I grew up hunting deer with dogs in south Alabama (Escambia county) in the 80s and 90s. We hunted and fished thousands of acres of papermill land with friends and family. It was some of the most fun a kid could have. Hunting was in the fabric of our lives. Everything revolved around it. Every hunter and some wives had a nickname that was used on the CB radio (called a CB handle). The dogs were like celebrities and I cant begin to tell you the bond that develops between a boy and his hunting dog. There is nothing else like it.

We would start looking for tracks around 5AM. A lot of times, someone would "drag roads" the night before with a small tree or man made drag. It made finding fresh tracks easier. We would decide which tracks we liked the best and surround the area. Trail dogs were sent in to "jump" the buck that we put them on. It was always something going on. Listening to the dogs, talking on the CB with friends or just enjoying the woods around me. Once the race was on, the excitment racheted up about ten notches. Listening to the pack and hoping you had the right stand. If you heard a shot, you knew it was a buck (No doe shooting back then). Who shot? Did they get him? Did he turn back? Did he get by an now everyone is trying to get to the next crossing. It was tons of fellowship, tons of stories and tons of fun. Too bad that like most things, greed and selfishness have robbed the next generations of some of the true joys of life. Its now a business or competition. It saddens me that my boys will never know what hunting once meant.

Daniel Boone (My CB handle