An old story told once more

I left my uncle hidding in the woods with the gun and slowly made my way out towards the dirt road. Still aprehensive of the game wardens I hesitantly maneuver up the gravel embarkment onto the road and watched as an oncoming blue pick-up slows and then comes to rest beside me. The door swings opens and a friendly "hello Chris" welcomed me aboard. Several seconds pass before I realized just who it was that sat behind the wheel. Even though the woods would not be graced with his presence this season, great-uncle John was garbed in hunting orange and he sat there smiling at me. "Where's your father, where's Tex"? he asked in a voice withered from a 3 pack a day life. All this while I was still trying to get my bearings, figuring out how to find my father, get back to camp and how does John recognized me so quickly, he sees me once a year at most, ignorant to the fact that I was even in town, let alone walking out of the country woods yet he spots me coming out through a picket of willows, knows who I am and stops to say hello and offer me a ride.
"Tex is in the woods about 100 yards in hidding with the gun, neither of us have a liscence. I dont know where my father is, we lost him." His brisk retort "well, let's go find him." We left Tex crouching in a stand of pines and travelled a few more dirt roads until we spotted my father wearily walking down the road. The story grows predictable from here. We pick up Tex, head back to camp and share tales and drinks of rye. John, having hunted countless years with my grandfather, garners the most attentative ears with his stories, unfortunately for his stories there are fewer of those than of his drinks and he, just like the rest of us, prefers to sip his drink and take it all in.