Guns that got away but remain in memory
Over the years, most hunters have gone through a small passel of firearms. Some depart, some remain. Not everyone fancies themselves a collector and my personal policy eschews safe queens. Anything in my safe either gets shot or gets shopped.
A small, but well-loved, compilation occupies the average hunter’s closet including a good deer rifle, a shotgun for fowling purposes and usually a .22 of some sort for varmint and rodent duties. From there, things sort of get interesting if not more individualized, possibly even more specialized.
There are a rare few pieces, through the years, that manage to slip through the cracks, possibly because of financial difficulties experienced as younger folks. Maybe the phenomenon occurs simply because we don’t yet recognize nor appreciate what we cherish. Maybe some sweet-talking “friend” was able to convince us to give up that special arm in trade for something that was just too tempting. Whatever the case, we are left with memories, maybe a sales receipt and more than likely some accompanying regret.
For me, I am taken back to a rifle I nearly purchased as a lad. My “almost” gun was a Remington Mohawk model 660 chambered in .243. Stairstep L bolt, rosewood caps with white spacers. It was to be my first-ever gun purchase and I spent two summers working at the Tuckish/Bell Farm in order to save up for the initial acquisition. If I remember correctly, my wage was $1.25 per hour in 1977. Eight-hour days mostly, working from 8 a.m. until 4:30 p.m. with a half hour for lunch. On Saturdays, I might be lucky enough to get in a little overtime. I’d like to know how many miles of grass I mowed, how many pounds of leaves raked and weeds pulled and manure shoveled and rose bushes trimmed. Then again, knowing might just drive me over the precipice.
The master plan was to earn enough money in order to purchase a new Ruger Model 77 .270 rifle. That was the cartridge that Jack O’Connor touted. That was the caliber that George Block would espouse in later years as “the ultimate cartridge.” Most importantly, it was the round and rifle combination that my big brother Glenn carried. And because of that, there was never really any question as to my selection.
Nearing the end of the second summer of my labors, Glenn supervised as I counted out the stash of crumpled dollar bills hoarded for my big acquisition. He nodded approvingly at my thrift but announced there might be a better way. Recognizing a new rifle would incur additional sales tax as well as the need for a rifle scope since the M77 did not come with open sights, Glenn continued. It would also need a sling. My brother withdrew to his closet and produced a diminutive little carbine complete with a Weaver K-4 scope, a hand-braided rawhide sling and three boxes of hand-loaded ammunition. It came with its own carrying case. I gazed upon the rifle in the same confused fashion I ogled girls in those early years …
Not certain of what to do with gun, nor the girl, for that matter, I instantly recognized that I liked it, them, her. You get the idea. As I worked the slick action of the little semi-Mannlicher’s bolt I tuned in. I took notice that it shouldered like lightning, coming to perfect alignment with my eye. The rifle pointed superbly and handled in complete harmony. My arms cradled it like the gun was an extension of my limbs. The pleasantly mild recoil would be the icing on the cake. The piece was everything I needed and nothing I didn’t. Glenn had purchased the rifle from our cousin Sam a few months prior and had no plans for it. The coup de grace came in the pronouncement of a most affordable price tag: $150. No tax, all in, ready to shoot, out the door. In those days I was too young to appreciate the sweet handling characteristics of little carbines which I have grown to adore. I was a novice, unable to fathom the value that resided in my hands. This is to say nothing of my complete ignorance for such aesthetic beauty.
So what would any childhood gun prodigy do? Glenn drove me to Ace, making up the difference in the sales tax and he bought me a Bushnell Banner 4x scope for an early Christmas present. What I recall most vividly is the original sales slip from Ace Auto (eventually to become Ace Sporting Goods). The receipt was for the princely sum of $230.89.
I would like to have another chance at that sweet little rifle, especially at the original price. I’d be curious to learn the story of your gun that got away. You can reach me at my email below.
Dave Bates writes a weekly outdoors column for the Observer-Reporter. He can be reached at alphaomegashootingsolutions@gmail.com