The best part of the pheasant hunt wasn’t even in the field.
It was the campfire.
OK, there wasn’t a fireplace, or a fire, around which eight or 10 of us sat after the season-ending pheasant hunt at writer Tom Lounsbury’s farm near Cass City in December’s last days. But there was the feeling of a campfire, and the sharing of stories, the camaraderie that’s almost always prominent in the very best of my hunting and fishing memories.
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