This is the time of year for which a hunting dog is born, a time in which the scent of upland game stirring restlessly in yellowed fields triggers many an ancient and atavistic memory in nostrils trained for generations to the hunt. It is a time when a well-schooled pointer like the one below puts months of training to the test.
Opposite and on the following pages, Photographer Hans Knopf's color camera follows one eager 2-year-old pointer named Gus right into the thick grass as the hunting season begins. If, on this first of many days that he would spend in the field before winter finally called a halt to his sport, Gus committed an occasional gaucherie like startling a pheasant, he could be forgiven, for this was Gus's very first hunt—an experience perhaps never to be equaled in a pointing dog's life.
IN THE THICK GRASSES OF AN AUTUMN-TINTED LONG ISLAND FIELD, AN OVEREAGER POINTER SENDS A SITTING HEN PHESANT SCRAMBLING INTO THE AIR