The first fish I ever "caught" was tossed to me by my dad at a seafood shop in Baltimore.
The first hunt I ever went on I watched Dad outrun an English setter somewhere west of Omaha to retrieve a ringneck pheasant he had shot.
Once he capsized a canoe filled with my fishing tackle, and we laughed about it for years.
You see, my father wasn't God's own outdoorsman. He was a career Air Force officer, a survivor of Hitler's concentration camps during World War II who worried more ...Read full story