At the age of 10, I spent a handful of early mornings with my dad at the Fish & Game Club, alongside other local individuals, taking part in a Hunter’s Safety Course. Many more early mornings during that fall of 2002 were spent bundling up in cotton, wool, and fleece – greens and grays under a coating of orange – and leaving camp to walk across stiff gravel roads and through frosty clearings and thickets; I’ll never hear another crunch like the one my boots made when contacting the nearly frozen blades of grass and bushes. My hunting expeditions were never too intense, although bloody noses and cold toes sometimes…