In those care free days of long ago, my parents were getting fed up with the police appearing at our door looking for me. Dad was hinting, maybe I should get my own place. It was 1958, I was 18, had a job and a car and felt as if I was invincible. Not only did the cops in my town know me, but I was becoming well known in some of the small towns nearby. One day a deputy came to the house asking about my whereabouts. Dad answered him that I went hunting. deputy wanted to know where and dad said, "Ike goes where he wants". And that was the problem. In those days, hunting was my passion, especially squirrel hunting. I loved being in the woods as the sun is coming up and the woodland was awakening. And when hunting season opened, I considered every field or patch of woodland mine. Posted or not, I hunted it if I chose to. Anyone can hunt on land they have permission to be on, but the real challenge and thrill is to hunt on posted land or without permission. To do so takes special equipment and skills though. For example, clothing. Early season hunting required dark green and black or camo clothing. Later, when the leaves were down, I would switch to dark gray wear. And in the winter, white. At first I used an air rifle, thinking it would be the quietest. To get the power I needed, I had to use a high powered air gun. It was anything but quiet, and slow to reload. Then I discovered .22 long CB cartridges. These were .22 long cartridges, loaded with a light bullet and little to no powder charge. In a rifle, they were extremely quiet, but still had enough power to drop a squirrel out of the highest oak. My all time favorite hunting weapon was the Remington Fieldmaster rifle shown below. It was plenty accurate enough and quick and easy to operate. I was never caught illegal hunting but did have to conceal myself under a brush pile a time or two. An observant farmer saw my car in the area and entered the woods looking for me. Not finding me, he let the cops handle it. That led to the deputy at my dad's doorstep asking about my whereabouts and dad answering, "Ike goes where he wants". A lot of time has passed since those days of arrogant and reckless behavior. I no longer go where I want. The old legs won't scamper through the woods and hills these days. My hands will no longer hold a rifle rock steady and the eyes can't focus on the gun sights. It's like sex, great while it lasted.
Gee, you have that exemplary wanderlust in your feet. How I love to have that when I was young. But you see, I was confined to our small apartment in the city and the only place I could go hunting is our garage where I swat flies and daytime mosquitoes. When I married, I had the opportunity to experience overnight camping and also mountain hiking (not climbing though). There was this good friend of my husband's father who lives in the forested area. There, I experienced drinking from a water well, eating roasted sweet potato for snacks and had a hand in picking fruits - mangoes, guavas, star apple. But with guns? I haven't handled one.