Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Andrew M. Wayment and I live in Idaho Falls, Idaho, close to some of the best trout fishing and bird hunting in the world. I am attorney by profession, but an outdoorsmen at heart. I am an avid fly-fishermen, bird-hunter, and sometimes big game hunter. For me, they are all essential parts of the upland equation. In this blog, I plan to share with you stories of bird hunting as well as fishing. Last year, I completed an original book entitled: Heaven on Earth: Stories of Fly-fishing, Fun & Faith. I have been dilligently trying to get it published (which I am finding is a difficult task if you have never published before. I would appreciate any suggestions from those in the know). As my first entry, I thought I would share with you a passage from this book relating how I became hooked on pointing dogs and upland game hunting while I was in law school in Moscow, Idaho:

“One Saturday in October, 1998, my older brother, Shawn Wayment, invited me to go pheasant hunting behind his wild-eyed, lemon and white, English Pointer, Gibbs (pronounced as Jibbs), which invitation I readily accepted. Having graduated from Washington State University’s Veterinary program, Shawn still owned a home in Colfax, Washington, which is not too far from Pullman, the home of WSU. At the time, Shawn was a practicing vet in a clinic in Walla Walla, Washington, but on the weekends, he would come home to his wife and house in Colfax, which was only about thirty miles from Moscow, Idaho. On this outing, we hunted just outside of Moscow on a parcel of property posted with Pheasants Forever signs, which seemed like as good a place as any to hunt pheasants. Before that time, I had never successfully harvested a bird behind a dog. Shortly after the hunt began, Gibbers slammed on point, with her tail held high, and three pheasants blasted out in different directions, two brilliantly colored roosters, and one drab hen. I missed the rooster rocketing left to right closest to me on my first shot, but then instinctively shucked the spent shell, swung out in front of him, pulled the trigger, and he crumpled to the ground with a distinctive thud. Shawn too hit a rooster off of that rise, but when he went to pick it up and actually touched it, it took off running like the road runner. Hastily, Shawn tried to shoot from the hip, but missed and the wily rooster gave us the slip. Such is pheasant hunting! Elated by my accomplishment, as with my first trout on a fly, I was irretrievably hooked on bird hunting and pointing dogs that very moment and knew I could not live another Fall without a pointing dog of my own, especially in the Palouse Prairie where game birds abound.”

That was it. . . one intense point by a crazy pointer on a colorful cantankerous rooster-almost ten years ago-hooked me on bird hunting for life. After having four dogs of my own and multiple seasons afield, I truly consider this event as a defining moment in my life. I can’t imagine a fall without pointing dogs and upland game birds. Thank you Shawn and Gibbers for this gift.