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UPDATE:
This weekend was the season opener for quail. Myself and a few coworkers went on a camping/hunting trip. Had a blast. Didn't get any birds (drought has really taken it's toll!), but had a lot of fun.
The "best" part (if that word applies) was that I was an hour into the hunt the first time I thought about my dad. I was tired from walking so I sat down on a rock to rest and it hit me... There I was, comfortably sitting down with a shotgun in my lap... The last pose my father struck. I thought about how easy it would be to do it myself.
Don't get me wrong, I'm not suicidal or depressed. When I say "how easy it would be" I'm referencing the physical act, not expressing any sort of desire.
So sitting on the rock was a decidedly sobering buzzkill moment but after I got back up and started walking again I was back in the game.
In summary: The scars are obviously still there, but the mental aversion has been overcome.
On a side note: A few weeks ago I bought a (replica) Remmington Model 1858. I'd never fired cap and ball before and the purchase was an impulse buy. But I brought it along as something to play with in camp... Great fun!
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