After nearly two decades of African safaris, I’ve learned some things. This is how I see Africa. It’s a place where you can drink too much whisky at night, and not feel it the next morning. It’s a place where you can get blood on your hands and feel no need to wash it off. It’s where you can forget there are …
“…but I’m never really alone; dad’s dead, not gone. He’s with me there, just like he’s with me when I’m sitting under a hickory in the Appalachian hills. And I always try to have a nice and shiny, big red apple to share with him.”
My family instilled the love for the hunt inside me. My mother loved to sit in a hickory patch—still as a mouse—squirrel hunting. My father and his trusty Winchester Model 12, 16-gauge prowled the West Virginia hills for squirrel, rabbit, turkey and deer. And my grandfather, with his prosthetic leg and cane, followed coon hounds from dusk until dawn. They always took …
