Cort Conley, Prankster 

 
Draft 1.5 (work in progress)   
July 26, 2025

 Cort Conley is my definition of an enigma.

The kind of man who earns a law degree from the University of California... yet commits himself to the life of a river runner.

A man who pens deeply reasoned and researched books on Idaho artists and Idaho loners and popular books on the Middle Fork and main Salmon Rivers, but spends more of his time assisting other writers to succeed at their craft.

 

This is a man who guards his privacy religiously, even occasinally using a pseudonym from the pages of James Joyce; and yet he has penned the most complete travel book yet written on Idaho. He did it by putting $30,000 on his car and by interviewing hundreds of residents throughout the state.

He is a man who will go to wild lengths to pull off "pranks," and yet when he reads a story in the rural Grangeville newspaper about a young girl who can't afford the $500 pet deposit for a puppy, sends the author of the article the $500 deposit. But there's one admonition: "It's OK to let people know this happened, just not 'who'." 

My manta, he wrote to the reporter, is not to say 'if there's anything I can do.' Instead, wrote Cort, "find something and do it. Perhaps it will inspire others to act on their better impulses."  What a softie.

Of course, this is the same guy who keeps up on the local, national, and international news, but doesn't own a TV. Now, that's just plain weird.

 

One of the first of many serendipitous events that made a difference to Outdoor Idaho and me was when Cort mailed me a copy of his “Idaho for the Curious.”  I remember opening the package, thinking, who is expecting me to read a 700-page hardcover book organized by highways?  It took only a few pages to realize that I had in my hands the best, most entertaining, and thorough book about Idaho I had ever read.

His book became required reading for the Outdoor Idaho crew. Cort had managed to make “curiosity” a commendable commodity.

You’ll still have to find your own motel and eating establishments, however, because “Idaho for the Querulous” -- my title for his book -- is a history and travel book with a bite. For example, his description of Dworshak Dam, the third tallest dam in the United States, on the North Fork Clearwater River, is a serious indictment:

“Unfortunately, there have always been more politicians than suitable damsites,” he wrote. “Building the highest straight axis gravity dam in the Western Hemisphere, on a river with a mean flow of 5,000 cubic feet per second, at a cost of $312 million, in the name of flood control, is the second-funniest joke in Idaho. The funniest joke is inside the visitor center: a government sign entreats: ‘... help protect this delicate environment for future generations.’”

I once suggested to Cort, half in jest, that one day we should team up and try our hand at a podcast. Cort’s response: What’s a podcast?

 

 

 

 

A few years ago, I had returned from Gorongosa National Park in Mozambique and was headed to a Boise coffee shop to meet Cort for our monthly coffee gathering.

I had forgotten he’s not like other people. There he was, sitting at an outside table, wearing a khaki safari hat, a camouflage shirt and sunglasses, with a leopard skin draped over one chair and a cheetah skin over the other. My mocha was waiting for me, on a tablecloth featuring Africa’s largest charismatic animals.

My colorful African print short-sleeved shirt that I had purchased just before boarding the plane in Johannesburg, Africa, seemed unworthy for the occasion.

Once again Cort had outdone me. In fact, I think he always outdoes me, except maybe the time I jokingly threatened to create a Facebook page for this most private of individuals. "Meet you in Court" was his short, written retort. I suspect he meant it. Of course, how would he ever know?

 

 

You’ll still have to find your own motel and eating establishments, however, because “Idaho for the Querulous” -- my sarcastic title for his book -- is a history and travel book with a bite. For example, his description of Dworshak Dam, the third tallest dam in the United States, on the North Fork Clearwater River, is a serious indictment:

“Unfortunately, there have always been more politicians than suitable damsites,” he wrote. “Building the highest straight axis gravity dam in the Western Hemisphere, on a river with a mean flow of 5,000 cubic feet per second, at a cost of $312 million, in the name of flood control, is the second-funniest joke in Idaho. The funniest joke is inside the visitor center: a government sign entreats: ‘... help protect this delicate environment for future generations.’”

I once suggested to Cort, half in jest, that one day we should team up and try our hand at a podcast. Cort’s response: What’s a podcast?

 

Occasionally Outdoor Idaho director Pat Metzler and I would bring Cort into the station’s edit bay to get his opinion on something dealing with the state. He was always intrigued by how Pat could create an actual TV show, combining video and audio and music. Cort was like a kid in a candy store, watching Pat tweak the lighting and take out the “ums” and “ahs” to make our interviewees sound as smooth as possible.

It was always fun to joke with Cort about how I had butchered his latest interview, making him say things he never would have said. Cort would study my face to see if I was serious, because he sure as hell wasn't going to buy a TV set to find out. 

 

 Cort is a book guy through and through. He was formerly the Literature Director for the Idaho Commission of the Arts and has been a judge at National Outdoor Book Awards contests. When he sends me a book or an article, I feel obligated to read it, because it’s not just an email attachment. He mails it, often without a note explaining why he thinks I should read it. He knows I will.

He may live in the Book World, but Cort seemed genuinely upset when I told him that John Freemuth still held the record for most appearances in an Outdoor Idaho show. He could still win the honor with a few more interviews, I suggested. But after I retired, Cort's interest in pursuing that record faded like a sego lily in August.

Still, I appreciated Cort because he never criticized my purple prose. In fact, he was the one who suggested that I write something akin to a book, using Outdoor Idaho as the hook. “There will be nothing else like it out there,” he told me. I said I could hardly remember what I had for breakfast. “No one cares what you had for breakfast,” he replied.

 

 

 Cort spent several years as a river guide, and to hear some people tell it, he was not above scaring the bejesus out of his passengers, whether by accident or on purpose. “After a particularly scary run at high water, I went down the next morning to check on the raft. Sometime in the night my passengers had draped a big banner over the boat. It read ___” (get Cort’s exact words)

Cort had a good laugh telling me about the incident, but as he told his paying customers, “You’re stuck with me, so get back in the raft.”

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 I could write a long article about Cort’s many pranks, like the time he dressed up in a Nazi military outfit, disguised his face, and just stood in the back of the room while the Governor spoke to a group of businessmen about the state of Idaho’s economy. Eventually, a discernible discomfort permeated the room, even though Cort didn’t utter a word.

 

Or the time he took red paint and poured some of it over each of the newly created stumps along (name major street), after the city had cut down a series of live trees along the major corridor.  (something more he left on each tree; find)

 

Or the time he brought to Kathryn Albertson Park his mounted sage hen with its wings outstretched. He knew his friend, another birder like Cort, would be taking his morning constitution through the park with his camera. Naturally, Cort was hiding in the bushes, with a string around the bird’s leg so it could seem to be moving. Cort reveled in the expressions on the faces of his punked victims.