A couple of months back, the Savages took me on a prairie dog hunt and the evening before the shooting started I was handed a new version of the Model 12 Series Varmint in .223 to sight in. I did so, and what I saw 100 yards away in the fading light caught my interest—all five shots went in one ragged hole. Could this, I wondered, be the long-sought factory rifle that would break the ½-moa mark?
In our town, elementary school ice cream socials are a long-standing institution. You go, get a little cup of ice cream in a hot gym, then get volunteered for things you don’t want to do. I dutifully went for all the years my kids were in grade school and am now thankfully done. Seeing this video, I can’t help but think how much more fun would a “machine gun social” would be.
Here’s a good rumor to chew on. Will Idaho be home to one of our major gunmakers? Much as South Dakota attracted gun and ammunition makers like Dakota, Black Hills, Corbon, A-Square and others, Idaho is actively courting the firearms industry. It is, after all, an extremely gun-friendly state, and it doesn’t hurt that it offers tremendous outdoor recreation as well.
Those of you who saw my half-hour on the Outdoor Channel heard me claim that I had never lost a head of game that I had shot. This is true, but what I did not have time to add was that, on at least three occasions, if I had not had expert help, I would have. What I’ve learned about tracking hit animals is: Get down on your hands and knees and crawl if you have to and don’t give up.
The October 2009 Popular Mechanics “Self Reliance Issue” is all about fending for yourself: surviving emergencies, living off the grid, as well as just being generally handy. One feature, “The Soul of an Old Machine” profiles do-it-yourselfers who prefer to fix and maintain old stuff rather than replace it. It includes a sidebar called “Tomorrow’s Classics,” listing four tools which, if given a modicum of care, will work for you and for your children.
Everyone needs a motto. My high school’s motto was “Spirit o’er circumstance, ever supreme.” We changed it to “Screw it o’er circumstance, ever supreme,” and it seemed more appropriate. My Army regiment’s motto was “Esse quam videri,” “To be rather than to seem.” However, the best motto for my stage of life was provided by my fellow gun writer Stan Trzoniec: “Who gives a s**t?” Stan says that when you’re over 65 matters are truly out of your hands, and you can now relax and watch things come apart at the seams without getting your guts in a knot.
Hunting season started exactly the right way for me this year. I tagged along with my son John and my friend Mike (pictured below) for an evening hunt on opening day of our youth deer season. Mike had graciously invited John to sit in his bowstand and take first crack at his best spot.
So I walked into the local sporting goods store a few weeks ago, not really thinking that I needed a Benelli, but there in the rack was a brand new black M2, marked as used. It was pristine, and the asking price was so low I figured if nothing else I could immediately sell it and make money. Right next to it was a next-to-new Legacy, one of Benelli’s higher grade models, also very – by Benelli standards – reasonably priced.
I asked the kid at the counter about the two guns.
“They’ve been test-fired only. Some guy traded them both yesterday in on a new Mathews bow.”
We don’t usually address conservation in this space but the way I look at it, shotguns aren’t good for much if you don’t have birds to hunt with them.
Back in the early 80s, when fencerow to fencerow farming was devastating pheasant populations, I can remember going hunting with my cousin one day. It was right at the beginning of the whitetail population boom, and all we saw that were a couple of hen pheasants and dozens of deer.
One of the benefits of big-game hunting is that you get to see odd parts of the world that few other people do. Mostly this is uplifting, but sometimes you end up where you just want to get the hell out. First on my list of such places is Schefferville, which lies 1,000 miles north of Montreal in Provence Quebec. Founded in 1953 as an iron-mining town, it came upon hard times in 1980 when the mines closed down. Since then, the population has declined to 202, as per the 2006 census.
The roads stop 350 miles south of Schefferville, so the only way to get in or out is by charter plane or by the once-a-week train that runs there. The weather tends to be extreme; it rains or snows more than 300 days a year. Schefferville’s current reason for existence is as a marshalling point for caribou hunters.