Wyoming

A Century of Citizenship: Views from Wind River Reservation on being Indigenous in America

Published

12 months ago

December 25, 2024

A Century of Citizenship

Rhyia Joyheart, 26, is no stranger to the day-to-day grind of 21st-century life, such as rising rent, high grocery bills, and long hours spent in city traffic. Born on Wyoming’s Wind River Indian Reservation and currently working at Denver’s Urban Indian Health Clinic, Joyheart says bringing resources to Indigenous communities involves working with systems that are designed to exclude them.

“It’s become my passion to become a translator for our community, in the sense of making a spot at the table,” Joyheart says. “I do feel at times the only way to get anywhere is to assimilate to the system.”

Congress passed the Indian Citizenship Act a century ago, granting citizenship to “all noncitizen Indians born within the territorial limits of the United States.” Today, Native Americans claim dual citizenship, recognizing their identity with both their tribal nations and the United States. But this relationship is far from simple.

USA TODAY traveled to Wind River to learn from Indigenous community leaders about how they balance these identities a century onwards, and what gives them hope for a better future.

Moving history, changing borders

Wes Martel, of Eastern Shoshone and Northern Arapaho heritage, sits with a plate of hash browns and fried eggs in front of him. At 74, he’s been active in tribal politics, buffalo restoration, environmental protection, and the fight for water rights. He thinks that Native Americans still live under the same legal constraints as they did a century ago.

He points to the Doctrine of Discovery, enacted by the Pope in the 15th century, which gave control of land to settlers who “discovered” it. The Vatican renounced the Doctrine, but it was cited by the U.S. Supreme Court as recently as 2005.

He also takes issue with the authority the U.S. government holds over Native Americans, known as “plenary power,” defined as “complete or absolute authority granted to a governing body…without limitations.” In Martel’s words, Congress “can do whatever the hell they want.”

All this makes Martel question the equality of Native American citizenship.

“It’s 2024, as a tribal member, I can’t own land,” Martel says. The Bureau of Indian Affairs “has to hold it in a trust for me.”

Martel points out that tribal nations along the Colorado River are reclaiming water rights and says that a brighter future is possible when Indigenous communities fight back.

“If you’re just going to give me some more Christianized, colonized attorneys, I don’t want no part of it,” Martel says. “We need some pit bulls for treaty law, constitutional law, and to fight this plenary power bullshit.”

Martel sips his coffee and talks about the history of Wind River. An 1863 treaty had the territory of the Eastern Shoshones stretching as far as present-day Utah and Colorado. Laws and treaties cut the reservation’s size by 95 percent. The U.S. government moved the Northern Arapaho Tribal Nation to Wind River in 1878.

At the turn of the 20th century, allotment and leasing acts opened up land to white settlers. Their descendants own property today, making Wind River a checkerboard of Indigenous and settler “discovered” land.

Sitting at his dining table in a maroon Arizona Diamondbacks shirt, Clarence Thomas, 60, questions the borders that define modern sovereignty – not just Wind River. Thomas descends from the Onk Akimel O’odham (Pima) tribal nation near today’s U.S.-Mexico border and moved to Wind River for his wife, who is Eastern Shoshone.

Thomas’ ancestors historically roamed throughout the Southwest. Thomas says that “tribal cousins” now live across the U.S.-Mexico border. He prickles at the idea of closing it.

“This whole country is full of those who immigrated here. And we as Indigenous people, we just watch them come and go,” Thomas says. “But yet they are the ones who always will say, “let’s stop the immigrants.””

Assimilation, bridging two worlds

Jeff Means, an Oglala Sioux, argues that the notion of citizenship as a “gift” to Native Americans is “disingenuous.” As an associate professor of History and Native American and Indigenous studies at the University of Wyoming, Means says it’s the culmination of decades of policy designed to blend American Indians into white society.

“All that you have left are the Natives who’ve known nothing else but reservation life. And they’re struggling desperately to try and maintain their identity and their sovereignty and independence,” Means says. “You’re now declaring these people citizens of a completely different nation.”

Thomas says his elders taught him a similar message

“Citizenship in itself came with “you will do it this way, but that’s the only way you’ll do it,” Thomas says. “And in that, everything else is gone. And even to this point, we’re still, as tribal people, trying to gain that back. But it’s still a fight.”

Reinette Curry, 40, wears heart-shaped beaded earrings and a blue t-shirt. Curry works at the University of Wyoming and pushes for Indigenous education and cultural preservation. She says a level of assimilation can be a necessity, but community building is the ultimate goal.

“Although we’re getting educated out in the white man’s world, we’re able to come back home and bring that education in,” Curry says. She tells her children and younger community members, “If you go off to college and you get educated, you can use that as a tool to fight for our people.”

The impact of federal policy plays out in Curry’s personal life. Curry, while an enrolled member of the Northern Arapaho tribal nation, also has Northern Ute and Pyramid Lake Paiute heritage. The Bureau of Indian Affairs instituted blood quantum in the 1880s. It’s a sort of inversion of the Jim Crow South’s “one-drop rule” that measures a person’s amount of “Indian blood” to determine tribal eligibility.

As Curry’s family and others have children with members of other tribes, or with outsiders, they become less Indigenous in the eyes of the United States government. This can make them less eligible for tribal membership and benefits.

“It was basically placed to eventually fade us out,” Curry says.

Curry sits inside a white canvas tent as the roar of a summer thunderstorm lashes against its sides. She explains that parents encourage their children to form partnerships with other Indigenous people to avoid the risk of losing their tribal status and associated benefits.

“Tough conversations like that we as Native people have to have, other people don’t have to have,” Curry says.

An honest narrative, a path forward

When Joyheart, who’s Northern Arapaho, Flathead, and Eastern Shoshone, looks at the last century, she sees a reluctance to truthfully tell a story that could repeat itself.

“They’re like “okay, yeah, get over it,” but they don’t understand that it’s not that simple. How can you get over a genocide of a people?” Joyheart asks. “We understand that what has happened is in the past, but it doesn’t mean that it couldn’t happen again.”

A desire for an honest look at history isn’t unique to Joyheart and Native Americans. Japanese internment camps have been transformed into museums. In Washington, D.C., the Smithsonian National Museum of African American History and Culture documents the timeline of the cultural and civil rights abuses against Black Americans. Although there is a National Museum for the American Indian, Joyheart wants broader recognition of the unique challenges Indigenous people have overcome.

President Joe Biden took a step forward to reconciliation when he recently apologized for abuses committed at government and church-run boarding schools. Earlier this month, the Department of the Interior announced an oral history initiative with the National Museum of American History to preserve the stories of survivors of the federal Indian boarding school system.

The schools played a crucial and often harsh role in assimilating American Indians into non-Indigenous society. Their legacy lingers at Wind River, to this day.

Thomas tells the story of his grandfather greeting a teacher at a boarding school in his native language.

“And she [the nun] kept hitting him every time he said that … finally, when he started learning the language, what she was saying was, ‘Don’t speak your dirty language to me and don’t look at me.’” Thomas says, “Don’t look at me. Look down.”

Joyheart, who beads and sews regalia for young powwow dancers, says more teaching of Native American history is needed, both inside and outside her communities.

“A lot of our Native people are rediscovering a lot of the history within our own stories,” Joyheart says.

Allison Sage, 66, Northern Arapaho, works to connect youth on Wind River with these histories. He tells a favorite joke from the front seat of his pickup truck.

“In the 1800s … General George Armstrong Custer told Congress’ don’t do nothing till I get back,” Sage says.

The oft-mythologized Custer died in the Battle of Little Big Horn – and in Sage’s eyes, the federal government hasn’t changed its tune since: “They divide you up, then they conquer you.”

Sage saddles up with youth from around Wind River for monthly healing rides to connect young people with their cultural heritage. The annual highlight is a pilgrimage to the site of Custer’s defeat.

“We go every year to the Battle of the Little Big Horn victory ride, which is the decolonization ride,” Sage says.

Martel, sitting over his breakfast, believes the government has failed Native Americans, but he has faith in the strength of tribal communities. He has five great-grandchildren. When asked about his wishes for them, he emphasizes health, happiness, food on their table, and an “understanding of our lodges, ceremonies, and medicines.”

“Strength in our families and our communities, that’s all we’re trying to do,” Martel says. “But nobody gets it.”

Curry is optimistic that this strength and these practices will find future generations so they can continue to be proud of their culture no matter where life carries them. Just a few generations removed from the violence of boarding schools, and with a new understanding of intergenerational trauma, Curry is already seeing the results.

“Now we can start teaching our babies at a younger age. And so I get excited when they’re dancing and singing and singing songs in our language,” Curry says. “So much hope that our kids are going to learn all this, and they’re going to be able to hold us down when we’re all gone.”

One hundred years after the Indian Citizenship Act, Joyheart stands in a field of tall grass, sharp peaks of the Wind River mountains behind her, her gaze brushing over a ring of trucks and tents, everything tinged rose by the setting sun. Just a few generations ago, her regalia and the dance she performs were outlawed.

“We live in our children’s past,” Joyheart says. “Meaning that when we’re long and gone, that all of our cultural teachings and legacies are going to carry on with them.”

Cy Neff reports on Wyoming politics for USA TODAY. You can reach him at cneff@usatoday.com or on X, formerly known as Twitter, @CyNeffNews

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Wyoming Ranchers Hoping Solar Can Lower Costs Say Utilities and the State Stand in Their Way – Inside Climate News

Published

9 hours ago

December 14, 2025

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Wyoming Ranchers Hoping Solar Can Lower Costs Say Utilities and the State Stand in Their Way – Inside Climate News

COKEVILLE, Wyo.—Tim Teichert and Jason Thornock want the sun to help them survive as ranchers in Cokeville, Wyoming. On an overcast May day, the two drove around the one-restaurant town, lamenting high electricity prices and restrictive Wyoming laws that they say have thrown an unnecessary burden onto their broad shoulders.

“I pay $90,000 in an electric bill,” Teichert said as he and Thornock made their way through fields of cattle, alfalfa and hay. “Jason’s about $150,000. If Jason had that $150,000 back, his kids could all come back to Cokeville, and work and live here, and you’d be able to raise kids here in Cokeville.”

In 2023, hoping to improve their margins, Teichert and Thornock each applied for Rural Energy for America Program (REAP) grants, which the Biden administration had infused with $2 billion to help support farmers interested in renewable energy.

While neither man was thrilled about the prospect of applying for federal funds—they prefer smaller government—they were interested in using solar to cover their own electrical demand. Teichert and Thornock say this could have saved them five or six figures annually, and made their businesses more attractive to their kids.

Across Wyoming and the U.S., Americans increasingly face skyrocketing electricity bills. In 2023, Rocky Mountain Power, Teichert and Thornock’s utility and the largest in Wyoming, asked regulators at the state’s Public Service Commission to approve a nearly 30 percent rate increase; the next year, they asked to raise rates by close to 15 percent. Though both requests were ultimately granted at lower rates, affordability concerns have sent almost every corner of Wyoming scrambling for ways to defray rising electricity costs.

A fraction of homeowners already do this in the Equality State by using credits from their utility for generating their own electricity using solar panels and sending excess amounts back to the grid, an arrangement known as net metering. But Wyoming law caps net-metering systems at 25 kilowatts, large enough to include just about any homeowner’s rooftop solar system, but too small to provide enough credits to offset all the electricity larger properties, like ranches, draw from the grid.

Earlier this year, a coalition of environmentalists, businesses and ranchers, including Teichert and Thornock, unsuccessfully supported a bill that would have raised Wyoming’s net-metering cap to 250 kilowatts.

Teichert and Thornock were initially counting on changes to the law as they eyed REAP funds. Teichert, a sturdy man with pale blue eyes and a trim Fu Manchu mustache, eventually applied and was awarded a $440,000 grant to build a ranch shed supporting around 250 kilowatts of solar panels. Today, with no ability to net meter, he fears he may never recoup his investment, which was over $500,000. Thornock, whose wide, boyish grin sits atop a hefty build, was approved for $868,000 in REAP funding to build a 648-kilowatt solar system. Concerned that his project’s viability rested on the judgment of state lawmakers, he returned the money.

The Department of Agriculture has since stopped funding renewable energy projects on farmland. REAP was a “huge opportunity we all missed in Wyoming,” Thornock said.

The two men are not the only Wyoming ranchers interested in using solar to give their businesses more stability.

“A lot of ranchers really look to renewables to help diversify their revenue stream, keep the ranch whole, and keep their family on the ranch, keep the land together,” said Chris Brown, executive director of Powering Up Wyoming, a renewable energy advocacy group. Most of the ranchers he’s worked with are interested in leasing their lands to solar developers, rather than purchasing their own systems, and his organization is neutral on net-metering.

Rocky Mountain Power says it is open to changes in the state’s net-metering laws, and the utility did not take a position on net metering during last spring’s legislative session.

“It’s not a level playing field; you’re dealing with a monopoly—a government-subsidized monopoly, government-protected monopoly.”
— Jason Thornock

“We have worked diligently in recent decades with customers, municipalities, state legislatures, in order to facilitate particular regulatory and pricing changes to allow customers to meet their energy goals,” said David Eskelsen, a spokesperson for PacifiCorp, Rocky Mountain Power’s parent company and a subsidiary of billionaire Warren Buffett’s Berkshire Hathaway.

If rate hikes keep coming and margins don’t improve, Teichert, who runs his ranch with his brother, fears he and Thornock will eventually have to sell their lands, which crisscross much of Cokeville. They find other utilities’ arguments against net-metering expansion dubious, and fume at the business model and regulatory environment that allows utilities to earn enormous profits but restricts their customers from making their own energy use more affordable. The two ranchers find it particularly ironic that Rocky Mountain Power could build power lines across their property to carry renewable energy to California, Oregon and Washington, while it is illegal for them to install enough solar panels to cover their own electrical bills.

“It’s not a level playing field; you’re dealing with a monopoly—a government-subsidized monopoly, government-protected monopoly,” Thornock said on his ride to see Teichert’s solar array. “It’s got all the power in the world. And, like Tim says, they want to sell renewable energy to California, [Washington] and Oregon. They won’t let us do it because they want the control.”

Reaping Few Rewards

Teichert pulled his truck through a gate and into a field of alfalfa and hay. Just beyond was a shed with 18 red steel legs that looked like an enormous centipede straddling bales of hay and some farming equipment. On top of the shed sat Teichert’s $1.1 million solar system, which was designed to cover the electrical costs of running all his irrigation system’s pivots and pumps.

If Teichert could net meter, he says he would be more competitive with ranchers just a few miles away in Idaho and Utah, where net-metering laws are much less restrictive than in Wyoming.

In Idaho, ranchers can install up to 100 kilowatts of solar, and that number jumps to 2 megawatts for ranchers in Utah, 80 times the limit in Wyoming.

Tim Teichert installed around 250 kilowatts of solar using REAP funding, hoping Wyoming would change its net-metering laws.

Rocky Mountain Power charges irrigators different base electricity rates in each state, but regardless of the price of the power, any savings are helpful to big users like agricultural operations.

“Quite a few of the farmers [in Idaho and Utah] do it,” said Teichert, of net-metered solar.

In 2023, while Teichert was designing his system, Thornock was considering whether it was wise to spend his money on a solar array. He believed there was a good chance Wyoming wouldn’t change its law to increase the cap on net metering. Since his system would be more than 25 times the size that’s allowed to net meter, Thornock anticipated it would be extremely difficult for it to pay for itself if he wasn’t credited for sending excess electricity to the grid. He backed out of his REAP grant, and advised Teichert to do the same.

But Teichert forged ahead and installed his panels, believing it would be no big deal to convince Wyoming lawmakers to adjust the state’s net-metering law—especially given the more advantageous arrangement ranchers in Idaho and Utah enjoy with the same utility. “I thought I’d be ahead of everybody,” he said.

Once the bill to raise Wyoming’s net-metering cap failed, Teichert pivoted. He began exploring a power purchase agreement with Rocky Mountain Power, in which the utility would buy electricity from him like he was a power plant. He said he had been told by the company installing his panels that a power purchase agreement could net him a good deal.

But when he saw how much the utility would pay him, he laughed. The utility would give him less than 1 cent per kilowatt hour in winter periods of low demand, and about 4 cents in peak summer demand hours. He would get much more of a financial benefit from the electricity he sent to the grid if he was instead compensated through net metering, which Wyoming law typically requires be credited at Rocky Mountain Power’s retail rate of electricity. The utility charges him around 14 cents per kilowatt hour, he said.

Setting up to sell his excess electricity to the grid through a power purchase agreement could leave Teichert even deeper in the hole, he added, as the utility informed him it would need $43,000 just to look at connecting his system to its grid.

Teichert looks over his power purchase agreement with Rocky Mountain Power. He is forgoing the agreement because he doesn’t believe it will ever let him recoup the costs of his system.

Originally, Teichert expected to pay off his solar shed in 10 years, but with the additional costs and the rates the utility offered, “I don’t know that I’ll ever come out on the deal,” he said.

And now, the federal support that incentivized him to pursue solar has been eliminated; in August the Department of Agriculture announced it would no longer fund solar or wind projects through REAP.

Teichert eventually decided to purchase a battery system to back up his panels. He does not plan on selling any of his electricity to Rocky Mountain Power.

“I should have listened to Jason,” he said.

Thornock feels he dodged a bullet.

Driving away from the solar shed, Teichert and Thornock said their history with Rocky Mountain Power contradicts other utilities’ arguments against net-metering.

Lines in the Valley

The biggest of the power lines crisscrossing the valley where Teichert and Thornock ranch belong to PacifiCorp, whose planned Gateway West project to deliver renewable energy to customers in California, Oregon and Washington would add even more lines. Some of those new lines could cross Teichert and Thornock’s properties, the men say.

They’ve got more experience with power lines than most utility customers, as they actually built some of the smaller lines coming off Rocky Mountain Power’s system.

Both men say the utility sent inflated estimates of the cost to install new lines to bring additional power to their growing ranching operations, leading them to seek help elsewhere.

In 2020, Teichert said he contracted a company to put in a power line for about $600,000 after the utility told him he would need to pay over $1 million for the same job, he said. Thornock has repeatedly testified to state lawmakers that Rocky Mountain Power nearly bankrupted him when he first began ranching in the late 2000s after going back and forth with him about whether they would deliver power on lines he had installed. Thornock wound up in court and lost, then had to cover the utility’s attorney fees.

The whole saga “was that close to breaking me,” he said, as Teichert drove by the poles he had installed.

Jason Thornock wishes he could use solar to offset an annual $150,000 electrical bill.

Utilities warn that net-metering systems can allow those with rooftop solar to avoid paying fixed expenses for the grid they feed into, like system maintenance and construction costs, which, according to reporting by the New York Times, account for a growing share of utilities’ spending. “That in effect sets up a subsidy flowing from customers who don’t use net-metering systems to those who do,” said Eskelsen, PacifiCorp’s spokesperson. Any price issues rooftop solar customers cause are confined within their “rate class” of customers who use a similar amount of electricity, he added.

Determining how—or whether—to alter the rates for net-metering customers to make sure they’re paying their fair share for the infrastructure that takes their excess energy has been a sticking point between utilities and Wyoming’s net-metering supporters. Rooftop solar supporters say that subsidization likely occurs all over the grid regardless of whether a homeowner or business is net metering, and claim that avoiding transmission costs saves all ratepayers money.

Experts generally say that rooftop solar’s dependence on infrastructure that it isn’t paying for won’t create billing issues until 10 to 20 percent of a utility’s customer base is in the program. Less than two percent of all Wyoming homes have rooftop solar panels, according to estimates from the Solar Energy Industry Association.

Given all the work he’s paid for, Teichert finds utilities’ arguments about cost sharing disingenuous. “When they sit there and say, ‘Well, we’re not paying our share,’ we’ve more than paid our share,” Teichert said. “That bugs me that they lie like that.”

Thornock said he would be happy to pay for any issues a net-metering solar system may cause—provided the new rate is fair, and preferably not suggested by a utility.

“We’re not asking for a handout. I don’t want Rocky Mountain Power subsidizing me,” he said. “I just want to be able to compete. I just want to be able to make a living.”

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When told of Teichert and Thornock’s experience building their own power lines, Eskelsen was surprised, but said it was possible in such a rural area. “That’s not something that we typically allow,” he said.

But what really bothers Teichert and Thornock is the utility business model. In Wyoming, as determined by the Public Service Commission in the company’s latest rate case hearing, Rocky Mountain Power is entitled to a 9.5 percent return on equity, around the national average, according to S&P estimates. In other words, if Rocky Mountain Power uses shareholder funds to build long-term assets, like power plants, it can recover up to an additional 9.5 percent of the total value of those assets from its customers and deliver that back to shareholders as profit.

This incentivizes Rocky Mountain Power to “explode [their] costs,” Thornock said. “Ten percent of 10 million is a lot more than [10] percent of a million,” he continued. “Even I can do that math.”

At least one former utility executive believes that the nationwide average of around 10 percent return on equity for utilities is too lucrative, and should be closer to 6 percent to more appropriately reflect the benefits and risks of investing in a utility.

“We’re not asking for a handout. I don’t want Rocky Mountain Power subsidizing me. I just want to be able to compete. I just want to be able to make a living.”
— Jason Thornock

A utility’s return on equity is misunderstood, Eskelsen said, and functions more like a ceiling than a guarantee. Because utilities must “open our books to utility commissions,” who judge whether the company has spent prudently, they have a “powerful incentive” not to exaggerate their costs, he said. A commission disallowing a utility’s costs cuts profits for utility shareholders, he added.

Back in Teichert’s truck, he and Thornock laughed at the fantasy of getting a guaranteed profit on cattle and crop purchases. “I think that’s why there’s such a huge blowback from these utilities on net metering,” Thornock said. “They can see that if we let these guys produce their own power, they’re going to see right through all the nonsense.”

“And I don’t blame them,” he continued. “If I was in their shoes, man, that’s crazy money—and they’re protected by the government to do it.”

Staying Alive

For their way of life to remain sustainable for themselves, their kids and grandkids, Wyoming needs to either increase the net-meeting cap or change how it regulates utilities “so we can have something fair,” Teichert said.

But he and Thornock see many of Wyoming’s representatives as too deferential to utilities, and neither of them has much faith that the state will overhaul the system.

While it is not unusual for politicians in Wyoming to accept donations from sectors they regulate, at least one member of the Wyoming Senate has close professional ties to a utility. Dan Dockstader, a state Senator representing Teton and Lincoln counties, which includes Cokeville, is a board member of Lower Valley Energy, an electric cooperative.

As last year’s net-metering bill came up for a vote in the Senate, Dockstader amended the bill to exempt electric utility co-ops from Public Service Commission oversight when it came to setting net-metering customers’ rates. The commission now has “limited jurisdiction over eighteen retail rural electric cooperatives,” according to its website.

Rocky Mountain Power transmission lines run across both Teichert’s and Thornock’s property, and there may soon be more here if the utility decides to run its Gateway West transmission project through this corridor.

The amendment didn’t sit well with Thornock. “[Dockstader is] representing Lower Valley Energy, he’s not representing the people who are using the power,” he said.

“I was representing the interests of the Wyoming Rural Electric Association (WREA) with 14 electric power distribution cooperates and another three generation and transmission cooperates,” Dockstader said, in an email. “All efforts to pass legislation should include a balanced approach with the rural cooperatives.”

Those who have been trying to find a way to raise Wyoming’s net-metering cap agree that utilities hold a lot of sway with lawmakers in Cheyenne.

“We watched numerous amendments chip away at the original intent of the bill, to the point where we realized if it passed it would actually be a step back for rooftop solar deployment in Wyoming,” said John Burrows, climate and energy director for the Wyoming Outdoor Council.

“Utilities have established, professional lobbyists,” he continued. “They lobbied quite aggressively on this issue and I suspect that that had an impact on where the bill went.”

Moving forward, net-metering supporters are trying to resolve their differences with utility companies through a third-party facilitator before introducing another bill, according to Burrows.

“Net metering still needs to happen,” Thornock said. Other energy sources, like small modular nuclear reactors that can generate power without emissions, but rely on unproven technologies, intrigue him—but he worries they’ll also be hobbled by the kinds of problems plaguing net metering. “If we don’t get this net-meeting stuff figured out we’re not going to be able to take advantage of the technology that’s coming,” he said.

Clouds shrouded the high sun over Cokeville when Teichert dropped Thornock off at his house around noon. Cruising around his hometown, where he once taught middle school English, Teichert pointed out about half a dozen homes sporting rooftop solar panels. As the cost of living goes up, his 91-year-old mother’s house may be next.

“At some point, my mom’s gonna have to choose between, do you turn on the power or do you buy groceries?” he said.

Rising costs, including for electricity, pose a similar dilemma to his business. “If it gets to the point where you can’t afford to ranch, our only option is to start selling 35-acre parcels,” he said.

Eventually, Teichert navigated toward the mountains. He slowed to admire the clarity of a creek, pulled over to gush over the ski slopes just outside of town and spoke eloquently about Cokeville’s history as an energy hub. But on his way home, he saw ranchland that had been carved up and sold to developers, and his eyes winced with angst. He kept driving.

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Jake Bolster reports on Wyoming and the West for Inside Climate News. Previously, he worked as a freelancer, covering climate change, energy, and the environment across the United States. He holds a Masters in Journalism from Columbia University.

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Penn State wrestling wins 75th straight dual meet by beating Wyoming 40-7: Full results

Published

21 hours ago

December 13, 2025

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Penn State wrestling wins 75th straight dual meet by beating Wyoming 40-7: Full results

Penn State beats Wyoming 40-7

12/13/2025 08:30:01 PM

Penn State won its 75th consecutive dual meet by beating Wyoming 40-7 on the road Saturday night. The Lions won eight of 10 bouts, including four victories by fall.

Penn State returns to the mat next Saturday in Nashville. The Lions wrestle North Dakota State and Stanford at the Collegiate Wrestling Duals. If they win both, they will pass Oklahoma State for the Division I record for most consecutive dual victories with 77.

Here are the full results from Saturday night:

125 pounds: No. 2 Luke Lilledahl (So.), Penn State TF Sefton Douglass, Wyoming, 18-3 (3:26) (PSU 5-0)
133 pounds: No. 10 Marcus Blaze (Fr.), PSU F Luke Willochell, Wyoming (3:39) (PSU 11-0)
141 pounds: Nate Desmond (Fr.) Penn State d. John Alden, Wyoming, 11-4 (PSU 15-0)
149 pounds: No. 1 Shayne Van Ness (Jr.), PSU F No. 30 30 Gabe Willochell, Wyoming, 2:54 (PSU 20-0)
157 pounds: No. 15 PJ Duke (Fr.), Penn State F No. 23 Jared Hill, Wyoming, 4:09 (PSU 26-0)
165 pounds: No. 1 Mitchell Mesenbrink (Jr.), PSU F Sloan Swan, Wyoming, 2:00 (35-0 PSU)
174 pounds: No. 1 Levi Haines (Sr.), Penn State TF No. 28 Riley Davis, Wyoming, 18-1 (4:50) (PSU 37-0)
184 pounds: No. 4 Rocco Welsh (So.), PSU d. No. 12 Eddie Neitenbach, Wyoming, 4-1 (PSU 40-0)
197 pounds: No. 2 Joey Novak, Wyoming md. Connor Mirasola, 10-2 (PSU 40-4)
285 pounds: No. 10 Christian Carroll, Wyoming d. No. 11 Cole Mirasola, 10-4 (PSU 40-7)

FINAL: PSU 40, Wyoming 7

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6 Colorado, Wyoming hot springs worth the drive this winter

Published

1 day ago

December 13, 2025

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6 Colorado, Wyoming hot springs worth the drive this winter

Colorado and Wyoming offer numerous natural hot springs resorts for a winter getaway.
Locations range from a two-hour drive from Fort Collins to over 300 miles away.
Amenities vary by resort, including tropical atriums, geothermal caves and cold river plunges.

Weary of winter already?

Kick back in one of the many natural hot tubs our area has to offer.

Colorado and Wyoming are sprinkled with natural hot springs, with various resorts each offering something different — think untouched natural scenery, tropical plant-laden atriums and cold riverside plunge pools.

Virtually dip your toes in with this list and see if any stick out to you for a future winter getaway.

Hot springs to visit in Colorado, Wyoming

Strawberry Park Hot Springs

Where: 44200 County Road 36, Steamboat Springs, Colorado

Need to relax? Head to Strawberry Park Hot Springs where you’ll find thermal mineral water pools surrounded by Steamboat Springs’ natural beauty.

The pools are open to both its day visitors — admission costs $20 per person for a two-hour reservation — and overnight lodgers. It also offers up massage options and aqua therapy in private pools.

Located about 165 miles from Fort Collins, Strawberry Park Hot Springs is a roughly 3.5-hour drive away. From Nov. 1 through May 1, four-wheel drive with snow tires or chains are required to get to the hot springs. To avoid tough road conditions, Strawberry Park encourages contacting its shuttle partners to schedule drop off and pick up.

Pets, outside food, glass, alcohol and smoking are prohibited.

Minors are not permitted after dark, and clothing is optional after dark.

Hot Sulphur Springs

Where: 5609 Spring Road, Hot Sulphur Springs, Colorado

Soak your worries away at Hot Sulphur Springs Resort & Spa. The resort — once used as a winter campground for Native Americans — is now home to 20 manmade pools supplied by a handful of natural hot springs that flow through the resort and into the Colorado River, according to its website. Located about 130 miles away, the springs are a roughly 3-hour drive from Fort Collins.

Its pools — which run from 98 to 112 degrees — are open yearround and welcome walk-ins. Adult day passes cost $30, senior day passes cost $23 and children’s passes (ages 4-11) cost $16. Towels and robes are also available for rent.

Pets (except trained service animals), outside food, glass containers, alcohol, smoking and vaping are prohibited.

Indian Hot Springs

Where: 302 Soda Creek Road, Idaho Springs, Colorado

Located the closest to Fort Collins on this list, Indian Hot Springs is a quick two-hour jaunt down Interstates 25 and 70. Once there, you’ll find a large indoor mineral water swimming pool and tropical plant-strewn atrium as well as private baths, outdoor tubs and geothermal caves.

Regular admission to the indoor swimming pool costs $30 per person Monday through Thursday and $35 per person Friday through Sunday. Caves are open to visitors 18 years old and older and can be accessed for $35 per person Monday through Thursday and $40 per person Friday through Sunday. Prices are different when “summit pricing” is in effect. Check the calendar on the Indian Hot Springs website for those dates.

Private baths and outdoor tubs can be reserved for varying rates. For more information, or to make a reservation, visit the Indian Hot Springs website.

Glenwood Hot Springs Resort

Where: 415 E. 6th St., Glenwood Springs, Colorado

At more than 200 miles away, Glenwood Springs is a bit of a hike — but that hike comes with beautiful scenery and, of course, hot springs. Try its Glenwood Hot Springs Resort, a fixture since 1888 that offers up a collection of hot springs pools, including its historic Grand Pool, an athletic club and other amenities.

Day passes range from $38 to $55 for adults and teenagers and $27 to $34 for children, with pricing varying based on off-peak and peak times. Reservations are not required. For more information, visit the resort website.

The Springs Resort

Where: 323 Hot Springs Blvd., Pagosa Springs, Colorado

Located more than 300 miles away in Pagosa Springs, The Springs Resort is a worthy weekend trip contender instead of a day drive. But despite its distance, it has plenty to offer — more than 50 hot springs pools, cold river plunges, a waterfall, steam grotto and more.

You can either stay at its resort or reserve a day pass to visit its pools, with general admission passes costing $69 for adults and $37 for children ages 3-12. For more information, or to make a reservation, visit the resort website.

Hot Springs State Park

Where: 51 US Highway 20 North, Thermopolis, Wyoming

Colorado can’t have all the fun. While located quite a ways away — 350 miles from Fort Collins — Wyoming has some impressive natural hot springs of its own in Thermopolis’ Hot Springs State Park. There are three soaking pools and a free and open-to-the-public Wyoming State Bath House. The bath house is open 8 a.m. to 5:30 p.m. Monday through Saturday and 12-5:30 p.m. Sundays in the winter. For more information, call 307-864-2176.

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