Arn's First Pigeon Hunt

When JL and I first talked about creating this website, one of the stories he mentioned was Arn's first pigeon hunt. Jon gave me a summary, and it wasn't a story I had ever heard.  Now Arn has offered this version, in his own words.  He explains that he wrote it up for Lloyd Keeland of Loon Lake fame, to possibly be included in his new book. "However, at this point, he's a cenurian, and I'm hoping not too late!"
                    SOMETIME IN SEPT. 1955  THE DOUBLE BELLIX
At times youth is very capable of harrowing misadventures.  It's a combination of over-exuberance and lack of experience.  Take the situation where I was twelve years old and was generously invited on my first hunting trip by my Dad and a couple of his cronies. The plan was to hunt the afternoon in the coast ridges south of Coos Bay, for the then-plentiful bandtail pigeons.  We piled into the '53 Chevy station wagon and headed into the country and I was allowed to drive. (First potentially haphazard endeavor.)
    While nearing the hunting site, they made a quick decision to stop at a small country store and pick up some beer.  When I reacted to the "Pull in here" directions, I hit the brakes and did a 360 degree spin, but didn't touch the pumps! With one of the back-seat passenger's keester rebounding off the headliner, in a cloud of dusty gravel, the rig came to a halt.  About that time the owner of the store came bounding out, concerned about the possible property damage and what the hell was going on.  Fortunately no real damage was done.  The beer got bought and the hunt resumed with a quick change of driver at the wheel. (The remark was made "You need to disengage the clutch when using the brake.)
    I noticed when we got to the pig farm, where we would hike up into the chitum and the elderberry, that the other men went a different direction than Dad and I.
    Well, as luck would have it, birds were coming in to feed almost immediately and within a short time we knocked down several birds and Dad's trust lab was doing a good job retrieving. A lull in the action had Dad relaxed and enjoying a brew.  At the same time my enthusiasm was relentless in pusuit of the hunt. Dad was comfortable at the top of the gully with a beer in one hand and at the same time reliveving himself with the other while astride a good sized windfall fir that lit across and near the top of the narrow, deep gully. Underneath was a large blackberry patch.
     As timing would have it, at that moment a flock of pigeons came out of nowhere.  I was on the alert and reacted with a hip shot (being on top of the ride) and winged a bird that immediately went into a slo-mo helicopter spinning gyro descent that planted in Dad's mid-chest and sent him air-born into a free-fall with the beautiful lab from above skimming the log after the bird and onto Dad, down below.
     It was another 12 years before Dad and I hunted together again, and that's another story.
    Arno Sampson