In 1954, when I was eleven years old, my grandparents lived in Pennsylvania in an area that had a deep tradition of hunting of all sorts but especially deer-hunting. The first day of the deer season was a universal holiday for all the men around Sayre, Pennsylvania. If possible, my father drove to Sayre to go hunting with his father every year. As soon as I was old enough to be trusted with a gun, I joined the annual hunt. Legally you were supposed to be twelve or thirteen, but I began hunting when I was eleven. Grandpa took me under his wing and became my hunting mentor....
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