My sweet, beautiful, red headed mother, Dolly, at 4'10", and a crack shot began to hunt after raising eight children in the 1970's. She was dedicated and determined. No "good old boys club" was going to keep her out. Hunt she did, bear, elk, boar, goat, and deer, deer, deer, deer, deer. She and a brother were booked to go on safari in Zimbabwe but her health would not allow. I went in her place. I am not a hunter. At sunrise the guides and my brother would head one way and I would head the opposite. I did not carry a gun, to the guides consternation, but carried paint and canvas. It was beautiful and horrifying. Life and death were daily events. On my path were cobra, black mamba and leopard tracks. I always felt like there were eyes on me.