At least in the west, it’s rare that you have a kid off hunting by themselves.
It didn't seem all that rare when I was an 11 year old kid hunting the wide open spaces of the wide open west with a Marlin 336 in .30-30.
Before my dad signed me up for the Hunter's Safety Class, I had to prove I was ready to take it, and not just to my dad, but every adult in our camps. My dad would say, "Time to head back to camp. Lead me back to my Bronco" and that was a test, or sorts, to prove that I knew where I was in relation to where I wanted to be, and knew how to get where I wanted to be. Uncle Bob would whip out the USGS 7.5 minute Butler Peak, CA quadrangle and say, "Show me where we are" and "Show me how we got here" and "Show me where my Jeep is" and show me where our property is." I also had to learn to drive flat-fender Jeeps and early Broncos on trails. Another part was chipping in with all of the chores involved in living in the bush without being asked to do them.
I had been a tag-along observer since I was 5. When I was 10, my dad, uncles, and family friends who shared camp with us all agreed that I could find my way around without getting lost and I could factually do exactly that by the time I got my license.
It was same deal for my cousins. When we were 11 and 12, we'd hop on Honda Trail 70's with guns and be gone until supper-time. We'd hit favored bunny-busting spots, miles apart from each other. We'd go back to our property and clean and skin the rabbits, grab fishing rods, and head off to a creek or a pond and fish. After a while of doing that, we'd go back to our property and exchange tackle for guns and get after the bunnies again.
Nobody worried about us getting lost or doing something stupid because there was no reason to.
My saga isn't much different than that of plenty of others of my age who grew up hunting and fishing in the western states.