Jackson Hole Underground

When the filing period for the 2008 election closed last month, I was surprised to find no one challenging Mayor Mark Barron.

Fawning profiles in the local media nonwithstanding, there has been a lot of grumbling about Barron on barstools and coffee counters, owing mostly to the new parking garage and the rapidly changing face of downtown.

Another lawmaker ripe for a challenge is state Rep. Keith Gingery, a Republican who owes his election in 2004 to GOP gerrymandering. Gingery has rankled his constituency in Jackson by sponsoring abortion bills and his flip-flop on a secrecy bill that made correspondence between lawmakers and lobbyists off-limits to the public.

I wasn’t surprised to find him running unopposed because the Wyoming Legislature is an unpaid job that requires a lot of travel around the state and spending several weeks in Cheyenne each winter.

Should either of these pols be coasting to another term?

We who feel the issues merit more rigorous debate than a fill-in-the-blanks questionnaire from the local papers have another option: a write-in campaign.

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(Updated 6/27 with photos from the actual river trip, shot by passenger Paul Schnell)

I was back on the river yesterday, after a week’s layoff due to foul weather. The flow in Grand Teton National Park is surging, with the sudden arrival of sunshine finally triggering a melt-off in the high country.

Earlier I wrote about the experience of exploring the river in the park, and that’s the way spring has been: abundant wildlife, elk sightings nearly every trip, the uncertainty around each bend of not knowing just what you’ll encounter.

Last night, on the last of my three trips, I rowed into a small side channel. It’s quiet, and a good place to see wildlife up close, when animals happen to be there.

Within minutes I had spotted what looked like a large dirt clump on the side of the river. It was too large to be a beaver, but it wasn’t moving. We floated closer. A tourist asked me a question, and the brown shape slowly roused, turned around and looked at us with sad eyes.

“It’s a grizzly bear,” I said, and the tourists screamed.

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(Editor’s note: This post comes from Favio Snimp, just back from motorcycle racing across the Sahara and never afraid to be a contrarian.)

If you’re likeable, recently deceased and have been on TV a lot, you’ll get rave notices. Tim Russert certainly is getting his air time, right up there in Anna Nicole Smith territory. MSNBC seems to have instantly commissioned “Dirge for Tim for Lone Plaintive Horn” and repeats it often.

What, exactly, did Tim Russert offer to our needy nation? All the grim lamenters, on TV and in newspapers, agree. He was “the real deal.” He was “the ultimate dad.” An unending variety of accolades repeat the same sentiment: Russert was a regular guy who loved his family and remained faithful to the Buffalo Bills.

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By now you may have heard about the home page of John McBush McCain, where alongside his campaign strategy and Iraq policy is an equally weighted section devoted to “Golf Gear.” An indication of the demographics of his supporters, and his savvy grasp of the Internets.

The site has brought him blogospheric ridicule, but less funny is McCain’s latest assertion that it’s “not too important” when U.S. troops come home from Iraq. In this clip (after jump) he stresses that reducing casualties is what’s essential, oblivious to the fact that every day our soldiers are mired in a hostile land, away from their families, at a cost of $343 million per day, is a casualty for American taxpayers.

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The robins are getting fat on drowned earthworms, and the fragrance of chokecherry and crabapple blossoms fills the air. On East Gros Ventre Butte, it’s as if someone spilled streaks of yellow paint down every nook and gully, the bunches of balsam root are so abundant.

Looking out the window in mid-June and seeing this view is more than one can bear. We’re only a week away from summer, and yet we never really had any spring.

This valley is about to explode — with wildflowers, runoff, and mosquitoes. A little sunshine, and the frenzy will be on for the longest days of the year.

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