One of my favorite places is one I've gone to since I was 12 years old. For the first 30 years, I went there every year with my father who first took me there. It is a solemn place, quiet except for the occasional whistling breeze in the trees, the scamper of squirrels rustling in the leaves and the abundance of other passing wildlife. It's a long walk to get there, you pass an old abandoned whisky still, a small fresh cold water spring, walk up a good part of an old logging road, turn back into the woods about 200 yards and end up near the top a ridge overlooking a small ravine with a quiet slow running stream at the bottom. There is a large downed tree there that makes for a good seat, a place my father and I had many a father-son conversations. It is also one of the best deer hunting spots on the ridge, rarely traveled by other hunters. The following 10 years I hunted there alone enjoying nature and it's peacefulness and remembering all of the successful hunts we shared there, and those I continued to on my own. I haven't hunted there for the last 5 years, although I walk up there once when I check for trails in the late fall, pause to remember what once was, then head back down to check the area I hunt now, a spot we used to pass on our way just off that old logging road. My hunting success still continues, I have a few steaks left in the freezer, and I'll always treasure the hunting and tracking skills I learned over those early years. Thanks Pop, you raised and taught me well, I miss you dearly...