The mountain valley softball game

Members of the Butterbean family spent part of the last weekend visiting Jackson and Teton National Park. We hiked, saw the sights, hunted for wildlife, and remembered times from a few years back when two of our daughters worked there in the resorts.

There are a few stories worth telling of their experiences there. Some of them I had forgotten about until we revisited the area and recalled them. Hearing the elk bugle on the mountains from the hiking trail we were on reminded us of the of the story of the elk and the softball game.

My girls went to Jackson back then with some fairly good softball skills and their mitts. When the various lodges in the area organized softball teams into a Park league, they were excited to play. The teams played against each other in the evenings at a grassy field near Moran Junction. Sometimes their games were delayed while various small animals were chased off the field.

One night the teams met for their weekly games, and it looked like rain. There was a roll of thunder in the distance and dark clouds building around the mountaintops. They quickly got their game underway, hoping to get in a few innings before they were rained out.

Soon the cloud cover was thick, dark, and low, obscuring the mountains and all but the nearer views. The wildlife seemed to be restless and on the move. The was an eerie ominous feeling settling over the alpine meadow.

Off to the left of first base, higher up in the trees, they heard an elk bugle. His call was answered from the other side of the field by another bugle. They first elk replied and the second countered.

The hitting team huddled up and chatted around the “dugout” telling stories of elk they had seen and heard. The fielders tried to concentrate on the game as they heard the two elk bugling again and again, and all the while their calls were getting closer and closer and sounding angrier and angrier.

By the bottom of the fifth inning, the bulls were obviously nearby and converging on the baseball diamond. The first bull burst out of the trees and into the meadow followed hesitantly by his milling cows. He announced his arrival with an eerie screech accompanied by a clap of thunder.

“Strike one.” The second “granddaddy” arrived on the scene with an answering call and his harem.

“Strike two.” The fielders were relieved to be able to gather up around home, and the hitters were hesitant to take the field.

The two bulls began to size each other up and trot closer toward one another. They circled around, and snorted and challenged. It looked as if they might be going to hold their own contest somewhere between center field and second base.

“Strike one.” The outfielders were keeping one eye on each elk and that didn't leave them any eyes left to keep on the ball. They just prayed for a swing and a miss. And with all of the thunder, wind and bugling, they weren't going to be able to hear anything like the crack of the bat.

The bulls drew closer together, apparently oblivious to the game in progress and the human players on the field. Finally the humans gave way, backing or scampering quietly towards the benches and their parked vehicles.

And the bulls began sparring in the midst of a darkening thunderstorm. They first clashed in the outfield just beyond second base. Some of the ball players stayed for the whole competition. Others, including my daughters, were content to clear out and leave the whole spooky ball park to the big boys.

Elk hunters walk for days hoping to find a cow or a bull within range of their binoculars. Our softball players were driven off by a couple of them who completely took over the field. It may have been the first and only game ever called on account of sparring in the outfield.