My father and uncles told us stories when we were kids, of their hunting exploits when they were growing up on the West Coast. Deer and pigs made up the majority of the stories, and they were always told with such gusto and hand waving, that all of the kids were in awe.
Trips back down the West Coast always had dead animals, and more great stories to be told, and every now and then we got to sit in the helicopters.
Sadly these trips stopped before any of us were old enough to actually tag along, but the hunting seed had been planted.
Bookmarks