Magazines change. Staff comes and goes, subscribers come and go. I had subscribed for years when one day it dawned on me that M. McIntosh had died, Galen WInter had retired, one of the posters here did a fluff piece on a canned hunt in the southern US, and there was a fashion piece with the editorial staff suited up in outfits that cost more than most people's guns.
It also dawned on me that if those in the pictures ever encountered me, a guy with shoulder length hair, torn jeans, rusty pickup, with a mean ass Gordon Setter riding shotgun, and a 70s vintage Darne, while hunting, they would likely flee in terror. They probably spent all that money thinking they were going to be getting away from people like me.
I've met guys with gunrooms, that are more interested in what bourbon and cigars are in them, than what game was last pursued, or when. I'm not them. That is OK.
I dropped my subscription. It wasn't me, and I wasn't them. And that is OK.