Way back in the early '80's, I was a young buck that deer hunted with a co-worker that had horses and a long time pard of his that was decades of seasons ahead of us both. After being out playing hide-n-seek with alpine mulies from can't see to can't see, I returned to the wall tent and a hissing Coleman lantern to share dinner and our stories of the day. When it was our camp patriarch's turn he recounted the number of bucks he'd seen and how close or off yonder they were. I inquired as to why we weren't packing meat in the morning and he told me "Why would I ruin a perfectly good hunt?" with a grin and a wink for emphasis. He'd been blessed with many good hunts, good company around many campfires, left countless boot tracks over the mountains of many states, and lived to his middle 90's before the Good Lord punched his tag. We should all be so lucky....