The season was a quarter century ago but I remember it like it was yesterday. The woods were thick, lush and green, and in the air was the smell of drying hay from the last cut of the year. I lit up the Opening Day woods like a house of fire. It didn't matter that the foliage was full or that the grouse and woodcock were dodgy. I hit most every bird at which I fired. I was unstoppable, or so I thought.