The young have a tendency to be know-it-alls, but also are desperate to find their way. Two contradictions for sure.

Lost, so to speak, in this growing process leaves them vulnerable to many temptations, some of which are dangerous and even life changing to a tragic degree. With little or no experience behind them to base their decisions on life becomes uncertain, even perilous. This is why it’s so important for the young to have positive examples in their lives, people we respect and wish to be like ourselves. I was fortunate, my grandfather, Arthur Hayes, was a strong influence in my teenage years, a light in the darkness of uncertainty.

Pop, as I called him, was a larger than life individual, witty, a jokester and leg puller but also scrupulously honest, an example and leader of men. When he and his cronies drove to the far-off destinations to fish or hunt, Pop organized and planned the expedition. The business men, doctors or lawyers on the trip accepted him as their leader without question or complaint, Pop was a man of presence, one people were glad to be associated with, his leadership skills came naturally to him, for his admirable character defined him and just seeing disappointment in his eyes over inappropriate actions was a rebuke stronger than words.

One evening when I was 14, Pop’s best friend, Ken Lorch, and he called me aside. For 2 weeks they’d been planning a 3-day trip and I’d enviously listened to the phone calls, itinerary and meal plans. Their friends, seasoned hunters and fishermen, were like Gods to me and my greatest desire was to become like them, they loomed larger than life, heroes and just to be allowed to sit quietly in a corner and listen to them reminisce on their adventures was fascinating, even awe inspiring to this young man.

This evening both men stood studying me seriously for some time. I began to become very nervous, was something wrong? Pop took his time loading and firing up his battered pipe but Ken’s penetrating blue eyes never left me.

“Well Art, do you think we dare risk our reputations inviting this boy along this weekend? We’re taking a chance for sure, even putting our reputations on the line.”

Pop cocked his head and narrowed his eyes, studying me, seemingly X-raying my soul. My heart leaped within me. Were they seriously considering inviting me along? My heart soared at the very thought of it, could such a miracle even be possible?

My excitement must have shown for Pop’s eyes twinkled despite himself. “He might come in handy for carrying firewood or sweeping the floors if he didn’t get underfoot or talk too much. But still, it’s a gamble for sure.”

Ken nodded, then smiled. “I hate carrying firewood Art, what do you think?”

Pop puffed thoughtfully on his pipe, looking at the ceiling seemingly for inspiration, then glanced at Ken. “I’ve noticed firewood has been gaining in weight lately! OK boy, tell your mom you’ll be spending tomorrow night here. We leave early, no laying around in bed.”

I thought I’d explode with happiness, joy expanding so quickly within me it threatened to literally burst me apart. That fateful morning I was squeezed in the back seat, crammed in among shotguns, fishing rods, coolers and other gear along with Sis, Ken’s English pointer. She seemed glad of my company. There’d been little danger of me oversleeping, my eyes had hardly closed all night from sheer anticipation.

That morning we hunted pheasants. Though only 14 I’d had plenty of practice through the years with my BB gun. My friend and I were constantly tossing or throwing cans in the air. We also had a hand trap at camp where I’d had some practice with the shotgun. I seldom missed; wing shooting came naturally to me. The first point of the day Ken and Pop motioned for me to kick the bird up. Sis’s point was picture perfect, the morning sun illuminating her like a spotlight, fall colors surrounding us, the chill of the crisp morning air invigorating. The cock bird exploded out of the golden rod, cackling loudly, rose steeply in the air, then angled down to pick up speed. Waiting until the pheasant was about 30 yards away my shotgun barked and the pheasant fell. Sis dashed forward and returned the bird to my hand. That moment will forever be engraved upon my mind.

The next point was Ken’s shot, then my grandfathers. What a morning! Afield with men I admired and loved with a wonderful bird dog, a gorgeous, sunny fall morning, it seemed too good to be true. We came to a fence and I pushed the shotgun to the far side and squeezed under. Pop was holding the bottom strand up for Ken when Sis unexpectedly flushed a cock bird. Hearing the rush of wings and cackle of the rooster. I quickly grabbed the shotgun and looking up, saw the cock bird angling steeply down into the brushy bottom, crossing some 40 yards in front of me. Instinctively swinging through the bird and firing, the pheasant dropped in a cloud of feathers just feet before vanishing in the brush.

Ken let out a whoop. “You see that shot, Art?!” Ken shouted. “Boy’s a natural, chip off the old block!”

To be continued…