Your search for the perfect hunting knife is over
My favorite childhood memory is hands down hunting and fishing with my father. Every summer we pack up our old Ford Cortina bakkie with our gear and hike down to the Orange River in the Northern Cape to camp, fish and have some family fun, just mom, dad and me.
We will camp, sleep well in our oversized tent, and head out early each morning to find our daily conquests.
Mom usually stays at camp to sunbathe and stuff while Dad and I go down to the river: canoes, poles, tackle, and hunting knives.
I'll never forget the first fish I caught. She was a relatively small babel, palm-sized at best, but she couldn't believe how excited she was. I was 8 years old at the time. I felt the bite on the line and, somewhat clumsily, pulled on what might have been a Shark. Once the fish were on deck, Dad pulled out his favorite knife, a concealed hunting knife, and cut my line. We dumped my glowing beauty into the bucket and continued fishing for hours. Dad caught a few more bass and a smallmouth but got nothing beyond my initial catch.
After father and son had had enough fun and played in the sun, we headed back to camp. I was so excited and anxious to show my mom my giant monster fish (in my mind as a kid, it's the Loch Ness monster). Mom played with it like it was the biggest fish she'd ever seen, not to mention Dad's sea bass, which was at least five times the size.
So Mommy and Daddy started to build a campfire. I helped collect as many dry twigs and twigs as possible. Dad taught me to gut fish while building a fire, a sport my mom wasn't interested in because she found it too gross.
Dad pulls out his camo hunting knife again, zooms in and opens my loot. I remember how easily he did it, like cutting butter. I helped with the evisceration, which was super fun. After cleaning and rinsing the fish, Mom tossed it into a frying pan and cooked it over an open fire. This was the best meal I have ever had in my 8 years of life.
