The phone rang Wednesday, and I answered it. The voice on the other side asked anxiously if we were still going pheasant hunting Friday. With my affirmation, I immediately could feel the relaxed tone of the caller.

We go every year, but the idea of something unexpected happening at the last minute made the phone call necessary. The trip was still on, and all the reports were very positive about the number of birds that were expected.

Even though we were going on a hunting trip and staying the weekend, we needed preparations. My list had 37 items to be located, updated and packed. With three people in our cramped pickup, we had to cut back on the less important supplies. We took the usual things like a picture of the wife, guns, ammunition, skillet, spices, drinking water, snacks and bedding.

Friday

We joined the others in our group at Ron’s Base Camp west of Topeka on Friday afternoon for some target shooting with clay pigeons.

About 20 people came from Kansas, Oklahoma and all areas in between. We relived the events of last year, but the stories have grown since then. Next year’s stories will be very interesting.

Haskell Indian Nations University softball coach Gary Tanner and his group bagged 110 pheasant during a weekend excursion. Pictured here, from left, are J.T. Welsh, Tanner, Jake Hawkins, Leonard Martin, Brian Gibler, Charles Hawkins and Christopher Perkins.

Later in the evening, we started dinner. It was BYOM (bring your own meat), and some big ol’ steaks rested atop the grill. We had beef, chicken, elk and something that looked like it was still wiggling (but it tasted good). The potatoes were fried up in a big-daddy skillet, the meat was cooked just right, and the drinks were cold. Indeed the world seemed all right for at least one evening.

After dinner, we reflected on the loved ones we left behind for this trip. We all hid the feelings of sadness as we shared pictures of our kids, grandkids and especially our wives. Then we fell off to sleep with anticipation of the next morning.

Saturday

The alarm went off, and we arose about 4:30 a.m. to stake out our field.

Some went to eat breakfast. Others went directly to the hot spot to claim our area on the public hunting land, which is selected on a first-come, first-serve basis.

The sun was coming up in the east, and the full moon was setting in the west. We could hear two fields come alive with the sounds of cackling pheasant. It was loud, and we knew there were a lot of them. We loaded our guns. Some would block the end of the field, and others would walk through the field and drive them into shooting position.

On this Saturday morning, we walked several fields and harvested pheasant from each one. Working together as a unit, we accomplished our four goals as outdoorsmen on a hunting trip. We hung out with friends, experienced the outdoors, harvested the wild game of our choice and learned that Kansas University had won its football game. This opening day could not have been drawn up any better.

We even had the best weather to hunt pheasant – just a little wind during a cool morning and a perfectly warm afternoon.

The pheasant were being cooperative, and we fired great shot after great shot to bring the quick, flying birds into the tally. Even as we missed some of the magnificently colored birds, our excitement reached an all time-high, our adrenaline flowed, and the western Kansas events were pasted in our memories forever. Some in our group seemed childlike in their excitement. They could not wait before the next field was started, and they definitely did not care how tired or sore they would be the next day.

As the day wore on and we had to stop hunting, we returned to camp to clean the birds and start some story topics for the evening. On the first day, we totaled 86 pheasant and one jack rabbit. We cleaned up and ate supper, which consisted of beef stew, chili, chicken noodle soup and all the dessert you could eat – the perfect end to a great day. As I lay in my cot, missing my wife, I thought about the next morning and the excitement that would await us at our next field.

Sunday

Sunday morning came. We got out of bed, but it took a little longer than the previous day, and we went to the field. We would cover some pretty big fields, and we would have to do a lot of walking to find the pheasants. Fortunately, we had more than 20 hunters in our group, because the area with the pheasant stretched for a long distance.

Survival is a strange thing, and the birds definitely excel at it. They did not make it convenient for us to find them, as they learned from the previous day that we had hunted them.

We were only going to hunt this morning because we missed our wives and wanted to get back to them. Also, some members of our group had long trips ahead.

The weather was perfect again, and we hunted field after field. Afterward, we had to gather our harvest for the final cleaning and count. In a day and a half, we harvested 110 pheasant and one jack rabbit and only had one injury to speak of. One of the dogs tripped me, and I hurt my knee when I fell. But it wasn’t too painful, as my adrenaline still flowed from the hunt.

It was a successful opening weekend, and we did all the things that go into being a man on the trail of the wild, fast and elusive pheasant. We took our pictures, said our goodbyes, gave our handshakes, locked in hugs and said goodbye to friends for another year. The pickups left one by one as each part of the group gathered their belongings and loaded the cleaned birds in the now-empty coolers for the trip home.

Next year, we will go back to recapture the same feelings from our hunting excursion.