Issue link: http://www.e-digitaleditions.com/i/433799
S P O R T I N G C L A S S I C S 1 2 0 kept calling me "Grandpa." I went along with the ruse, but it wasn't funny and I was glad when everyone said their goodbyes and goodnights. Once it was quiet I picked things up a little, topped off the wood stove, and let the dog out for a run. Waiting for him to return, I happened to glance at the brown bear mount glaring back from across the room. Mr. Fairchild came to mind, no doubt because the bear was taken on the hunt I was planning when he passed. Following that thought's trail, I easily imagined how special it might have been to tell him the story afterward, a payment in kind for all those he had shared with me. There would almost certainly have been a twinkle in his eye when he heard how the guide and I snuck in on a pair of ten-footers brawling over a sow, that she nearly ran us over trying to get away from them, and finally how three quick shots settled the boar into the Kodiak tundra. Coming part of the way back, I wondered why I hadn't thought about that hunt in a long time, even though I walk past the huge bear several times each day. I let the dog in, sat down, and pondered some more. The skull of a grand old Dall's ram from the Alaska Range caught my eye. Mr. Fairchild would have gotten a kick out of what happened on that hunt. E ncounters with bear and wolves and legendary Alaskan rains add to the memory of the hunt that yielded this moose. I was too old to cry, so I'm sure that isn't what happened as we slowly drove Mr. Fairchild back to town. Dad bought us Cokes at a little diner, then he and Mr. Fairchild talked fishing. That was just as well, as I couldn't think of any words worth sharing, no matter their size. Mr. Fairchild retired a year or two later. He spent much of his time fishing the nearby waters but still helped out at the store on occasion. I always enjoyed our infrequent visits, caught up as I was by the distractions of high school, then even more by those of college and the real world thereafter. During the planning stages of my first Alaska hunt Dad called to tell me Mr. Fairchild was gone. "It's for the best," Dad said. "I stopped by to see him not long ago. Wasn't happy in the place they had him. He asked about you, but most of the time we talked about the hunting and fishing trips he'd enjoyed so much. That seemed to perk him up." I 've been turning over quite a bit lately what Mr. Fairchild said concerning the importance of remembering. What probably brought this on was was my recent birthday. Everyone insisted it was number 55, and I didn't have the heart to set them straight. My family was in on the joke, so they all turned up at my house to bum a free meal and harass me right to my face. There even seemed to be one more person than usual at the table, and for some reason everyone