I associate _____with shotguns.

sm, good to see your back, had me worried for a little while...


On to the topic at hand

The smell of early morning, right before the dew shows up.

and now, I reckon, the 8 dollar a box #6 shot.

—pheasant over bright morning cornfields

—Granddad and great uncles, goose hunting

—good dogs

—the ringing sound of a Model 11's bolt slamming home in the cold, clean air

sm said:

Do not stick your index finger into the open breech of a 1100 and rub the other side of receiver. You will get a deep cut.

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Oh, sure. Now you tell me. Actually, my Dad did tell me that day in about 1975, but he was a deliberate, thoughtful man, so he spoke right as this fool rushed in...

Welcome back sm.

To add my $.02. That special time of year (pheasant season) where even as a young boy, I was a man. My old man was (and still is) a LEO in a small town in ND. Small town=Small department=long hours & odd shifts. During Pheasant Season the old man and I went out by ourselves and walked the rows. We talked about all kinds of stuff while we were hunting. He didn't care what I said (or how I said it) during pheasant hunting because at that time I wasn't a child, I was a man. It was kind of like my 1 time a year when we could talk about ANYTHING without consequence or repercussion (except of course anything that I may or may not have done as a rebellious teenager that may or may not have been illegal)...

Duck calls, decoys, birds setting to a feeding chuckle, a good Labrador, sun up over the marsh.

Or maybe....

Sitting in a pasture while the doves fly by near and far and good friends and turning my head on a 360 degree swivel only to have the little buggers fly in from behind me despite my diligence.

Sitting at my grandma's table eating bacon eggs and pancakes before grandpa and I loaded up and went duck hunting.

-the smell of paper hulled shells...

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Ah, yes...I agree.

Shooting clays in the cold with my brother and Dad, trying to keep my hands and ears warm....

Why did we only shoot clays when it was cold out?

Hot breakfast eaten & gallons of coffee being poured into 'thermos jugs' way before dawn...

Getting "The Dawgs" into the truck....

Turning around 5 miles down the road to go back for thermoses of coffee...

Finding out that the 'cold patch' on the toe of waders doesn't work worth a hoot in Hades....

Enjoying the sights-n-sounds of someone that REALLY knows how to call ducks in...

The "Warm Fuzzies" of being with good folks out in the woods-n-water...

Looking through the ejection port of an 1100 and wondering "...Just what does that shiny thing way back there do??" while pressing said shiny thing...only a few microseconds before the bolt slams the extractor claw into the 'meaty' part of hand, between thumb & first finger.....

Once again, never mind HOW I know...I just know..

Adrenaline surge soaring my heartbeat as geese cup their wings and descend towards the decoys.

The same as a flicker of movement alerts me that this year's venison is approaching, if I do certain things correctly.

The body language of pointers as they tell me,"Bird close", then "Here!!".

And with folks I loved, now gone but far from forgotten....

The smell of a freshly fired hull. I loved that smell when I was a kid. Still do. I believe it's Federal that has the most distinctive odor.
-

Slip-stepping up behind a good bird dog that's quivering on point on a fresh covey, with your muzzles up and ready, seeing silent brown eyes rolled back to look over a shoulder as if to say "Come ON, boss, they're RIGHT HERE!"

That grenade-burst roar of brown feathered bodies headed every which way (including right back at your head) when you kick them out from under that quivering nose.

Knowing in your heart of hearts that you have it together well enough to pick out one bird at a time from that buzzing maelstrom, get on it solid, swing with it- and gracefully kill a pine tree with the right barrel as the bird darts behind it, then still nail the bird with the left barrel when it comes out from behind that tree.

Waiting your turn. Not being greedy. Putting the dog first. Just being there being enough. The companionship of old and trusted friends sharing the joys of dogs and brush and birds.

Lunch on the tailgate before shooting time arrives. Streaking doves across a corn field. A transistor radio broadcasting the Auburn- Alabama football game. The distinctive sound of a A-5 across the field and the patter of spent pellets.

The smell of nitro powder burned in a waxed paper hull... and of Hoppe's.

Old friends, teachers, companions and mentors no longer present.

And current friends who are- even though you haven't met some of them in person yet.

lpl/nc

Grouse hunting with my father, brothers and sons.

A couple of geese. A few rabbits.

One three-point whitetail buck.

The smell of fall in the air.

-Fine people, great dawgs, and covey's of quail.

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yep. That'll do it.

Oh, and when the white wing doves sit in my trees during the off season and stare at me.

The sweet musty smell of moist fallen leaves on a crispy October morning with low-angle sunlight and a ghostly mist making the woods into a wonderland.

The nerves-on-edge anticipation of a bird about to take wing that makes you feel truly ALIVE and instinctively connected to our primitive ancestors in a way mostly forgotten in the hectic modern world.

The simple beauty of fine wood and tooled metal that somehow just feels right in your hands.

The fond memories of happy days gone by shared with good friends and my dad, even if we never saw a bird or fired a shot.

A grin of achievement the day both my sons broke doubles.

I see those grins every time I hold my shotgun or smell the powder.....

I associate _____with shotguns.

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.....Explaining the LOUD NOISE to Officer Friendly.
.....Explaining the twenty-four thirty calibre holes* in the door to my landlord.

"Well, you see Officer/Mr. Landlord, this guy, sm, that posts on THR, says you HAVE to pattern these things, so you know how to use them effectively!"

Huh?

At the range?

d'OH!





*I favor 3" #1 Buck for HD.

Crow calls and decoys on a Saturday morning with good friends.

The begging tone of beagles hot on the trail of southern cottontails and swamp rabbits.

A little Red Label 20 gauge and a limit of doves being readied for the grill.

A gobbling tom strutting through an open hardwood forrest.

A friendly round of skeet in the backyard with the smell of a charcoal grill wafting up my nostrils.

A group of friends sitting on the backporch enjoying a meal of freshly shot doves, talking about the shotguns they have and the ones they want.

The 16 gauge that reminds me of the grandfather that gave it to me. The squirrel hunts he took me on and the little fiest of his that refused to hunt til she was damn well ready.

A shotgun is a social man's tool. No other firearm encourages conversation and gatherings the way a shotgun does.

I associate____THE SMELL OF HOPPES #9____with shotguns.

Starting off cold, sweating later, sore legs, wet feet even though these RedWing Irish Setters is "water proofed", walking up and down hills, mud, ice, white streak checking in and going back, scratches, briars, cedar thickets, brush, "how many shells did I have to bring-Heavy", why don't birds like open areas? heavy duck britches and game vest.

Every now and then there's a grouse involved.

Loving every minute of it.

I associate _____with shotguns.

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Getting up 2 hrs before the sun stuffing our faces with gridle cakes bacon and biscuits and gravy a gallon of coffee and a gallon to go.
Sitting in that cold ass non heated old Chevy pickup getting to the edge of hunting heaven. Cold as hell outside Rabbit hunting in Arizona with my brother.

Sore shoulder the next day from shooting a 12 gauge when I was 12.

A old over and under Savage (I think) 410/22 lr. My brother giving me a hard time for using the 410, instead of the .22 for shooting squirrels.

Happy dogs doing what they love best.

Wet dog smell in the truck.

Feathers floating in the air when I open the tailgate.

The ear to ear smile when a new shooter breaks a clay target.

Good friends.

Serious competition.

I believe it's Federal that has the most distinctive odor

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.

Federals do have a wonderful smell. Cupped wings whistling overhead. The splash of birds landing in the dark. The smell of hot coffee.The shivering anticipation of a ten year old who has now seen fifty-two years.