Outdoor Odyssey

During the late summer of 1971, while we were out of town, my trusty Winchester, Model 12, twelve gauge pump with a modified barrel, that I had shot for over twenty years, along with all of my other guns, a new Sony TV that I won in a sales manager's contest and my brand new Buick Electra 225, were stolen.  What really upset me was that the thieves took my Dad’s Fox, sixteen gauge, side by side.  Many times I have wished that I had that old one back!

The car was found undamaged the next week, but nothing else was ever recovered.  The police told me that my guns went to Mexico and that someone in Arizona (probably) got a real good Sony TV!

My insurance settlement, received in early fall, was quite generous and I headed to Oshman’s in Scottsdale to restock my weapons.  Having become interested in trap shooting, my first purchase was a Remington 870, twelve gauge, with a trap barrel and ventilated rib.  This shotgun served me very well over the five years that I shot competitive trap and it was also a deadly weapon on ducks and geese!
 
But, if I had been real smart I would have invested in a Perotzzi trap gun!  Laughingly, I say that, but I was never a good shot with a trap gun.  The stocks high comb, and me being blessed with a short neck and arms, precluded me from getting my head satisfactorily down on the stock.  A simple lengthening of my 870’s stock was all it took to give me the correct sight picture for trap shooting.
 
As soon as we moved to Arizona, we started seeing Gambel quail and our roamings in the foothills and the deserts only showed us more of these remarkable, little runners.  This led to my second purchase, a Remington 870, twenty gauge, pump with a ventilated rib and skeet barrel that I shot for over thirty-five years.
 
However, not planning to shoot skeet, this shotgun, shooting “heavy” one ounce, reloads of seven and a halfs or eights, chalked up amazing numbers of quail and doves.  One afternoon in Mexico, using the twenty gauge, pump, I shot one hundred white wings with one hundred twenty-nine shells!  On the skeet field it was equally impressive, helping me to shoot many twenty-fives European style.  My Son, Randy, has this gun now.

I don’t think that I was a “natural” shooter although in the Army I shot Expert with the M-1 Garand and M-2 Carbine.  Probably friendly pasters!  But I did learn early on that if you’re going to be a good, competitive shooter, you had to practice regularly.  This practice carries over into the field, helps in judging shot distances and reinforces correct shooting techniques – see the proper sight picture whether you track, lead or swing on the target, keep your head down on the stock, keep swinging after you shoot and pretty soon the hits will really start to add up whether you’re shooting clay or real birds.
 
In 1975 returning to Arizona on a business trip, I found out what befell the thieves that broke into my house and stole my stuff and how they were finally apprehended.  Their “business” was so good they had opened a used furniture store on Indian School Road in east Phoenix and of course much of the stock was stolen goods.

They had just committed another home robbery taking a TV and some guns. Of all things, the latest victim showed up in their used furniture store looking for a TV to replace the one these guys had just stolen.  Spotting one just like his, he looked a little closer and saw his Social Security number that he had engraved on the back. He left the store without a purchase, went to the police and thus ended the careers of a vicious gang of thieves.
 
Their store closed too, but they had a get your stuff sale, not a going out of business sale!

My last trap shoot was in 1975, at the Moccasin Bend Trap Club, in Chattanooga, Tennessee, and we decided to make a family weekend out of it. The family piled into our camper and we took the leisurely two hour, drive from Sandy Springs, Georgia to Chattanooga and checked into the Chattanooga Choo-Choo, a real neat hotel converted from a bunch of old sleeper cars, complete with a dining car. The kids still talk about it.

We visited “See Ruby Falls”, as advertised on barn tops along the freeway and I hated the elevator ride down to the falls; the Incline Railway, Lookout Mountain Battlefield and Chickamauga, the site of the largest battle fought in the western theatre during our Civil War.

Sunday morning found us on the way to the gun club and I was going to surprise the “good ‘ole boys” in Tennessee. Being a real “hot” shooter out west, but not known east of the Mississippi, I “bought” myself in the Calcutta for the minimum amount, a whopping $3.00.

The featured event was the handicap shoot and I was placed with the long yardage shooters.  As is said in trap shooting circles, “I was smokin’ ‘em.”  Walking to the last station and leading the shoot with only two misses out of ninety-five clay birds, the thought of my potential winnings, Over $1,000.00 flashed through my mind.  Quickly pushing the errant thought out, my concentration returned. And I barked, “Pull!”

The clay pigeon wobbled out of the trap machine, an easy, hard right bird, that I swung on, led and pulled the trigger; no bam, no ignition of the shell, nothing but a fluttering clay bird floating to the ground. The puller/ scorekeeper called out “lost bird” with me just looking funny at my trusty trap model shotgun.

A quick inspection told me that the trigger mechanism had failed.  I had five minutes to fix the trigger, or get another gun, otherwise I would be disqualified and my only option was to get my ex-wife’s automatic, with a shortened stock.

Missing three out of the last five clays and finishing second, which paid $200.00, plus another $150.00 from the Calcutta, I thought, so much for a big “hit”!   At least we paid for our weekend!

After this shoot, with my day job requiring so much of my time, and my kids being active in sports, at a very young age I retired myself from competitive shooting.  As I have mentioned before, “Sometimes a good day job can really interfere with your avocation.”

I was reading “The Best Of Nash Buckingham”, by George Bird Evans and came across Nash and his friends using 10 gauge, W & C Scott And Sons, shotguns on ducks and geese in Mississippi and Arkansas.  Around the turn of the 20th century, when he was a boy, if the owner of one of these prized guns wasn’t using it, Nash laid claim to it.  The adult members of their exclusive shooting club, Beaver Dam Duck Club, preferred the large charges, 4 drams of powder and 1-¼ ounces of number 4 shot, that these big bore, 10’s propelled at their quarry.

Now for the rest of the story!

When I was a mere lad in high school, I traded a throwing knife to one of my friends for an old shotgun, a Damascus barrel, 10, gauge with a gold shield inlaid into the comb of the stock.  The gun was in good condition except that it had a severely broken stock right where the action joined. My friend said that he thought someone had been hit with it.  Into the closet at my Mom’ and Dad’s it went for 20 years until I moved to Arizona.

Having a real good job and some extra money, before I left I took the stock to a local gun shop that specialized in repairing antique fire arms. And, for safekeeping, I took the shotgun, sans stock, to my brother-in-law, Jim.   With the owner mentioning what a pretty piece of wood it was, I left it with him and told him that I would call in about a month.  

That month turned into 5 and when I went back to Houston, I stopped by the shop and was greeted by a vacant building.  One call to another gun shop and I found out that the proprietor had died and creditors claimed the inventory.  

For the next 35 years the old, shotgun slipped my mind, until Jim died and his wife asked me if I knew anything about the old shotgun without a stock?  The memories of the original trade, leaving the gun, taking the stock to be fixed and the shop being vacated, flooded through my mind.  “Yes, I certainly remember my old gun!”

Brad, who is an excellent gunsmith, picked up the gun for me and said he could get another stock for it and fix the trigger sear.  Over the years the trigger sear had been broken, probably from the original wallop.  Brad, really doing a great job, added a new stock and he also machined a new sear and then the old gun went up on my ranch house, wall.
 
We knew the gun was a 10 gauge, W.& C. Scott And Sons, shotgun and the mention of one like it in the book, spurred me to get it down and take a closer look.

Sure enough, the underside of the barrel shows that the gun is a 10 gauge and can safely handle 4 drams of powder and throw out 1-1/4 ounces of shot, just like Nash mentioned.

The serial number is 6492 and the gun, a very low serial number one, since the numbers ran into the 60,000's, was a Premier Model, probably built around 1890 and it has over 50 percent of the “brown” still on it.  Back then guns weren’t blued.

Except for the barrels and stock, the gun is covered with beautiful engraving.  The receiver frame, trigger guard, hammers, sight ramp and even the release mechanism on the fore end are covered with the etchings.  This along with the “flowerly” shapes of the wrapped steel, better known as, Damascus, barrels give the old shotgun loads of appeal.

The W & C Scott And Sons, 10 gauge, graces the wall in my ranch house eagerly awaiting a call to service that will never come, the twist steel barrels are just too risky to chance, but it is a great conversation piece – Almost A Relic!
 

October 15, 1973, was on a Wednesday and around 11:00 AM, I stopped by Brad’s school, Cocopah Middle/Elementary School and told the Principal that Brad had a doctors appointment that afternoon and he wouldn’t be back.  It was an easy OK for the principal, one less kid to worry about.  At the time, Cocopah, besides being an open school and unbelievably noisy, was the largest school of its type in the U.S., with over 3,000 students.

Brad’s doctor’s appointment was really a Quail hunt on the southern slopes of Sombrero Peak, two hours northeast of our home.  Jake Schroder and Candy and Ned, his Brittanies, accompanied us.  The week before, during one of our quests for Indian artifacts, we had scouted this place and knew it would really pay off!

It was hot, well over 100, as we parked our 4WD truck, unloaded Candy, Ned and Rooster (my Brittany), on a road that overlooked a mile long sloping hill that ran toward the upper part of Tonto Basin and within a hundred yards the dogs were down on a hard point.  The three of us walked in, up came the Gambels and our guns erupted, bam, bam, bam, bam, bam, bam and 5 birds fell.  

We held our ground as the dogs ran down the cripples, and then moved ahead for the next covey. This scenario was repeated 6 times and by sundown we had 3 limits of Gambel Quail.  The coveys were huge, 50 to 100 birds each, and even after chasing the singles and taking 45 birds out, there were still over 400 left for later!   The dogs and all 3 of us were worn out, but what a great hunt!

On the way home, Brad told me, “Dad, this was a lot more ‘funner’ than school!”

By mid September, the Katy Prairie had dried out from the summer’s deluge and opening day of the south zone, Dove season found Bob Baugh and I, on the Katy Prairie, sweating and squatting down under 2 mesquite trees, by a feed pen, waiting for the afternoon flight of birds.  Our wait was a short one and soon we were covered up with darting, diving Doves.

Dove hunting on the Katy Prairie was spotty at the best.  The birds don’t hold to one spot very well.  Hunting pressure quickly forces them to other food and water spots on the immense prairie. But the birds stuck around for that afternoon’s hunt!  

We continued sweating in the 90 plus temperature and continued shooting, until our gun barrels were hot.  Since the prairie was well policed by wardens, we stopped shooting 10 minutes early.

By quitting time we each had near limits and cleaning the Doves, we remarked that this was going to be a good lease, especially since it was only 20 minutes from each of our houses!

Bob and I are cleaning everyone’s doves!  Don’t we look happy?

The more the merrier makes for a great dove hunt!

On September 1, Sons, Grandsons and friends met at Ted’s house outside of San Saba to welcome in this year’s opening of Dove season.  Rusty Williams from Canyon is shown getting ready to go out.  Last time I hunted with Rusty was in Friona, Texas, and it was 25 degrees, snowing, with a 40 MPH wind, not today, 80 and calm at sun up. 

                        Just before shooting time, Brad and his Nephew, my Grandson, Wesley, from Paris, (Texas, that is), both had big smiles.  Brad shot a pile of doves and Wesley ‘shagged’ them!
 
Randy, a Baptist Pastor, and his Son, Austin, my Grandson, display birds they just had shot.  Austin showing off the first white wing of his career and Randy displaying a European collared dove, ring neck dove in Texas.  Notice the size difference, the ring neck being almost as large as a pigeon.  On August 9, Austin, a running back and linebacker, has his first middle-school football game.  I’ll be attending and will report on it.
 
Really enjoying the day hunting with friends and my ‘boys’, I thought back, and over the years, had shot more birds, but this hunt was especially enjoyable.  One Grandson getting his first white wing and another learning how to ‘shag’ them and he’ll be shooting at them in a year or two himself.

After the morning’s shooting, we retired to Ted’s house for fried fish and grilled doves.  The doves were wrapped in bacon with a slice of a jalapeno and side dishes were all fresh from Ted’s garden – boiled squash and onions, boiled okra, black eyed peas and sliced, chilled tomatoes.  This feast was topped off with Ted’s special chocolate cake and then a nap before the afternoon’s hunt. 

We all had a great time!  What a great day!  

Brad had been invited to participate in a live pigeon shoot and mid March 2006 found us driving to east Texas for the event. Brad was still recovering from extensive surgery, radiation and chemotherapy that had removed and treated a stage 4, tumor on his right tonsil. He believed that he was well enough to participate and was looking forward to it! He had been on the Army rifle team, and, for two years had been the Arizona junior trap champion and remains an expert shot with both a rifle and shotgun. Brad had asked me to accompany him, and said, “Why don’t you bring your shotgun along.” I needed no encouragement and accepted the offer. I did not expect to get to shoot, but you never know.

The last time I used my eleven plastic decoys was in a fresh water pond, near Greens Cut, just off of the Intercoastal Waterway, west of Tiki Island.  Dana Sawyer’s brother-in-law, Jerry Feagin, had asked me to accompany him to this special spot, for in his words, “Some fabulous Duck hunting.”

To get to this “fabulous” spot required a five mile trip, in the dark, west on the Intercoastal; then up Hall’s Bayou, crossing over a reef that at high tide had twelve inches of water covering it, navigate through, Hall’s Lake, anchor the boat, carry guns, shells and decoys, up and over a lake dam to our destination.  Remember, all of this in the dark!

Our destination was a fresh water lake, the only fresh water on the mainland side that bordered West Galveston Bay. We were told the next fresh water pond was over five miles to the west.  Ducks need to drink fresh water daily.  Finally arriving at our spot, our only problem was literally bouncing Dana’s twenty-three foot fishing boat over the shallow reef in the bayou.  It is a wonder we didn’t permanently damage the lower unit!

In the blind, with the decoys in the water, we loaded our guns with the “new” steel shot, Jerry, a twelve gauge, pump and me a, 12 gauge, O/U, that I used for shooting doubles in Trap.  We weren’t sure about the killing power of the new shot, but it was now the law, and now, I know, fifteen years later, it has really helped the Goose and Duck population!

As it got light, we both noticed some “No Trespassing” signs posted strategically around the lake.  Jerry said, “Those are new to me.”  We quickly forgot the signs as the Ducks poured into the fresh water.  The first bunch, Gadwalls, swished into our decoys and Jerry let loose on them seriously wounding some of my decoys and hitting two Gadwalls on the water.  As the remaining Ducks took to flight I shot and knocked one down,

Admonishing Jerry for “pot shooting” the ducks and probably ruining some of my decoys, we reloaded as more Gadwalls swarmed us.  We both raised up and Bam, Bam, Jerry shot and knocked down one Duck and nothing happened when I pulled the trigger.  Obviously, there was serious damage to my gun.

I could only sit and watch as Jerry shot several more Ducks and finally I said it was ceasing to be any fun for me and we better head back.  Two of my decoys had sunk and another was riding low on the water, which didn’t help matters. Our trip back was uneventful and I let Jerry have all of the ducks and I thought, this is the last time I will ever use these decoys. I’ll retire what’s left of them and buy me some more, which I did.

The large, steel shot, BB’s” that were recommended for ducks, really tore up my decoys.  Two were shot beyond repair and one I successfully repaired, I think lead, number six, shot wouldn’t have done as much damage!  But anyway, he shouldn’t have shot the Ducks sittin’ on the water!

My real nice, over and under was easy for a gunsmith to fix – a broken trigger sear.