Playing the Big Game Lottery

The old adage is true: "You don't win if you don't play," and I'm proof of its validity.

- Lucas Schmidt

Sneaking along the timberline in the gathering sunlight, my dad and I did our best to stay hidden as a bull elk screamed, bugling at his harem of cows, in a slowly dissipating fog. We crept forward, knowing that our quarry was within a few hundred yards, but still shrouded by a blanket of gray. As the rays of sun began to burn the mist off, the elk herd in the meadow appeared, like light brown ghosts emerging from the gloom.

The cows began to filter back into the forest, but a single bull lingered a bit too long. My 7mm magnum came to bear and I found him in the scope, the 6 x 6 bull now curiously looking in our direction.

I had a hard time holding steady with no nearby rest and the animal 200 yards away. My dad, as he always has in my life, gave me a hand – in this case a shoulder to lean up against to help steady my aim. As soon as he plugged his ears and gave me the go-ahead, the rifle barked and my first ever elk hunt came to a glorious end.

If this story sounds familiar it might be because the same scenario has likely played out millions of times in the West. However, this hunt didn’t take place in the mountains of Colorado, Wyoming, Utah or Idaho; the dense Cascade forests of Oregon or Washington; or even the high desert of Arizona or New 

Mexico. This hunt took place in that mecca of elk hunting: Minnesota. And the only reason it came to pass is because I won the big-game lottery.

I've never considered myself a lucky person. Sure, there were times when the sun seemed to shine a little brighter on me, but overall my cosmic ledger had as many check marks in the negative column as in the positive.