By David E. Petzal and Philip Bourjaily

A knifemaker friend of mine who specializes in re-creating frontier-era weapons not long ago began making breeching axes for an American special ops group. The axes are actually tomahawk size, ground from S-7 impact-resisting steel. The head and the shaft are one piece, and the handle is completed by slabs, or scales, pinned and epoxied to either side of the shaft. These little axes would have been at home at Agincourt or Crecy; they are quite heavy for their size and are perfect for bashing in a door or cracking a skull. They also have a calming effect on indigenous personnel who are not intimidated by the sight of a gun.

The very first ones were made with handle scales of fiddleback maple and black walnut. When the knifemaker showed them to the purchasing officer, he said that he could offer higher-tech, more durable scales made of rubber (actually, the matting used in horse stalls, which makes an excellent knife handle), or micarta, or G-10. The answer he got was forget about the other stuff—we want wood.

In a world of steel and aluminum and titanium that is gray or black or camo, the wood provides a little touch of beauty. “Sometimes,” he... [ Read Full Post ]

By Philip Bourjaily

My friend M.D. called me a few nights ago to say he had permission to hunt a field full of geese and did I want to come hunt? I was already leaning toward “yes” when he delivered the clincher: “You can sleep in. They’ve been flying about 9:30 so if we leave my house by a little after 8:00 that’s plenty of time.”
    In the morning I drove to M.D.’s house. We hiked two blinds and 11 full-body decoys into the field and had a great time, even though there was something about our little spread the geese didn’t like. A few flared outright, most slid off just out of range, but one flock worked close enough that I was able to kill a bird.
A few minutes later, three locked up and sailed into the decoys on M.D.’s side. I didn’t want to shoot over his head and deafen him, so I watched while he shot a double, then swung on the third and lowered his gun. Our bag limit is two and he wasn’t going to shoot my second bird for me. I never did kill a second goose, but I appreciated M.D.’s gesture, which is increasingly... [ Read Full Post ]

By David E. Petzal and Philip Bourjaily

“Christmas time is here by golly,
Disapproval would be folly,
Deck the halls with hunks of holly,
Fill the cup and don’t say ‘When.’
Kills the turkeys, ducks and chickens
Mix the punch, drag out the Dickens,
Even though the prospect sickens,
Brother, here we go again.”—A Christmas Carol, by Tom Lehrer

Let’s come to an understanding. I will pretend that you can seriously consider buying at least some of what follows. You will pretend that you are not scared plain flat pissless of what 2009 holds in store, and will read all this with your usual avarice. Note, however, that the rotten situation we’re in does not detract one iota from how good all this stuff is. Some of it is new; other items I have used for years.

KNIVES:  The Cold Steel Canadian Belt Knife is a copy of the Russell Canadian Belt Knife, which is one of the great all-around designs. It’s stainless, with a polypropylene handle, and comes with a very good nylon sheath. You have to sharpen it a lot, but so what? It costs only $19. Cabela’s Bell & Carlson Gator, at $90, is the best factory hunting knife I know of. They did everything right,... [ Read Full Post ]

By David E. Petzal and Philip Bourjaily

If you watch the ads that the NFL runs during commercial breaks, its players are a bunch of benevolent behemoths who spend their spare time playing games with children, rescuing kittens, and working for world peace. What the NFL does not advertise is that some of its non-benevolent behemoths spend their spare time engaged in mayhem, armed and unarmed.

The latest example of the armed variety comes courtesy of New York Giant’s wide receiver Plaxico Burress, who has not played much this year, but distinguished himself by catching the pass that won Super Bowl XLII. In the early morning hours of11/29, while at a nightclub, Burress shot himself in the leg with a .40 Glock handgun which was not legally his. (A question for Glock owners: How do you shoot yourself with one except by a long, deliberate pull on the semi-hideous trigger?)

Neither the New York Giants nor the Weill Cornell Medical Center, which treated Burress, called the cops, who learned about the shooting from news reports. However, the beans were eventually spilled and now everyone is making outraged noises, especially Mayor Bloomberg, who is beside himself. Burress is facing two felony gun charges, each of which carries a fine and jail... [ Read Full Post ]

By David E. Petzal and Philip Bourjaily

In the early 1950s the African professional hunter Alexander Lake wrote about an unsettling experience he had with a troop of baboons. Lake had been shooting them for bounty (they are hell on crops and young animals, and ranchers, farmers, and PHs hate them). Lake found himself unarmed in the middle of a troop of the beasts, face to face with the Alpha baboon who, rather than leading the troop in tearing Lake to pieces, stared into his eyes with, as Lake described it, a strange yearning look.

Then Lake heard a weak squawk, and saw a mother baboon nearby, hovering near her baby, which was limp and obviously near death. It had been poisoned by a farmer. Lake had a canteen filled with strong coffee and forced some into the little beast. It puked up whatever it had eaten and began breathing regularly. The momma baboon grabbed her youngster and the troop faded back into the forest. Lake never forgot that strange, beseeching look in the Alpha baboon’s eyes, and he never shot another one.

Last summer, in South Africa, I found out first hand what Lake was writing about. We’ve all watched the eyes of shot animals as they die.... [ Read Full Post ]

By Philip Bourjaily

I thought all of you who have helped me name and train my dog with your posts might like this picture. It’s me, Jed and his first rooster, shot Tuesday, November 25, near Oxford, Iowa. We were looking for the singles from a covey rise of bobwhites when Jed found this bird hunkered in a hank of grass about halfway down a vertical creek bank and clambered down to point it.

I made a poor shot – I am blaming the steel 7s I had in the gun in anticipation of quail – and my host Tom Fuller’s Brittany, Star, found the cripple and made the retrieve. Jed was with her every step of the way and found the whole process very exciting. He is now blooded as a bird dog and eager for more.

This Thanksgiving week, I’ve got a new hunting partner to count among my blessings. Later I put Jed up and ran my setter Ike, who made a beautiful point on a second covey, despite being 12 years old, slow and afflicted with cataracts. There’s nothing wrong with his nose, and I’ve got that,... [ Read Full Post ]