Jim cruised the back roads around the reserve. Staff asked him to keep an eye out for suspected g**g activity. Some of the old residents had complained there were so many trucks driving around in the back woods; all the game had been pushed away and they were having a hard time hunting.
Jim supposed once you reached the age of seventy, especially the kind of years that the reserve dealt out, you had some excuse for wanting to shoot game across the hood of your truck. The Conservation Officers just rolled their eyes and said at least no people had been shot. The old folks mostly shot .303 which didn't travel as far as the more modern ammunition.
The back roads were nicer to look at than the houses in the reserve, but they could be a challenge to drive. He had to keep a careful watch for
