We started the lone-hunt this year. Just today, my 12yo grandson dropped me off. Then, drove the RAM to his spot. And, to be clear, I am not just a soft, sympathetic Pop. I am conscientious about such things. He has earned this privilege. He has logged more hunting hours than many people five times his age. He killed his first deer at six and is upwards of twenty. I trust him more than most adults I have hunted with. Still, I repeatedly preach the essentials of safety and expectations. It is a privilege that can be revoked.

My dad was sticking me in homemade ground blinds on a milk crate when I was around 9. He’d usually be hunting just over the ridge from me then but I can remember it being scary as chit when the coyotes started howling.