There's a wooded ridge trail not far from my home and we walk it occasionally. I loved to carry a .22 revolver and plink with it while walking. The near end of the trail is across a neighbor's farm, and I walk his line fence to access it.
I put night sights on my 1911 after a chance meeting with his "escape artist" Holstein bull, while coming off the trail one night. I also learned that at nearly 50 years of age I could still jump a fence with one hand on a post. Wouldn't care to try it now.
