As a young hunter, snow-goose hunting was a figment of my imagination. But an elderly man named Oris promised to take me snow-goose hunting. This man wanted to introduce someone younger to his passion. He held true to his word.

Oris is a good ol’ boy full of “spiced-up” stories that make a person yearn for the past while making them eager for the future. He showed me my first snow-goose hunt, and countless others. And though we always tried our best to kill geese, we never had much success. It didn’t really matter. I was an eager rookie and he was an aging man just content to spend time with a young hunter-someone who is as enthusiastic about killing geese as he once was. I’m thankful that someone like Oris introduced me to a new aspect of hunting. And I can thank my grandpa for being interested in the first place. Without them, I wouldn’t have discovered my passion.

Those two aging men have taught me countless lessons. And my love for hunting is only strong because of those who taught me to appreciate it. I am fortunate to have inherited hunting tradition from past generations. Unfortunately, that is where the happy side of the story ends.

In a world where entertainment comes increasingly from a television screen or a computer monitor, it becomes harder to maintain a positive outlook on the future of the outdoors. Fewer young people are taking part in the hook-and-bullet sports which, as far as I’m concerned, are the most intense and satisfying. Sportsmen are becoming an endangered species. And like any other endangered species, the greatest threat comes from a lack of reproduction. We simply aren’t reintroducing others to our passion

This tragedy only occurs because no one places the first shotgun or fishing pole in a young person’s hands. Too few people experience the rush of erupting from a field blind on unsuspecting geese or the accomplishment of drilling 100 holes in the ice and finally finding hungry fish.

I finally did my part this year, introducing a long-time friend to the fine art of hunting. This rookie had never tried to kill his dinner before. And on his first deer hunt of his life, he hardly knew left from right. But that didn’t matter. Despite his numerous opportunities and frustrations, my friend would never claim a deer. And even though filling his tag was important, it was far more important that he received his first taste of the outdoors. Most importantly, he learned what hunting is all about.

My friend was part of a team that harvested six deer that January day-he was part of a successful hunt. He watched us proudly dress our future meals respectfully and carefully. And the best part is that he loved the experience. Although I was bothered by the fact that he never killed a deer, he was so excited that he didn’t even care. That is the magic. The magic is what brings you back for more

Whether it is late-season ice-fishing or early-spring goose-hunting, take someone new afield. We owe it to those who first introduced us to the outdoors to pass on what they’ve taught us. If we allow our passion to pass away with our generation, that would be nothing less than unacceptable.

After shooting my share of big game, a satisfactory number of ducks and geese, and mastering the relatively simple art of pheasant hunting, I consider myself a pretty seasoned hunter. But what I’ve come to realize is that even though I’ve gone home with a bag limit on several occasions, it in no way makes me an expert, especially when it comes to waterfowl.

Unlike USD, I’ve found that SDSU students are rabid waterfowlers. These students make some of the pros on the Outdoor Channel look silly. They have extra trailers for the decoys they never get around to using, gadgets for every fathomable situation, and gear worth more than the dive they are living in. Many have the sport down to such a science that they almost deserve college credit.

Luckily, I’m occasionally able to get out with some of these experts and increase my waterfowl prowess.

My true education has just begun. And these are a few things I’ve learned so far:

Notice that the day before any opener, you can glance around the room and notice lots of extra twitching legs, tapping finger, and camouflaged caps. It will be obvious who is looking forward to a different sort of party that weekend. The usual Friday night at the bars has to be cancelled in lieu of an early Saturday morning in the slough. While these people are your friends or classmates any other time of year, during the season they will become your archrivals. Make your alliances quickly.

Your weekly bag counts better top the next guy’s or you aren’t going to get much respect. Like experienced fishermen discovered long ago, I too quickly learned the value of the secret and a white lie. You don’t tell anyone if or where you had success.

If you do, you might be the bird mafia. And when there’s a leak about the location of your secret hot-spot, chances are it’s gonna get whacked.

I’ve also found it is far too depressing to be in class when you know your friends are killing ducks without you.

Instead, risk missing something important in order to avoid having your nose rubbed in how great the hunt was: the most demoralizing and soul-crushing experience a hunter can endure.

When trying to find out who owns the flooded corn just down the road, don’t tell people you just found 200 mallards. Instead, play it cool.

Avoid blowing your cover by telling everyone but the owner that you are going to pass shooting for coots. They will and should look at you like you are an idiot. But at least the potential honey-hole will be kept on the down low.

And finally, the latest and most frustrating thing that I’ve realized is that when someone shows up late to my 10 a.m. class in a filthy truck, blood on his pants and in muddy boots, it will make me insanely jealous.

All the other hunters and I know that he found exactly what we were scouting for the night before.

#1.884938:2931311942.jpg:kevinmug.jpg:Kevin Kantack, Columnist:

I’ve had some terrible luck as of late. It all started with a flat tire. Next my Blazer’s drive shaft decided to come apart. About a week later the new drive shaft somehow went bad again. Apparently the service center I was relying on replaces bad parts with faulty ones. Anyway, they “replaced” it again and needless to say I was slightly annoyed.

It wasn’t long after, when I thought everything was back in order, my engine imploded on my way back from Vermillion. It happened despite doing expensive maintenance to prevent such an occurrence. We towed it to Aberdeen to have the engine replaced. And finally last Wednesday, nearly a month later, I’m heading for Brookings happy to be back on the road. But as luck would have it, that stupid drive shaft, that has been replaced twice, went bad again. “What in the world is going on?” I say to myself (only with more F-words).

At that point I wanted to push that stupid thing in the ditch, douse it with gasoline and “fix” it once and for all.

So I call my dad, again, and after a heated phone call with a then angry man we both calmed down and stopped to think about the situation. We realized we should be glad this is the worst problem we are dealing with. It could be much worse. I sometimes forget just how good I have it. And when I really stop and think about it, the fact I get upset at most things I do is … well … pathetic.

In a world where everything is relative, it is easy to see things in a negative light and quickly adapt a woe-is-me mentality. We often carry with us a materialistic superficiality which causes us to lose touch with what really matters. We have so many great things the rest of the world doesn’t. Unfortunately, our lifestyle often gives us too much time to complain.

Though I’ve come to the point where I’m afraid to start a car in fear it might explode, I realize that I could be living in much worse places, like Iraq, where cars actually do. The minor irritations that plague my rather cushy life are blessings compared to the unspeakable horrors that others are experiencing in the world.

You might hear college kids complain about being young and broke or the elderly complain about how it’s a pain to get old. And there is no doubt that the world is a less than a perfect place. But it is important to count our blessings and not our burdens.

This spring, if things get tough, remember to take time to enjoy the beauty of the world around us. Whether it is the sounds of recently arrived songbirds or an evening sunset, it is crucial that we count the flowers instead of only cursing the weeds.

Though my Chevy Blazer is driving me crazy right now, in a month or two I will probably be laughing about the absurdity of this situation.

Whether I end up laughing or not, I think next time I’ll be buying a Ford.

Kevin Kantack is a junior wildlife and fisheries major.

#1.884938:2931311942.jpg:kevinmug.jpg:Kevin Kantack, Columnist:

If you ask me, late February is the slowest time of year. While I am smack-dab in the middle of winter purgatory, I begin to burn out on fishing through a hole in the ice and it’s still too early to hunt almost anything. It leaves me reminiscing about fall hunts and desperately looking forward to the first time my boat is able to leave the dock. It makes me crazy.

The one thing that preserves my sanity is the eventual arrival of my spring break party pals – the snow geese. I never seem to have the money for exotic spring break vacations so I hunt geese as a substitute. I scrape together what money I can find and buy steel shot in lieu of Mexican liquor. Unfortunately, my spring break adventure relies solely on the geese making a timely arrival. Making northern South Dakota their spring break “hot-spot.”

Until recently I was confident the skies would once again be filled with geese over spring break. But bipolar winter weather has made it apparent the bulk of the birds might miss the “party” my shotgun and I are so eagerly waiting to throw.

For me, watching geese scream overhead is a religious experience. And when they make a beeline for nesting grounds on the arctic tundra, it is among the first signs the world is once again coming alive.

There are those that are actually good at goose hunting. But apparently I’m not one of them, even though I love the hunt just the same. Usually I’m left watching geese fly somewhere near the stratosphere and spiral straight down into a cornfield well out of shotgun range. But on that rare occasion when thousands of geese tear through the sky overhead the experience, is nothing short of breathtaking.

Once, as an ambitious 15 year-old, I crawled an entire half section of fence line within yards of unsuspecting geese. I was equally unaware of the thundering cloud of birds I was about to launch. As I shot to my feet and faced what became a wall of panicking geese, I managed to pull the trigger only once. To this day I still think about that moment with a smile wondering how many would have fallen from that aerial avalanche had I not been completely awe struck. The birds nearly scared me to death.

Moments like that is what makes goose hunting worth it.

But for now, I can only sit on the ice catching bottle bass as I dream of the white geese once again blackening the skies. We can only hope the geese arrive in time for spring break or better yet before this article makes it to the stands. But if the geese decide not to show, it will be a cold and lonely break without them.

Kevin Kantack is a junior wildlife and fisheries major.

#1.884938:2931311942.jpg:kevinmug.jpg:Kevin Kantack, Columnist:

After spending two unsatisfying years at NSU and USD I arrived here. My passion for the outdoors is now an integral part of my education. I’ve found the young sportsman’s Mecca – South Dakota State University. And for the first time I feel like I belong.

My friends at USD gave me a hard time before I transferred here this semester. I caught an earful of clich