Clean Water Act, this is why I respected Jim Range. But it was what transpired during his second (or maybe ninth) life that made me love Jim Range.

Please allow me to digress for a moment. I first came to hear of “Range” a few years back while working for Trout Unlimited, one of the many organizations on whose boards Jim served. Jim had a reputation for being a renaissance renegade, someone who was tough enough to launch a full frontal assault on most anyone who would compromise our natural resources but smart enough to ride circles around them laying traps instead. Then, a few months into my employment, I got tapped by Trout Unlimited President Charles Gauvin to be a last-minute stand-in at wingman for dinner at Range’s house.

I had little idea what to expect and even less of an idea of how it would change me. A few minutes after meeting the head of a major federal agency, several congressional staffers and the head of a major manufacturer, I watched Range hold court for the first time. Jim poured brown ample brown liquor then dispensed with the pleasantries. He had some fussin’ and cussin’ to get out, and I knew enough not to interrupt. So did everyone else. Then as the lecture wrapped, a funny thing happened: Range went in the kitchen, fried up some quail, and served us all one of the greatest meals ever. Along the way, he took care to say grace with the same ungodly mouth that had delivered his, um, sermon.

Some hours later, I left Jim’s house feeling like a slightly confused, kind of like a dog that got petted too soon after a scolding. Yet I was strangely invigorated. I hadn’t done anything wrong, but Jim had me wanting to charge ahead and do right in his eyes. After being fortunate enough to feel the same way a number of subsequent times, I can now give name to the feeling: I was Jim-fected.

That’s what Jim was able to do to people, imbue them with the same edgy passion that he felt for this country’s fish and wildlife. He did so in large part with his rhetorical gifts, but he never forgot to walk the walk, too. I know this because I was fortunate enough in subsequent years to have walked a few times with Jim.

One of Jim’s favorite places was his ranch in Craig, Montana, on the banks of the Missouri River. One evening last year, as the sun set on a marvelous day of fishing, Jim and I shared a moment of reflection. “Some place,” I said to him, not wanting to mar the moment with too much talk, but wanting to let the person who had introduced me to his Montana know that I indeed appreciated it. Jim didn’t respond right away, but after a few minutes, he said in a low tone, “My heart beats the Missouri.” When I looked over to see why the hushed voice, I saw tears streaming down Jim’s face.

That day wouldn’t be the last time I saw Jim cry, for he was a deeply emotional man. But it’s the first time I saw him shed a tear that told me the most about him.

On the very day I went to work for the Theodore Roosevelt Conservation Partnership, an organization Jim helped found and whose board of directors Jim Range chaired, a column I had written seasons before appeared on the pages of Fly Fisherman magazine. The column, a screed against mountaintop removal coal mining in Appalachia, railed against the Bush administration’s efforts to allow, even facilitate, this most destructive of mining practices. The facts of the issue spoke for themselves, yet I had felt the need to make it absolutely, painfully clear just how despicable the administration’s action had been. And on that morning, I was sure that those words were going to get me fired as soon as Jim Range, a life-long Republican, read them.

The day came and went, and as quitting time approached, I started to pack my things, thinking that at least I’d make it to day two before being dismissed. Then around the corner and toward my desk came Range, magazine in hand. He marched straight up to my desk and slammed the book down in front of me. He paused to gather his words. But instead of the anticipated relentless rebuke, Jim, in the same soft voice I would later hear on the banks of the Missouri, said simply, “Beautiful. Never let ‘em take my mountains.” As he turned to walk away, I saw the first tear.

Today the tears are mine. But I take solace in the fact that I am not alone. Jim touched scores of people in scores of ways, and his lessons – the folly of blind partisanship, the primacy of the public good, the potential power of a passionate few motivated by what is right – will persist, carried forward on the backs of those who care for our natural resources in the same way Jim did.

If we end up proving to be only slightly as effective as Jim Range was, this world will be a much better place.

Tim Zink
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Hi Jimmy,

One of my favorite memories is…you invited my family to a dinner party at your house on Leroy Place in the 1980’s. I was about 13. There were a lot of powerful people at dinner, like politicians and journalists. But what impressed me the most is…you invited your garbage man too.

Love,

Sarah-Sue-Lue A/k/a Sarah (Walpole) Gray

P.S. Whenever I hear someone say “Son of a Bitch,” I will always think of you.

Jim:

Heather and I loved our stay at your MT home, on our way to Glacier NP. You were a friend, an advisor, and a true champion of conservation. You never minced words when I was at the White House, and your guidance on conservation policies were right on the mark. I hope that I lived up to your expectations. I will try my best to honor your values, and I ask that you continue to tell it to me straight—I will be listening for you. Fish on!

David Anderson (Arlington)

I first met Jim when I arrived in DC from Kansas. He quickly invited me to one of his infamous gourmet dinners, political roundtables, and drink fests. I was amazed by his high energy passion, commitment, and knowledge of conservation and its practitioners. He always provided valuable advice, support, and friendship. I am not sure that I have ever met anyone with such an extensive list of friends from the halls of power in Washington, to the common man for whom Jim fought so passionately. Any of us who have met or worked with Jim must now carry a bit of his humor, dedication, and drive to improve the nation’s fish and wildlife resources with us each day. We owe this to a true champion of hunters and anglers. Jim, I will miss your advice and friendship. I will miss your intense dedication to fish and wildlife. I will never forget your accomplishments and powerful vision for conservation and hunting. We will all have to step up our game to help fill the giant void that you have left in our world. I will toast your love of dogs, hunting, fishing, and your full and successful life, as often as possible. Thank you.

Steve Williams

I so wish it had worked out for me to see you last Sunday. You were having a rough day and the following day you departed for Rochester. I just assumed I’d catch you on the next round.

Well I am. Molly and I will be in Fletcher’s Cove along with hundreds of your best friends.

I am filled with recollections: From your wildlife dinners in your home to being invited not to return to the Dubliner after we hired the bartender and band to stay open the previous night; From us creating the Sport Fishing and Boating Partnership Council to RBFF; From fishing at your Ranch in Craig to mine in Basalt; From your outrageous political views to my efforts at helping you come out of the closet as a Democrat. We can go on and on, my friend…it has been a rich and joyous friendship…unlike any other I have known. And like so many others, I am pissed at for you bailing out on us. You Son-Of-A-Bitch, I love you.

As Always, “Cheers”,

Tom Bedell

Though words rarely failed him, any of us who know, loved, laughed, fished or hunted with Jim Range understand their complete inadequacy in describing him and his impact and influence on our lives. I'm so grateful he was part of mine. Its just unimaginable we're having to press on without him. But he'd kick my ass if he heard me saying that. Which maybe Jim would say is as good a legacy as a guy can hope for. So, I think we better just press on with the job he set us out to do. He'll be just ahead in the next covert or around the next bend. I'll be listening for him.....

Bruce E. Matthews

Dear Jim,

I want you to know that I am thinking of you at this time.

Through George, Bill, and others I have been keeping posted on your trip to the Mayo Clinic, the latest medical news regarding your condition, and the prognosis as of today. I also know that Anni will be reading email messages from your close friends and I very much hope that I am included in that group.

Please know that I am honored to have had an opportunity to work with you over the past 8 years and that I treasure the professional and personal experiences that we have shared. Frankly, your the most famous person that I am on a first name basis with and you probably always will be.

Under you leadership, the outdoor community, wildlife conservation, and the sporting life have all benefited and will continue to benefit for years to come as a result of the various organizations that you have either started or nurtured. You have much to be proud of and even more challenges to look forward to in the years to come.

Please know that you are in my thoughts daily and that you will continue to occupy my attention until you come home, fully recovered. My best wishes to Anni, her sons, and your daughters.

Take care, Alan Gnann

Jim was a mentor, wise counsel and good friend to me since my early forays in DC and much of my career and personal life has benefited from his role in my life. I met him during the early days of the CARA campaign. Through that campaign, I learned so much from him. I remember talking with him during a walk from the Capitol about how the moderate sportsmen’s community hadn’t been able to mobilize as effectively as those opposed to the bill. We needed to have a group that could focus on the grassroots organizing and media relations side of legislative issues. That vision was the genesis of the TRCP.

It’s not too much of a stretch to say that Jim gave me the greatest gift that I have been given in my career and adult life. After the CARA campaign, Jim was a tremendous advocate for me and helped me throughout my career. When I was expecting my daughter Sophie, he and I met to talk about what I would be doing after she was born. I wasn’t sure how things would work out, but knew I wouldn’t make any decisions for the first month or so. Jim remembered that and had Mo set up a meeting with he and Matt Connolly exactly 6 weeks after she was born. From that came an opportunity to contract with TRCP managing a legislative campaign – out of my house so that I could be home with my infant daughter. As I broadened my consulting business, Jim was always the first to pitch my name when someone needed help on our issues. His trust and support allowed me to stay at home to raise my daughter but to also maintain the career that I love and working on the conservation vision that we shared.

The measure of success in life is not the things we can point to, but rather what we give back to the people around us. Jim was “successful” in spades. He will be missed, and I owe him so much for what he gave back to my family and I.
Jodi Stemler

Farewell, but not goodbye

The first words Jim spoke to me were, “do you hunt or fish, boy?” Not what I expected, nor easy to understand with his southern flair and attitude that match his words. Taking a moment to try and sort out what he was trying to do, I responded, “as much as possible.” His eyes brightened, face relaxed and said, “that’s my boy.” He invited me into his office put his feet up and began to preach. That was the beginning of a way too short, but very meaningful friendship with Jim and I. During the 3 years I was blessed to know Jim, I was often reminded in more than a subtle way that fighting for conservation is a noble cause and one that is hard but right. While walking the halls of congress one day he opined that he wished he would have more folks “my size” to accompany him so that we could, “kick some ass and scare the living crap out of elected official to do the right thing for fish and wildlife.” (He affectionately called me, “big’un”). Whether it was a lecture on how the issue of politics of energy was “big casino”, a discussion about dogs and food (passions for both of us), or swapping hunting or fishing stories Jim always made me feel welcome and tried to tutor me for my benefit and for the good things that could be done for conservation. He also opened his home to my family and my wife and daughter thought very highly of someone they knew very little – a testament to his caring and loving ways. When the Jim would call very early in the AM or late in the PM, I always took the call. My wife once asked at a 5 AM call – why didn’t I didn’t just let the machine get it? I answered, “cause it’s Jim.” It wasn’t because he was the boss, it was because of the respect I had for him and the fact that, even if he yelled at me during the call, I was probably better off because of it. I was fortunate enough to share some time in the field and water with Jim, memories I cherish. I believe he is still chasin those wild birds and trout with his dogs and friends at his side. I think when we meet again on the fields of the hereafter, he will have a great big smile and ask me, “well boy, was I right?” Yes, you were my friend, yes you were.

Steve Belinda

Bud, Harry, John Neal, Peter, So sorry to learn of Jim's death. The news came as a shock as Ann and I were unaware of his illness. Makes us especially sorry that we missed him on our last trip up near Craig. Please accept our sincere sympathy. You are all very special people in our lives. We often recall wonderful times with all of you and with Estelle. Although we haven't seen much of you recently, we think of you frequently and recall many very happy boating occasions, as well as our weekends together at Hank's Boat Dock. We will miss Jim. As a matter of fact, Bud, we tried to locate you when we were in Naples last fall, guess you had not arrived for the winter.

Horace and Ann Cupp

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