SternoVT
Member
When I was five years old I was introduced to .22 rifles by my grandfather. It was an Ithaca M-49 single shot rolling block lever action. My sister and I learned to shoot it at our family camp in northern Vermont, carefully taking aim at empty coke cans on a hillside. It remains one of my most cherished memories of family. My father, his father, and my sister all sharing a moment in time.
To this day the smell of that first .22 cartridge being touched off brings memories flooding back, something I could never fully articulate.
In the years that followed I put thousands of rounds through that little gun, but it was not truly mine. When I was twelve I had a Christmas morning reminiscent of the famous 'Christmas Story' scene. I hassled my father every day for at least two months for a Ruger 10/22, and on Christmas I worked my way so very quickly through my presents, and to my dissappointment there was no gun to be found. My father knew exactly how to play it, to the extent of likely practicing his carefully delivered line of "whats that one there behind the desk?" Not even half an hour later I put my first rounds down range in negative ten degree weather, and again, it is something I can never possibly forget.
After I had my own rifle I immediately had new status with my grandfather in terms of heading out to the range together and being on the same playing field. It was a rite of passage, and while it was never spoken it was clearly a new era. We would shoot hundreds of rounds without hardly a word, just big grins.
It was during one of these sessions that I was first introduced to the Marlin 39AS. He produced it from a padded case with a grin that said so much. It was his pride and joy. My grandfather was never a man of means, and now that I know what these rifles cost in terms of what he had at his disposal, I can only imagine how long he planned, how long he saved.
I was immensely impressed with its quality, its simplicity and accuracy. He could easily outshoot me and my 10/22. Of course some of this owed to my youthful 'spray and pray' mentality, but once I became familiar with that rifle my whole outlook on firearms changed forever. I started to take my time, to place my rounds carefully. He was a purist too; a seven year old cowboy as I have seen it put on these very forums. He had a little single-six to match it, and when we were out in the woods with that pair time seemed to slow just a little.
He moved to Arizona when I was 16 and left most of his guns with my uncle where they were locked away. My teen years saw me less and less at the range, and without him around it just wasn't the same when I did go.
More time passed, and the winter before I turned 21 I got a phone call from him. After some small talk he got very solemn and serious. I was to go pick up the Marlin from my uncle. Not a word was said as to why, but now that I look back we both knew. Not even two months later he passed away after fighting with his health for a number of years.
For me, the grieving began that day in late winter, holding that beloved rifle and knowing what it entailed. Having to look my uncle in the eye and promise I would never sell it to anyone but him. There was never any question, I will never part with this gun for any amount of money.
I found this site after a experienced a few FTF at the range on Saturday, and after three days of reading, here I am 63 pages later. At first I was amazed that so many others had such an attachment to this rifle and its variations. Then after about twenty pages it dawned on me just how sentimental this gun was for me. I understand that my experience is different than some, but I have also read some stories on here that sound remarkably similar. This is a gun that will be passed on to my kids one day, a long time from now.
I'm 23, and what I lack in experience and know-how, I came here to learn. I find myself wishing that my grandfather could have experienced a community of people like yourselves who shared a love for this rifle. I intend to give you seasoned gentlemen (and ladies!) a run for your money in the next index card challenge, and I thank you all for coming together and starting this club.
If you made it this far, thanks for reading
To this day the smell of that first .22 cartridge being touched off brings memories flooding back, something I could never fully articulate.
In the years that followed I put thousands of rounds through that little gun, but it was not truly mine. When I was twelve I had a Christmas morning reminiscent of the famous 'Christmas Story' scene. I hassled my father every day for at least two months for a Ruger 10/22, and on Christmas I worked my way so very quickly through my presents, and to my dissappointment there was no gun to be found. My father knew exactly how to play it, to the extent of likely practicing his carefully delivered line of "whats that one there behind the desk?" Not even half an hour later I put my first rounds down range in negative ten degree weather, and again, it is something I can never possibly forget.
After I had my own rifle I immediately had new status with my grandfather in terms of heading out to the range together and being on the same playing field. It was a rite of passage, and while it was never spoken it was clearly a new era. We would shoot hundreds of rounds without hardly a word, just big grins.
It was during one of these sessions that I was first introduced to the Marlin 39AS. He produced it from a padded case with a grin that said so much. It was his pride and joy. My grandfather was never a man of means, and now that I know what these rifles cost in terms of what he had at his disposal, I can only imagine how long he planned, how long he saved.
I was immensely impressed with its quality, its simplicity and accuracy. He could easily outshoot me and my 10/22. Of course some of this owed to my youthful 'spray and pray' mentality, but once I became familiar with that rifle my whole outlook on firearms changed forever. I started to take my time, to place my rounds carefully. He was a purist too; a seven year old cowboy as I have seen it put on these very forums. He had a little single-six to match it, and when we were out in the woods with that pair time seemed to slow just a little.
He moved to Arizona when I was 16 and left most of his guns with my uncle where they were locked away. My teen years saw me less and less at the range, and without him around it just wasn't the same when I did go.
More time passed, and the winter before I turned 21 I got a phone call from him. After some small talk he got very solemn and serious. I was to go pick up the Marlin from my uncle. Not a word was said as to why, but now that I look back we both knew. Not even two months later he passed away after fighting with his health for a number of years.
For me, the grieving began that day in late winter, holding that beloved rifle and knowing what it entailed. Having to look my uncle in the eye and promise I would never sell it to anyone but him. There was never any question, I will never part with this gun for any amount of money.
I found this site after a experienced a few FTF at the range on Saturday, and after three days of reading, here I am 63 pages later. At first I was amazed that so many others had such an attachment to this rifle and its variations. Then after about twenty pages it dawned on me just how sentimental this gun was for me. I understand that my experience is different than some, but I have also read some stories on here that sound remarkably similar. This is a gun that will be passed on to my kids one day, a long time from now.
I'm 23, and what I lack in experience and know-how, I came here to learn. I find myself wishing that my grandfather could have experienced a community of people like yourselves who shared a love for this rifle. I intend to give you seasoned gentlemen (and ladies!) a run for your money in the next index card challenge, and I thank you all for coming together and starting this club.
If you made it this far, thanks for reading
)
