His name was Ed. He was my grandfather’s best friend. Growing up, my sister and I spent most days at my grandparent’s house while my parents worked. Ed, a widower, was also a fixture at their house. Several days a week, Ed would stop in to shoot the breeze with my grandfather. Often they’d talk about fishing or hunting, and make plans for trips. Friends for years, the two of them were all-around best pals. Whether they were deep-sea fishing in the Atlantic, catching halibut or salmon up in Alaska, or trekking up to Maine for their annual and much-anticipated whitetail hunt, these avid outdoorsmen loved going on adventures together, much like the characters in Grumpy Old Men.