![]() ![]() His dogs and his results, speak for themselves as he’s the only American born competitor to make up a novice field trial winner and a British field trial champion. We both become indignant at the thought of training one with the collar, another reason we meshed from the onset. Calm, quiet, patient souls, full of game finding ability and natural retrieve. ![]() His dogs embody what the British intended a Labrador to be. He hangs an acme 211.5 around his neck by a strand and keeps a makeshift slip lead out of a short piece of paracord in his minimalist leather game vest. Everything is built on a solid foundation. Noah’s approach to life is not what I call fancy. Unveiling his Browning BPS, checkering filled with dry mud and 28 inches of “blued” barrel, copper hued by surface rust, I nodded and found we were both smiling again. I own one myself that’s been beaten, ribs bent, forearm pump cracked, and not once has it been properly cleaned. While preparing the sinews of war, the first thing I noticed was his shotgun. Weather was favorable, with temps in the low 30s when the sun came up, upper 40s overhead. Time was limited in the coming days, so we hunted that afternoon. But no, not him, not after giving his word. With a long drive ahead of him from his kennel in the Flint Hills of Kansas to what I refer to as “north of the tension line,” Wisconsin, many would have just backed out. ![]() This guy is the posterchild “All-American kid.” From our phone conversation the day before, I knew he pulled an all-nighter, coming off what he thought was a bout with food poisoning. In fact, it’s contagious and I found myself mirroring the expression back. He has a “Top-Gun” mustache and wears an eternal grin that stretches ear to ear. Hats like that say a lot about the men who wear them: Salt of the earth and unafraid to do what they need in order to earn what they’re after. Parsons had on a dirty, sweat-stained baseball cap with “Salt Plains Outfitters” hardly legible across the front. (Photo courtesy of Jeremy Moore) True To His Word In his words, “this kind of hunt has become a lost art.” It was a great hunt, shared with good friends and good dogs. Waited on ducks that never came, and trailed behind setters with our Labradors at heel. By the end of the conversation, Parsons and his dogs, progeny of fine British retrievers, had an invite to our camp. What took me 20 years to realize I wanted in a Labrador, I learned in under an hour from this kids’ experience. ![]()
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