My Dad had a rule, we could hunt around camp for "camp meat" as soon as we could hit the bottom of a 3lb coffee can at 50yards offhand with his old octagon barreled 30/30. That thing was heavy! I was 9 when I was old enough to be able to hold it up and complete the shot proficiency test my Dad laid out. I went out every morning and every evening, Mom wouldn't let me be gone for over an hour at a time, as we had grizzlies quite close, quite frequently. About the 4th morning I killed an average doe with a single shot from that 30/30. Walked up to her and took off running and whooping for camp like a banshee I was so excited. Mom, and aunts and everyone else in camp came running out of the cabin thinking I was getting the run put on me by a bear. I was grinning from ear to ear, heck if you'd a knocked me on my forehead very hard the top of my head would have fallen off backwards I was grinning so wide. When my Dad and all my uncles returned from the mountain tops chasing elk all day, empty handed and saw my deer hanging, you can bet I was feeling about ten feet tall around the campfire that night!