When it comes to the world of hunting and fishing, we South Dakotans hold some high cards. Pheasant hunts, turkey hunts, archery deer hunts, and fishing on our reservoirs can be swapped for Great Lakes salmon fishing, Colorado elk hunts, or Wisconsin/Minnesota/Canada musky fishing to name a few. One of my life’s great adventures, British Columbia fishing, was traded for a pheasant hunt.

Thirty years ago, my good friend, John, made a deal with a Denver, CO gentleman who owned some good elk habitat. They swapped elk hunting for pheasant hunting. This trade left both parties feeling like they got the best of the deal. John farms some prime pheasant habitat along the Choteau Creek while Vic owns a choice piece of Colorado mountain property that adjoins public land. Over the years, John’s group has filled 50% of their elk tags while Vic’s group has limited out more times than not. Acquiring elk tags has never been a problem as they are available over the counter.

This past November, “Duck,” one of my favorite young people, bagged his first elk. Duck is John’s grandson. There was six inches of snow on the ground and a good wind blowing in Duck’s face when he spied the big 5X5 bull elk a hundred yards in front of him. Duck made a clean one shot kill from a kneeling, off-hand position with his bolt-action rifle in .270 Winchester Short Magnum caliber. That’s darn good shooting, and I’m quite proud of Duck. I feel a close personal connection to John, Duck, and the whole elk connection. John and I are longtime friends. But there’s a second, stronger factor.

Back in the early eighties, Lisa, my middle daughter, and some of her friends approached me. They hadn’t made the cut with an already existing softball team, and they asked me if I would coach and start up a new team. I told them I would if they were willing to practice every day and play 4-5 games a week. The Maniacs were born.

We played every team that would play us. We made Black Hills tours, we won the local league as well as the neighboring town league, and we played tough in state tournaments against college teams. Parental following was awesome, and we were family. None of this would have been achieved without co-coach Ken McEntee. Ken forgot more about softball than I’ll ever know.

Duck’s mother, Tara, was a Maniac. Cancer took Tara a few years back. We hear about cancer victims fighting courageous battles. Tara gave new meaning to the word “fight.” She refused to quit. Tara was one of my girls, and her son is special.

I’ve participated in a few of those “let’s make a deal” elk hunts and all of the pheasant hunts. I’ll forever remember one of those elk hunts for “The Shot I Didn’t Take.” On Vic’s property was a place called “Shootin’ Rock.” This little precipice looked over an entire valley, and it was an elk favorite. In a meeting before the hunt, Vic stated and reiterated, “Whatever you do, don’t shoot an elk below The Rock.” This had everything to do with 3 feet of fresh snow on the ground. Getting an elk out would be a Herculean feat.

As my usual good luck would have it, I was manning The Rock on this particular morning. Below and to the right were a pair of rag horn bulls in chip shot range. They eventually headed back down the trail. Perhaps they caught my scent. Then off to my left, perhaps 150 yards out, was the biggest bull elk I’ve ever seen. He was broadside, and he would throw his head back and scratch his butt with his antlers. My .300 Winchester Magnum would put him down right now, and I thought about my carrying him out piece by piece.

Then I thought about Vic and what he had said. Vic was the boss, and I didn’t want to screw up John’s good fortune with this hunting arrangement. I passed on the shot. Back in camp I told the guys about the biggest bull elk I had ever seen. The immediate reaction was that I should have shot him. Together we would have taken him out one way or the other.

With that, I’ll see you next week.