A cool, moist day for a hunt.

Everyone wondered if we were in for rain or snow as we set out Sunday afternoon in search of pheasants and chukars.  For the first time, the owner had completely turned over the reins for this hunt and it was just Charles, Sam and I on the property with the hunters.  It was three generations of a family from a rural southeastern Nebraska town by the name of Geneva: a grandfather and great-uncle, the son and the sons-in-law, and most importantly, the grandson.

The flushes all came in singles throughout the property.  We hunted for a couple of hours, took a water break back to the cabin, then set out again for more birds for another hour and a half.  It was getting up towards supper time when we finally parted ways.  The weather cooperated and so did the dog.  The best part of the day was to see the anxiousness and timidness of the young lad melt away, turning into joy and excitement for the sport.  This was confirmed by his dad, as we all left and shook hands, he stated that his son told him, “Dad, this pheasant hunting is fun!”

A chukar partridge flushes between two hunters.

"Nothing like a good clean kill."

Charles and the youngest hunter.

A hunter walks into Sam's point.

Another chukar goes down.

Sam retrieves a chukar.

A rooster pheasant in flight.

A rooster pheasant upon impact.

The youngest hunter requests to carry a pheasant.

A happy young hunter, what it's all about!

Three generations of hunters: grandfather, grandson, son.

The hunters and their quarry along with Charles and Sam.