When I was 10, I received a Buck Model
102 knife for Christmas. My father had my name and hometown engraved on the blade, and I carried that knife everywhere. One day my brother borrowed it for a bowhunt in the Little Belt Mountains, and he lost it. A couple of years later, it was returned via the U.S. Postal Service. Another public-land hunter had found my knife, discovered my name, and took the time to return it. Sportsmen are some of the finest people to walk this earth.