I've been collecting old sleds since 1998. I have always loved to tinker with them and spent an enormous amount of time researching and rebuilding them.

I have developed a rather large number of friends who keep their eyes open for my next great treasure. Every salesman, every gas station attendant, every relative, and every person who I think would remotely find me another old sled stash has been recruited to help out.

I have a wonderful wife who supports (accepts) my hobby with little or no resistance. I have three small children at home who also are involved in my hobby. We travel to many antique and vintage sled shows throughout the year and the kids love the hectic schedule.

Two weeks ago at work, a contractor who was to replace a tile floor stopped in to take some measurements for the upcoming job. After surveying the job, I had a chance to ask him. "You find any old sleds out there for me"?

He scratched his head for a bit, and said."No.nothing but a red and white Arctic Cat that was lying in the weeds behind an old barn"

My heart raced. I quickly inquired, "Where?  When? WHAT??"

He replied," well it was earlier this spring, just north of Hecla on an old farmstead."

Not able to contain myself. I blurted "earlier this spring!" I thought, "when were you gonna tell me about the old sleds you found" to which he replied, "I'm been busy, and I forgot about it until you asked"


I calmed down and he proceeded to tell me all the details of the sled, location and owner (he thought) of the land it was sitting on. "I bought a 39 Chevy from the guy for 50 Bucks. He probably won't want much for that sled"

I thanked him for the tip and he left for the day. I followed up on the tip by first calling the owner who was not the owner of the land but gave me a few names to try. After about 10 phone calls I was finally on the phone with the owner of the farmstead.

I implied I would like to purchase an old sled, which was located out on this abandoned farm site.

He told me,"there isn't a snowmobile out there."

I described the farmstead and the remaining cars to him.

He replied,"well that's the place, maybe there is a sled out there."

I asked if I could look around and buy the sled.

He said, "Sure come look at it, I won't be around but you are welcome to look."

I told him I would be driving my pickup and his farmstead was about 90 miles from my house. I would really like to buy the sled and take it home with me.

He asked,"How much will you give me?"

I remembered that Chris had bought a 39 Chevy from him for $50 so I replied "fifty bucks."

He said,"Sure, that would be fine".

I hung up the phone and finished up work for the day. I called my wife to let her know I wouldn't be home after work. She seemed a bit apprehensive, "where are you going"? I told her, "old sled, real old one. RED and White cat!"  She could tell by the tone of my voice I was on a mission, "See you when you get home" and she hung up the phone.

Hecla, South Dakota is about 60 miles from my work, so as the miles went by I passed the time thinking about the red cat. I knew just where to get parts, where to get the paint, and who was going to recover the seat for me. I knew that the cat would be heavy to load in the back of the pickup by myself so I placed another call on my phone to the owner of the local gas station in Hecla.  He agreed to help me load the sled and would meet me there at 5:30pm

The clock said 5pm when I pulled the pickup onto the fenced off approach at the abandoned farmstead. The old buildings were just as Kris had described.

As I crawled through the barbed wire fence I snagged my pants and got a nasty little gash on my thigh. Determined, I trudged on through the tall weeds in search of the cat. I saw the 58 ford that Kris told me
about, next was the mid thirties truck on its side.

Behind the truck was an old scrap iron rack, as I passed by it my bootlace got tangled and down I went. As luck would have it a thistle bush cushioned my fall.  I winced in pain and climbed off the ground. That cat was near, I could feel it.

I called Kris from the middle of the farmstead to ask in more detail where the sled was. The reception was horrible, he heard approximately every fourth word.

Something, something beside, something old something building, something, was all I heard, I love Verizon.

Ok. It was next to an old building. That narrowed the search as there were only 6 buildings on the lot.

I headed for the barn, must have been a dairy barn judging from the rocks piled around its perimeter. I put out my hand to balance myself as I walked. YEEOOW!!! I pulled my hand back to inspect the damage. My thumb had four large old barn wood splinters in it, and I was now leaving a nice blood trail for the rescuers to find me.  I tried to pull out the slivers, each piece of the old wood broke off when I touched them.

Disgusted, bleeding and tired. I called Kris again, readjusting my head to find optimal phone signal between words. This time he described the iron rack. The sled was about 30 ft south east of it, lying next to a fallen down building and there wear two tires lying on top of it.

My heart was pounding, I ran, sort of, to the spot. I pushed back the 6ft tall weeds and found the remains of the building. I spied the iron rack and determined that the sled was just around the corner, I climbed over the empty barrels and pushed back yet more tall weeds as I rounded the corner.

THERE IT WAS!!!      GONE!   

Nothing, Nil, Nada, NO Taco! 

You could clearly see where something the size of a sled had been, and the two tires where lying there.

I was defeated.

I walked back to the truck and climbed inside. I drove into the gas station and went inside. I put a coke on the counter and told the owner who I was and that I hadn't found the sled.  He took my card and said he would let me know if he found any sleds or maybe where the old red one went. I thanked him and drove towards home.

As I drove home, I looked at the hole in my pants, and my thumb throbbing with the splinters firmly lodged inside.  I was happy, not as happy as if I'd landed the cat in my truck, but I was happy.  I guess sometimes the thrill of the chase is better than the actual catch.

I pulled in the yard and my wife came out, she looked in the back of the pickup and gave me a funny look. I relayed the whole story to her, and she listened intently. I told her it was just fun to think what could have been, I'm not sure she understood.

As I sit here two weeks later writing about the events of that day, my thumb still has the swelling, I await my next chase.

Paul Shearer