posted on October 27, 2009 02:23
I’ve killed a fair amount of pheasants and quail in my day, having grown up in Kansas. The memories of those hunts are forever burned into my mind. The birds are really the small part of what I remember. I lost a good hunting buddy recently, and he is a big part of all those memories. He is also a factor in what I now do for a living and who I am.
When my family moved to Hays, KS, in the mid 70’s, I had not started kindergarten yet. My dad had taken a new job at Fort Hays State University. He had fished most of his life, but had not done a lot of hunting. Once settled into his new job, he was introduced to pheasant hunting. At the age of five, hunting was not yet an option for me, but I remember my dad heading off with his friends. Later in the day, I would get to see the harvest of their day’s labor - beautifully colored ringnecked pheasants and an occasional bobwhite quail.
One of my dad’s constant companions was Bill Jellison. He was my dad’s boss at the time, although I did not understand that concept back then. What I did know is that he was a big man who loved to talk and always had a smile on his face. The sound of his laughter would fill the room. Over the course of the next few years, I would get to hear stories of their adventures and look forward to the day that I could go with them.
After several more years of waiting, I finally had my chance to be “one of the guys”. The truck pulled up with Bill behind the wheel, and this time, I was going! Bill and dad were in the front seat, my brother and I were in the back and the excited yelping dogs were behind us. Off we went, down the dusty limestone roads of western Kansas. My hunting days had started.
Over the course of the next ten years, I got to go on a lot of those hunts. The first couple of years were spent walking first with no gun, and later with a single shot .410. Those years were a little frustrating for me because my success rate was, well, zero! The trips were fun despite my poor shooting, but eventually, I would get my share of birds.
I remember the farm houses where Bill knew everyone by name, and they him; lunches of sardines in mustard sauce on crackers; a huge old barn out in the middle of nowhere; roosters cackling as they flew, the surprise I would feel when they would get up under my feet; Bill’s Red Beer when he poured tomato juice into a Colt 45 at the end of the day; and of course, my brother and I getting to try Bill’s Redman chew! Those memories are things I will never forget.
I hunted with Bill and my dad until college and even some after that. Bill was getting ready to retire so he would have more free time to hunt, fish, and tell his stories and laugh. He certainly deserved it.
I was away at college when Bill had his stroke. The man who always seemed so big and strong was no longer able to walk or talk. I had trouble understanding why someone so deserving was robbed of his retirement and his passions. Bill hung on and lived at home for several years and then in an assisted-living community. Dad and Bill’s other hunting buddies would tell him stories of the hunts, and he would listen and could understand where they had gone and what they had done. I’m sure he could picture the landscape; he had walked it so many times. I know it was hard on everybody.
Bill died just this spring, after the disabling stroke of 15 years ago. He had to spend a lot of years watching when he should have been doing. I know he is now busy walking behind his three Brittanys- Duke, Jack and Duchess. A smile is on his face and his laugh rings out over the fields. Some of his old hunting buddies were there waiting for him.
I did not realize it along the way, but those trips helped me value the traditions of hunting and the friendships that go along with it. For those of you that are the Bill’s of the world, take someone new hunting or fishing. For those of you who are in my shoes, take every opportunity you can to go and spend time with your hunting partners. You just never know when the opportunity will be gone.
Thanks for the memories, Bill! Good Hunting!
