My rifle
I have been shooting since I made my first “cannon” at about 10 years of age…in those days, one could go to the local hardware store and buy single shot gun shells. I’d cut them apart and use the powder in my home made wooden guns…they were good for several shots before they split (very light charges as I was conserving my pop bottle money). As I aged I got better at making them and then started making my own gunpowder (probably gleaned the recipe from a Boy Scout manual). I was lucky and at 16 I found my own personal Old Man for a mentor (think Patrick F McManus). He was a real collector and understood that a bunch of guns is not a collection unless there is a theme. That theme is important because it keeps an order and thrust to an endeavor. An aesthetic compass if you will. Sorta like a space mission…we could just shoot things out into space but isn’t it better to plan beyond the fiery rush of a rocket?…remember it because that “theme” follows my thoughts through this all.
I began shooting muzzle loaders in earnest in 1964 (I was 16 years old) and snuck around through the woods in fear of being laughed at with my muzzle loading pistol (remember I was a teen age'er
).
I have always had an interest in history and try to understand from that perspective. I would like to ride a horse across Yellowstone dressed like Bridger…but I have to have all the trappings including the rifle even if I have no plans to shoot it…without it, it wouldn’t be the same and I would feel cheated or incomplete. I read the Leather Stocking series and books I’ve forgotten the names of…about ships and islands and treasure and storms. At about 17 I took up hunting and though I was abysmal as a hunter I persevered and got a little better. I went years as a complete failure as a deer hunter till my cousin pointed out that Phillip would rather shoot the gun and not the deer…EUREKA! I did continue hunting but I quit feeling like a failure…I finally shot my first deer and since then I have been at peace with my inability to regularly kill deer. There was a better “theme” I found and that was competition and reenactment as a buckskinner. Primitive hunting whether archery or muzzle loading is no longer a passion but I have a deep respect for it…the best hunters in the woods are very likely archers (not cross bows or even compound). They set up rules which limit themselves; perhaps they hunt with a compound but maybe they hunt with wooden arrows and home made bows…a message carried by the grey goose and limited by the same grey goose. Stepping into the woods with the same tackle carried by native aboriginals the world over, slipping along a woodland path, listening to squirrels and chickadees and becoming a part of the fabric of the land is a very satisfying experience, in fact, it is primal.
I can squat down and start a fire with my flint and steel. The resulting fire is indistinguishable from one started with a lighter or match…but “I” know the difference and am satisfied. Dad used to tell me that there is no way to “cheat” at solitaire but he went on to explain that simply turning up the cards with no possibility of “losing” is likely to be a boring labor. It is much better to loose more than to win and give value to the winning in the process. Like canned hunts, turning up the cards without the possibility of losing makes shallow people out of us…the complete hunter must set limits and rules to make success a valuable reward…a reward worth the candle. Success then becomes a mature satisfaction and not simply a vulgar indulgence and THAT separates the men from the boys.
I shoot a light .40 caliber flint lock these days. I made it myself and stuck to what I think is a southern blacksmith-made school. The bulk of my competition was done with a .54 cap lock with fixed sights; I adjusted for range by varying the powder charge…no bells and whistles…just one man and one gun. I got my butt kicked at the firing line by a lot of very fine marksmen but except in the very beginning, never by an in-line or a townie with a laminated thumb-hole stock. And those who whipped me all respected my efforts…they were simply better shots and that was that.
A little poem I wrote to explain my interest in sailing…
I Want
I want to see whales again...and porpoise...and a shark...and bioluminescence in water that’s dark.
I want to stand my watch at the helm and to feel the largeness of the sea and the smallness of me.
I want to look out on the circled horizon…and know it’s not changed for years upon years and Columbus, too, saw what I now hold my eyes on.
I fear to be tossed in my ship in the sea but fear more to be lost in the vessel that’s me.
