The sweater was one of those afterthought Christmas gifts, purchased by my mother because she didn’t know what else to buy, and viewed with horror by my wife, who said it looked like something Uncle Buck would wear. It sat for years, forgotten in a dresser drawer until, one trapping season, I pulled it out and said, “Michelle, where did this awesome wool sweater come from?”
“Your mom bought it for you for Christmas years ago,” she said. “I’ve hidden it for your own good ever since.”
I pulled the sweater on regardless, and by that evening, once it smelled faintly of beaver castor and red fox piss, I knew that I’d found my new favorite garment for hunting, trapping and general cold-weather kicking-around.
As modern hunting clothing goes, there…
