
GUNSMAGAZINE.COM 65
limits and firing in the direction of
beaters not allowed, frustration hung
thicker than the fog.
In the end, after four such hunts in
one day, I fired exactly one shot and
tagged the single largest trophy of the
hunt — a pedunculated oak, Quercus
robur. A running fallow doe I was
tracking for a fast 30-yard chip shot
ran behind the tree just as I pulled the
trigger. With the bad weather, shooting
restrictions and overall unfamiliarity
with the program, it proved to be the
only deer I had my sights on.
Thus, I set a new personal hunting
record I’ll probably never surpass —
I traveled over 9,000 miles roundtrip
to assassinate a future packing crate.
END GAME
As the sun went down, the group
reassembled around the spruce boughs
where the dressed deer and pigs were
now carefully arranged inside. In the
growing blue-black twilight, punctu-
ated by four dancing corner fires, we
held another ceremony which was even
more reverent. The successful hunters
were presented with a sprig of greenery
to signify the last meal of their quarry,
then after a benediction of sorts, the
group dissolved quietly into the night.
It was later explained the ceremo-
ny was meant to thank the animals
for giving up their lives, offer credit
to the red gods of the hunt and gen-
erally show recognition to nature for
providing this bounty. That the whole
thing was done in earnest and without
a trace of awkwardness was remarkable
to an American. I could only imagine
how the orange-clad deer hunters at
the local greasy spoon would react to
such things.
Ultimately, the entire day had
been refined but still wild, thoughtful
without being stuffy, introspective yet
not self-absorbed. The ceremony was
like the First United Methodist Church
meets American Sportsman. The whole
thing was totally foreign yet strangely
familiar — and I liked it, a lot.
Now I’m just wondering how the
boys down at Henriettas Hash House
are going to react when I show up
wearing a tie on opening day.
GUNS INSIDER
continued from page 66
instructions, then more horn-blow-
ing and singing before things drew to a
close. The musician was good, and the
whole effect in the gray morning dawn
was quite stirring, even for Americans
who didn’t understand a bit of it.
ON STAND
We then adjourned to our des-
ignated stands with our assigned
guns. Mine was a CZ bolt-action
rifle in .308 bearing a Vortex scope.
We wouldn’t get any familiarization
time but since most shots would be
at across-the-street distance, it didn’t
really matter.
The weather was ugly, a heavy
freezing fog with about 40 yards of
visibility. At my stand — actually a
spray-painted number on a large tree
— it was as quiet as a midnight grave-
yard. I had a Czech minder with me
but the first thing he did was show
me his phone pulled up to Google
Translate displaying “I don’t speak
English.” I responded likewise with,
“I don’t speak Czech,” so we both
shrugged and waited in silence for
something to happen.
Suddenly, a clear horn note
sounded in the distance. In the fog,
it was eerie and sent another chill up
my spine not entirely attributed to the
cold. Then came pandemonium.
On the signal, the beaters and their
dogs began shouting, hollering, singing,
smacking sticks together and making all
manner of un-hunt-like hullabaloo. The
sound echoed among the rolling hills as
sporadic rifle fire began to punctuate the
gray. I stood ready.
The shooters are supposed to
face outward to avoid danger to
the beaters. In actuality everybody
looked inward toward the drive at
the amazing sight. Fallow deer and
huge red stag ran willy-nilly through
the misty forest, just like mice when
you open the door to an old grain bin.
The numbers were amazing, even
when you consider the supplemental
feeding and other herd enhancement
techniques in use. With the stags off
CROSSFIRE
Miss Kitty And Tom Cat
continued from page 8
completed the trapping and was very
happy with the lack of cats and cat scat.
Archie Ellwood
And now, one of “those” emails. I’ve
replaced the bad words. — BW
As to writer Brent T. Wheat, and I use
that term lightly … is this guy a com-
plete #### idiot? Your writer is a total
#### idiot who is also a #### liar. Better
get writers who don’t lie when writing
articles. Signed, #### off about liars,
(Name Withheld by the Editor).
Just another “Cat Advocate” keepin’
it classy! —BW
OOPSIE
Regarding the article “The Guns
of Die Hard” by Will Dabbs, MD in
the December, 2024 issue. Dr. Dabbs
is a talented writer and I always enjoy
his material. However, there is a small
error in the article. There is a picture on
the last page showing the guns of the
good guys. There is a revolver identified
as a S&W model 15. The revolver pic-
tured is not a S&W model 15 but is in
fact a S&W model 19. The revolver pic-
tured has a shrouded ejector rod, heavy
barrel, and is clearly marked “S&W .357
Magnum” on the barrel. The model 15
did not have a shrouded ejector rod. It
had a tapered barrel and was chambered
for 38 special only. Itwas never cham-
bered in .357 magnum. Keep the great
material coming Dr. Dabbs!
Paul Geraci
Two Mea Culpa on this one. First, Will
is embarrassed to admit he took a picture
of a Model 19 instead of the correct Model
15, though he’s not sure why. He does
know the difference. Secondly, I looked
at the photo in detail but it never regis-
tered. Considering my first “issue” cop
gun was a Model 19, I should know better.
Just “one of those things” that leaves you
shaking your head in the midst of the daily
confusion of building a magazine. Thanks
for the eagle eye. —BW