For me it was my good friend Jim. He is much older than me and always has been a father figure to me as my father was very sick and passed away far too young. Jim is an avid hunter, he has put it all down, waterfowl,deer, upland, rabbits, you name it. I started pheasant hunting with him when I was 25 or so and I was kind of like his second or sometimes third bird dog when in the field. Jim can get around real well so it seemed like when he let his shorthairs out they would run with me in the deep cover. Jim also breeds world class shorthairs and has several on the trials scene. I started out very reserved as the group of guys that I hunted with were great shots! me...not so much back then and not so sure now. I have great days where I cant miss and others that seem like my gun is bent. I have a lot of respect for him and the group that brought me in as they always put the "new" guy in for the point. The helped me set up and follow through. I have shot a lot of birds with that man and I am honored to know him and walk through the woods with him. He is in his 80s now and im not sure how many years he will keep it up but i sure hope its plenty more. He helped me train my labs to be calm and steady in the woods and people cant believe how well my female works with me. She was a natural. Since the i am not the "new " guy and it is wonderful to watch the progression of a new hunter. Its intersting to think back on how much of an impact one person can make on your life

Thanks Allen for starting this thread, it may be the best one every on this forum! Great reading guys, keep them coming, very entertaining!

My Dad was not a double gun guy (I'm still shooting his M31 Remmie as my go-to duck gun). This picture is of Dad and I at the first duck blind I was in - Miller's Island on the Chester River in Maryland. Probably about 1955. I sure do like duck shooting!

For it was my older brother,my Dad loved to hunt big game and the barrens for Ptarmigan but work kept him from it until I was well into my twenty's.

My older brother Tommy was an avid hunter and fisherman it seems to me back then it was all he did ,during the winter month's he was daylight to dark checking rabbit slips with as many as 200 out to check on foot!,If anyone in town wanted to know where the big fish hung out or where to get a brace of birds or rabbits he was the man,he always had old Field and stream mags around and I read those cover to cover as a kid before I was big enough to tag along,the first time he took me on the barrens I was about 15 and was carrying an old H&R single 12 and two boxs of shells,I fired every damn one and never drawed a feather !!! he had a limit of course and I complained so much about the walking he swore to never take me again...next Friday my legs were loose again and the blisters were healed up so I was on my knees begging to go again,and so he took me again, and again I missed every shot and complained like a little girl at the end of the day , we went through that routine until I finally hardened to the country ,started to drop birds and eventually I out-walked him.

The passion he had for the country back then was something I wanted so bad
but my juvenile mind just couldn't comprehend....Although today,he rarely has time for the country, his life just got too complicated,but he instilled his passion for the outdoors in me and now I have that same feeling,some of my best times were in the woods with him and Dad (after he retired ) we built cabins in the wilderness,we set rabbit snares and cast for trout and laughed at everything from firing a missed shot to a fart.

I hope someday my two little ones (the only grand kids in out family ) will develop that same passion that was passed down to us .

Great thread guys

My father started it all for me. He loved to hunt pheasants which were quite plentiful at the time in south central PA. His gun of choice was an old Winchester pump. That beast had a 30" barrel with a full choke. When I was quite young, I would make him tell me every detail of every hunt when he came home from the fields.

When I was about 8, my mother's uncle came to live with us. He hunted grouse and turkeys, which my father didn't. And he was a SxS man to boot! He had several, but two of them had my youthful attention. One was a Fox B grade 20. This little gun had a straight stock, splinter and 26" barrels. I never saw my GreatUncle Kenny ever take it out. When I asked him why, he noted that it "stung a bit too much to shoot". It was a light gun, right around 5 3/4 lbs. His grouse gun of choice was a rather beat up Parker Trojan 20. I dreamed of being able to accompany both my father and my great uncle on their hunting days.

My father eventually allowed me to tag along in his walks through the fields behind our home. We didn't have a dog, and as I recall, I was usually relegated to performing that function around some of the thick brush. What a blast to kick up a cock pheasant and watch my father send feathers flying with that old pump gun.

My great uncle soon allowed me to walk along (mostly behind him) when he grouse hunted. There was something about that sweet little Parker double and he was quite deadly with it on grouse. Of course, he knew how much I admired the little Fox that he never shot. He told me he almost traded it quite a few times, but had owned it so long, he couldn't bring himself to get rid of it. He would soon let me handle it. I was amazed at how light it was. And it actually came close to fitting me. The Fox had a hard buttplate and the LOP was right at or just a hair under 14". My great uncle was a tall lanky fellow, so I'm sure that it was a bit short for him, even with a hunting coat.

When I turned 12 and was able to hunt when accompanied by another hunter, my great uncle gave me the little Fox. I admit, I was pretty tough on the pheasants with it, but grouse were another story! It would take quite a bit more experience before I presented much danger to grouse!

I have very fond memories of that little Fox and certainly regret ever trading it. I traded it and cash for a beautiful little Churchill O/U......that I couldn't hit squat with!

what a wonderful story Tony. Thanks. I went to grad school at Penn State in central Pa. This was during the days when Franco Harris and Lydel Mitchell were seniors. I never went to a football game choosing instead to go grouse hunting in the Black Shannon (I think?) mountains every Saturday. Lots of memories.

Thanks Allen. I'm a Penn State guy myself. I try to get over to that part of PA every couple of years in early to mid May. I use the excuse that I'm flyfishing, but in reality, I'm looking for morels!

Allen: It's Black Moshannon State Park. A friend of my dad was taking me deer hunting one day (when I was a teen), but the snow was so bad we had to turn back.

I would love to go there some day - it sure sounds like nice country...

John, you're right, it was the Black Moshannon. There were other areas I bird hunted outside of State College. I had a Graduate Assistanship then while in grad school and we lived in an apt in one of the dorms. couldn't have a dog so I had to walk up my grouse. I learned early that when hunting grouse without a dog I could 'quarter' though the coverts and put up more birds than by just walking a more or less straight line though the wods. I became my own bird dog! Grouse hunting was good there.