Saying goodbye to a great friend and avid outdoorsman

By Larry Dablemont
    In October of 1958, I turned 11 years old. Dad had promised that when I turned 11, I could go with him on a duck hunt down the Piney River. And there I was, the first Saturday in November, sitting on the front seat in his wooden johnboat, looking through the blind he had attached to the bow, shaking with excitement. I was to watch and listen and learn so that when he thought the time was right, I could sit there actually hunting with my own gun.

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