Pheasant Hunt - Grandpa Jack

When I was a boy my favorite time of the year was the annual pheasant hunt. Each year the entire family, aunts, uncles, cousins, and everyone else would gather in Benjamin, Utah at the home of my Uncle Arch and Aunt Lucile Huff. In those days Benjamin was a long way away from Salt Lake. There were no freeways or high-speed roads and it was necessary to travel on a two-lane road that went through the downtown of every little community.

We would start out by going South on State Street and travel through Murray, Midvale, and Draper. After we had rounded the point of the mountain we then had to drive through American Fork, Pleasant Grove, Linden, Orem, and arrive finally in Provo. Getting through Provo always took the most time as it was a much larger city than the others. In the previously mentioned cities the highway went right down the main street of each town. Once we left Provo then had to travel through Springville and then move on to Spanish Fork. Once in Spanish Fork we turned west and drove another five miles until we have finally arrived at the Huff family home.

It took many hours for our journey and so it was quite common for us to go down the night before and stay
overnight. That was always an adventure as Norm and Lucile only had a two bedroom home. On that occasion the adults would get the beds and the couches to sleep on and the kids slept on the floor. It didnʼt matter, we were with family and everyone was excited for the opening day of the pheasant hunt. Once the appointed day had arrived we had a family ritual that we adhered to religiously. In the morning the men and boys would go out to chase and shoot rooster pheasants. During those hours the women would stay behind and prepare a huge Thanksgiving type dinner.

My aunt Lucile and my mother were both excellent cooks and the meals which were prepared were fantastic. In the afternoon everyone would go out and enjoy the walk through the fields. In addition to those who were carrying guns all the ladies and the kids would spread out and we would move through many a sugar beet field. With all of the members of our family we formed a line as much as 100 yards wide. It was quite a sight and very exciting particularly when the dogs would point out a rooster pheasant and the bird would make every effort to get away. The birds seldom prevailed and my dad and his brothers Uncle Wes and Uncle Mervin were all excellent shots.

When I was finally old enough to carry a gun I could hardly contain my excitement as pheasant hunting each year was the highlight of my year. Most kids would reckon time from Christmas to Christmas or from their birthday to birthday but not me, as far as I was concerned time was measured from pheasant hunt to pheasant hunt. I can still remember the first pheasant I ever shot and to this day I could take you to the exact
spot. I was only 12 years old at the time I felt as if I had conquered the world when in I knocked the bird down. As the years went by my cousins Martin, Paul, Sherm, Keith, and David would join my brother Al and I for the annual hunt. Some of my fondest memories of my childhood were with the entire family gathering together to enjoy one anotherʼs company, partake of a wonderful meal and to hunt pheasants.

After Judy and I were married and had a family of our own we still continued to go to Spanish Fork each year to join with other members of the family in the annual pheasant hunt. In later years we no longer met at the home of Lucile as her husband Uncle Arch had passed away. After that time it was quite common for us to assemble together at the home of my cousin Marlin Huff in Spanish Fork. Judy and I would load the kids in the car and travel there in a much shorter period of time as there were freeways and wide roads on which to travel. Also during those years I had an outstanding hunting dog, a Hungarian Vizsla. We named the dog Sandy as her AKC registered name was Sandy N. Arany. She was a great hunting dog and was very skilled at finding birds. As it was when I was a boy the family gathered and the men and boys went out in the morning to shoot birds, and the ladies fixed dinner. Once again in the afternoons we all joined together, spread out and formed a line as we marched up and down through the fields. I doubt that there are many families who enjoyed the great association that we had during those precious years. However, like everything else in life things come to an end and as the years went by fewer and fewer relatives showed up for our annual pheasant hunt. As I look back now I have very fond memories but I havenʼt picked up the shotgun in over 20 years.

Grandpa

OK - I realize these are not pheasants, but it shows the young Jack hunter and it's a great picture!