Cody Whipple does things 'my way.' Can the small-town rancher flip Nevada's bluest House seat?

HIKO — Traveling to Cody Whipple's family ranch is like going back in time. 

A hundred miles outside Las Vegas in rural Lincoln County, between the small town of Alamo and the even smaller community of Hiko, the Republican congressional candidate and half a dozen family members gather for lunch. They've grilled burgers, buttered corn and prepared a deliciously spongy chocolate cake, which they sit down to eat in his wood cabin, where he lives when he's not in the city. In a week, he'll host a clay shoot here to help fundraise.

The wind growls through the open door. 

Whipple, 52, is a unique candidate, not just because the fourth-generation Nevadan has lived his life in both the most urban and the most rural parts of the district. 

He's eschewed running a cookie-cutter campaign or working with national political consultants in favor of running on his rancher and outsider roots. That stands apart from other Republican congressional hopefuls who have largely kept to the same playbook and been rewarded with establishment backing and President Donald Trump's endorsement.

"They wanted me to use their people, and they wanted me to use their system, and I said 'No. I'm going to use my people,'" he says. "I'm going to do it my way, and I'm going to use the people in Nevada that I trust.'" 

Though the seat now held by Rep. Steven Horsford (D-NV) is a battleground in theory, election handicappers and prediction market participants consider it unlikely to flip. Democratic voters outnumber Republicans by about 30,000 and no Republican has represented the seat — which in addition to Hiko covers parts of North Las Vegas — in a decade.

But in what The New York Times has dubbed "the distrust election," Whipple is betting on authenticity breaking through. 

"People have lost trust in politics, and I would like to regain that trust," he says. "If not for the entire state, at least for Congressional District Four, where people feel like they actually have a representative that not only works, but believes in the same things they do."

His own mistrust extends beyond the current government.

"I'm still not a hundred percent that we walked on the moon," Whipple says, a conspiratorial assertion he repeats. "I saw the capsule, and I'm like, 'There's things on my ranch that are made better than this with baling wire.'"

You can buy dirt

Getting into the Honda Pioneer 1000 for a ranch tour, Whipple gestures to the passenger-side seatbelt. 

"You don't have to use that," he says.  

The first stop is "the boneyard," a canyon where Whipple says wild animals come to die. Under the searing afternoon sun, a mule deer springs by. 

The Whipple family has built a small cemetery at the top where some of those in his lineage are buried.

According to his mother and grandmother, his great-grandfather, J.L. Whipple, worked for Brigham Young as a cowboy. His grandfather Murry Whipple lost a finger in a roping accident, then died of sepsis. His uncle, Keith, was a Mormon and a "pillar of the community," according to former Clark County Commission Chairman Jay Bingham, who in high school got sent to Keith's ranch when he got in trouble.

And then there was Kent Whipple, a "wheeler and dealer with cattle buying," per Bingham. Whipple doesn't remember his dad, who died of cancer at 38. 

Over the ridge from his grave is the Nevada National Security Site, where the federal government tested nuclear bombs, spewing clouds of radioactive material toward Lincoln and other rural counties. 

The government didn't inform residents of the risks, and the ripple effects continue to this day. Iodine-131 accumulated in local cow's milk. Whipple's uncle, who was allergic to dairy, never got sick, but his aunt and his dad did. 

It's no surprise Whipple doesn't fully trust the government. During the COVID-19 pandemic, while his wife got the vaccine immediately, he and the kids skipped it. 

"We have this very diverse family with lots of different opinions," he says. "I don't want to vaccinate my daughters with something that I wasn't a hundred percent sure of."

In a follow-up email, Whipple does not address vaccines for humans and says he was referring to "vaccination injuries resulting in death or disease [that] are common in livestock and I always contacted the manufacture[r] when I documented these occurrences."

Rigorous scientific research has refuted common concerns about vaccines, but among the public and under the Trump administration, doubts persist.

Whipple's cowboy streak on vaccines isn't even the starkest example. He was in Future Farmers of America with Ryan and Ammon Bundy, who more than a decade ago engaged in armed standoffs with the federal government over public land. 

"The world should know by now, when you put a Bundy in a corner, the direction they're going; they're going through you, not around you," Whipple says. "What do you think John Wayne would do? That's what they think they are."

Whipple doesn't think the government can get everything right. Still, he knows when it's valuable — as when Social Security kicked in after his father died.

Here at the cemetery is another example of government support. Whipple speaks lovingly of his little brother Dalton, who was born with a rare genetic disorder called Prader-Willi syndrome. His mom says Medicaid paid for almost all of Dalton's open heart surgery. He died four years ago at 38.

One day, Cody Whipple will be buried here, too. 

Time marches on

Growing up on the ranch made the whole family tough. All five kids shared one bedroom in a little cinderblock house. They built muscle by throwing hay — and more. Whipple's cousin-in-law, Dorian Fulton, recalled watching the older boys spinning little Cody into the wall.

"He would hit the ground, bounce up, and charge after 'em again," Fulton said. 

His mom, Jane, was a teacher. Whipple notes that his mom is "very MAGA, like, loves President Trump." Now 88, she — and Whipple — had to build self-reliance.

"There's nobody to help," Fulton said. "He's a little kid. They have inadequate equipment. It's three boys, two girls and a mom, and they've got to keep this thing going."

Whipple played eight-man football for Pahranagat Valley High School, graduating in 1992 in a class of 21. He briefly attended Milford Academy in Connecticut, thinking he'd follow his brothers to the Ivy League. But after a visit to Virginia Tech, charmed by the girls' Southern accents, he got a scholarship to play for the Hokies. 

Though he says he has never done a drug, even marijuana, Whipple admits there were nights he drank too much in college, "being stupid" and putting himself and others in danger.

But it worked out. He met his wife, Dana, earned his degree in animal science, and after a few years working in Virginia, the pair moved back to the Silver State. They bounced between Las Vegas and Hiko for three decades, sending their daughters to Faith Lutheran, a private Christian school in Summerlin. 

Clark County School District School is too big, Whipple says, and school choice is among his top priorities. As for religion, Whipple says it's always been part of who he is, but that he came to truly understand "surrender" after participating in a program with a Las Vegas church called The Crossing. He was baptised in May 2025.

Whipple did sales for McIntosh Communications before launching his company, Rebel Communications, in 2005. There, he fixes equipment and programs radios for emergency response vehicles, school districts and hotels. He has gotten contracts from the Department of Defense. 

He's also dabbled in other ventures. 

The many businesses Whipple has been involved with over the years include Rebel Communications and the family ranching company, but also several now-defunct LLCs: Blue Chip Foundation, Mountainside Health Center, Straight and High Towers, City of Las Vegas Dispensary, Club 7V and Latino Bail Bonds. Regarding the cannabis business, he says he's a big supporter of medicinal THC, which his little brother used to alleviate pain before he died, while the final two, he set up but never really pursued.

Try that in a small town

The Honda nearly goes airborne when Whipple sends it over a hill.

It lands near a windbreak, where an ultra-clear warm water river curls through the trees. The stream starts on Bureau of Land Management ground.

"I want to see all the federal land come back to the counties," he says of a state where more than 80 percent of the land is federally owned. "I think it's well overdue." 

At the gas station, he gestures at the prices. Out here, it's diesel that matters, and it's above $6 a gallon.

But he sees plenty of opportunity. Across the street, he makes his way around a fence and past prominent signs warning of parasites in the local hot springs. Brain-eating amoeba are found in such spots around the world, though fatal infections are rare. Whipple reaches down and swings his palm through the water. 

"We're afraid of everything," he says. "With COVID, you've got a 99.3 percent chance of being fine, and we shut down everything. I'm like, has anybody been to a craps table?"

He thinks the state has been "way too dependent" on casinos and hospitality, Whipple says, and all the counties besides Clark have been an afterthought. In his vision for rural Nevada, tourists would visit from Las Vegas to splash around in the hot springs.

He would seek safety improvements to Route 93, the busy two-lane highway that sees regular fatal traffic accidents. As it stands, there's often no cell service to call for help after a crash, and ambulances are often staffed by volunteers. He'd like to find a way to pay them. 

Public policy would support ranchers. There would be recreational vehicle lots to house short-term residents and, breaking from generations of Nevada political consensus, nuclear recycling at Yucca Mountain. 

"Research it, develop it, make jobs and careers out of it," he says. "What I'm afraid of is missing a wonderful opportunity. And I want to make sure that if this is a mechanism for rural Nevada to become important to the state, that we embrace it." 

Data centers are part of it, too.

"Yes, it takes energy," Whipple says. "Yes, it takes water. But you know what? We're all going to be flying on planes that are flown from somewhere else. The pilot on the plane is just going to be an extra server. … If we want one, then let's invest and make sure we get the best deal possible. If we don't want it here, then everybody needs to speak up and say, 'Not here.'" 

Friends in low places

Whipple's path to politics started after he was hired to do communications work for a very important client: Cresent Hardy. 

Hardy, the last Republican to represent the district, pulled off one of the biggest upsets in the country when he ousted Horsford in the 2014 red wave midterms. The pair became friends. In his brief time in Washington, Hardy invited the Whipple family to visit, and the two discussed political ambitions. 

When his youngest daughter graduated high school, he called Hardy again. 

"I said, 'Cresent, I'm ready.' He said, 'Let's go.'"

Whipple met with D.C. operatives early on after launching his campaign last spring, and turned them down. That has led to some distance between Whipple and the party. 

In August, he attended Trump's rally in Las Vegas. But when the president took the stage, Whipple was the only congressional candidate who didn't get a personal shoutout. 

In-state Republicans also have qualms about his candidacy, too, after surreptitiously recorded audio posted on a conservative site featured Whipple making negative comments about state party leaders (Whipple says the audio was doctored).

But Whipple wouldn't be friendless in Washington. Many of his Alpha Gamma Rho brothers now lead top D.C. agricultural organizations, such as the National Cattlemen's Beef Association. He says he's had friendly, get-to-know-you talks with Freedom Caucus founder Rep. Jim Jordan (R-OH) and House Majority Whip Tom Emmer (R-MN). 

"One of the things I remember about Cody is that he was popular," said Rep. Celeste Maloy (R-UT), who grew up in Hiko and has endorsed Whipple. "He knew how to get along with people and how to get things done, and that matters as much in Washington as it does in high school."

Whipple adds that the two other Southern Nevada nominees, state Sen. Carrie Buck (R-Henderson) and video game composer Marty O'Donnell (R), are "excellent candidates." He has spent less time with 2nd Congressional District GOP nominee David Flippo (R), who was originally among his primary opponents, though they did attend a baseball game together. As Whipple tells it, Flippo spent the event trying to convince him to run in another district. He calls Flippo "very motivated to be a congressman."

How does Whipple describe himself?

"I think everybody realizes I'm a very independent thinker," he says. "Probably asking me to play ball is something they don't want to do because I'll be like, 'Baseball field? Football field?' … When you're a leader, you lead. Between Marty and Carrie and Flippo and I, I'm a leader, and that's what Nevada needs. I don't think they need another person to go to Congress and continue to listen to their party." 

He voted for Trump three times and considers himself "Trump train, but not MAGA." 

"People ask me, 'Do you support President Trump?'" Whipple said. "Of course, but I supported President Obama. I supported President Biden. Anybody that doesn't support our president and wants failure at that level should be smacked."

Has he tried to get the president's endorsement? Whipple pauses for a long moment. 

"Is that my responsibility?"

No, but did he? Whipple said White House political director Matt Brasseaux asked him if he would accept it. 

"We said, 'Absolutely.' Did we ask for it? No."

He draws a contrast with another leader who hasn't backed him: Gov. Joe Lombardo (R).

"I a-hundred-percent want Lombardo's endorsement," he says. "I have a-hundred-percent tried to get his endorsement. Again, you go back to predetermined. I didn't ask for anybody's permission to run in CD4." 

Long live cowboys

Among the insiders, Whipple is considered the longest shot in this year's congressional races. Horsford's campaign has money and national support. Whipple has much less, and is the only GOP congressional hopeful in the state with no outside spending to prop him up. 

He doesn't have a nationwide fundraising operation and partially self-funded his campaign, though he does have a few notable donors, including billionaire heiress Margaretta Taylor, who he doesn't know personally, and Rep. Mark Amodei (R-NV). He also has the highest share of in-state funding of the GOP nominees. Whipple says the phrase "fourth-generation Nevadan" helped put him ahead of Flippo in his pre-primary polls. An August internal poll found him tied with Horsford after respondents received information about both candidates.

But if that's true, why hasn't a Republican won the district in more than a decade? 

"Tell you the truth, nobody who's good ran," said Bingham. "Cody's probably the best that's ran. He's Nevada. He represents what Nevada really is — and what it was."

Hardy, the district's last Republican congressman, had a simpler answer: "We vote for a red or a blue button."

Whipple frowns on growing support for socialism among Democrats. But he's found common ground on pocketbook issues, including affordability and, specifically, healthcare costs. Last month, he showed up at the Culinary Workers Union Local 226, where workers were protesting changes to the union's healthcare program.

He's also a dream candidate for Democratic political trackers. 

At the hot springs, he notes how tons of "people with colored skin" used to love to visit. He has said that, in the locker rooms at Virginia Tech, the n-word was used "like a salutation." (In a lengthy emailed response to The Indy, he says "those were the terms and words" used by locals when he was growing up, and that "we would all be naive to believe that racism doesn't still exist.")

Yet other times, he's sensitive to America's racial history. He says things like: "I've tried to do my best to understand the Bureau of Indian Affairs. Honestly, I think that's probably one of our saddest parts of our history in this country," and, "Strong fences make good neighbors, but at the same time, the Southwest has been built by a lot of immigrant labor. The railroad — immigrant labor." Of Latinos, he says, "Their ability to get financing for a business is probably much more difficult than mine."

Whipple has been paying careful attention to the Latino community because he believes the race will come down to them. He's especially proud of a general election endorsement he earned from Hispanics in Politics. The district is more than one-third Hispanic. 

Whipple has also taken Hardy's advice to walk neighborhoods himself. 

"I think that was the reason I won my race," Hardy said.

As the sky goes pink, Whipple changes into a "Cody for Congress" polo and drives his truck nearly two hours to North Las Vegas. Today, he is meeting his wife Dana and her cousin. They have already begun canvassing Aliante, a retirement community where an occasional passing golf cart flies the Stars and Stripes. 

Dana says the campaign is "more work for him" than the pair expected, leaking out of the softball coaching time slot he had reserved for the bid. 

"I don't want to do it again," she says. "I want to do the absolute best we can."

The couple knocks about half a dozen doors before nightfall. Everyone answers. One voter raises concerns about election integrity, some of which Whipple shares. He thinks sending ballots to every voter leads to "unsecured votes" and Nevadans "need to have to request a ballot" instead. At the man's request, Whipple goes to put up a "Vote for Cody" sign in the front yard. 

Here in the desert, getting stakes up can be tough, so Whipple pours out some water to soften up the dirt. 

Then, he takes out a hammer and drives them into the unfriendly ground. 

Emilia Ruzicka, Seraphina Feron, Anna Massoglia and MuckRock's Sunlight Research Desk provided research for this story.