There is an area, within the continental limits of the United States, that does not exhibit the conditions that appear to be prevalent in much of the rest of the country.
It has more timber than it had in 1950 and more of its land is forested.
With two exceptions, all of its game birds and animals are more numerous, the open seasons that permit the taking of these are longer than they were fifty years ago, and, except in one instance, bag limits are more generous.
Leaving out the pursuit of fish altogether, and taking the decidedly minority position that deer are superfluous, there is an open season of one kind or another from the first day of September in one year, until the first day of the following May, except for one three week period at the beginning of March.
If a person chooses to fish, and has some source of outside income, he need never go home at all.
The location of this Shangri La is neither the American frontier at the time of the French and Indian Wars, nor the Land of Oz, above the chimney pots and over the rainbow.
It is the Southeast Coast of the United States today, at the opening of the third millennium.
The purpose of this book is to serve you a slice of one of those years.
