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.

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. 

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. 

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.”

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.

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.