Colfax, Washington is a community that in the 1960's and 70's was not fully aware that they had a vice grip on a fraternity of bird hunters that had discovered an abundance of Chinese Pheasants in its midst.  This little town, camped in the small valley among the rolling hills of the Palouse country and bordering the Colfax River, paid most of their attention to the tons of wheat that came from their combines and stored in their granaries until the price was right for sale and feeding the mouths of the country.  But to a few of us, the town and the area had more magic than the locals realized.
   Colfax is a quiet little farm town in eastern Washington State, in Whitman County, which is not so distant from the border of Idaho and quite near the campus of Washington State University in Pullman.
   Bob Elf and I were a couple of the lucky ones, in that we had married two sisters  who had a Dad who chased pheasants during the languid fall afternoons where the prominent sounds were the distant echoes of  shotguns, often emanating from all directions.
   Our father-in-law, "Cotton" Wilcox, with his wife Mary, had emigrated from another hunting ground in southern Indiana and were delighted to discover that such a place, with an abundant supply of birds, even existed.  But exist it did, and we, as the new sons-law were treated to a learning experience that would provide the fodder for many stories, mostly true but for slight alterations, for years to come.
   During that period before the Interstate Freeways, this weekend trip for pheasant and quail was close to a 6 hour drive from Seattle.  The travel plan consisted of packing up the station wagon with the hunting necessities such as shotguns, ammo, changes of clothing and most importantly, the portable dog cages they made in those days that would house a very rowdy German Shorthair named Vicky.  (Her full name was a very prestigious Victoria Von Hohentann). This dog was a hunting machine, as I discovered soon after making her acquaintance, but it must have been hell for Cotton to house her for the other months of the year.  Or perhaps, I should offer Mary my condolences.  But Vicky helped us with our limits on each trip until Bob and I both acquired a couple of Labrador Retrievers that were not quite the hunters that Vicky was, but a whole lot easier to keep around the house during the off-season.  And our wives and the mothers of our children would be quick to agree.
   The other logistic challenge that existed then as well as currently, was to find a motel that would allow your dogs in the room with you and, even more importantly, a place outside where we could let the dogs do their duty while we were cleaning birds (in the rooms, no less) and having the duty social hours before chow time at the local beaneries. Bob and I were introduced to this logistic anomaly  at a later date after Cotton had been staying at the Junction Motel for a number of years.  The accommodations were adequate, if not prestigious, and certainly filled the bill for our needs.  The beds hadn't been replaced in a generation or so, but at least they changed the sheets. And you didn't need to worry about losing items that are near to your heart.  One year we returned and were assigned the same room and I discovered a very nice wool sock that I had lost the previous year and it was there awaiting my return under the bed. 
   Next door to the motel was the café that not only offered hash browns to die for, but they supplied portions that would last awhile since we spent a good bit of time walking up and down the