Both of my grandads were hunters and one of my grandmothers would go out for deer, usually hunting in the pasture near the house. I remember tagging along with her when I was probably less than 5. My dad always headed home to the farm to hunt, I can still remember one snowy night in the 67-69 time frame, standing at the kitchen window, watching for Dad to come home from opening day. Snow drifting down, me in my PJ's, nose pressed against the window, way past my bedtime. Alas, he brought no buck home that night. We also had a basset hound and I would tag along (probably starting about age 6) with them for small game. I had some Scouting buddies that were heavily into hunting (who wasn't in northcentral Pa?) and we had some great small game hunts once we were old enough to hunt on our own.
When I was 9, we moved to the farm, and some cousins (Dad's age) had a camp out the road, I couldn't wait to for them to show up each year. One of them turned me on to reloading. Dad's 82 and looking forward to this year's deer season now that his new knee lets him walk pain free.
Dale
