I thought some of you'll might enjoy this one.

At 14 years old, I saved up and bought my first serious rifle. A Sako Forrester in .243 Win with a 2x-7x Leupold scope. It had a very fancy stock. I remember that when purchased new, it cost $226 for the gun alone. That was a lot of money back in 1960. I sacked a lot of groceries to pay for it but hunting was my life.

At the time, our hunting group leased a 1200 acre pasture from a doctor (gynecologist) and family friend for the next five years after that. The good Doc would always come by the camp and visit us to see how we were doing.

Years later, during college, my wife informed me that we were"with child"

So I went to visit the good doctor to make arrangements for the inevitable. Knowing that I didn't have a whole lot of money to pay for his services, still being in school, he said," Hey do you still have that little Sako 243 that you used to bring to the ranch." I said that it looked like it did when I bought it.

So we made a deal right there. He delivered the kid and I gave him the gun.

You should have seen the faces on the room full of pregnant ladies when my wife brought that rifle to him in his office. There might have been a few births right there on the spot. Even though she had it in the case, the old doctor came out to the waiting room and still had to get it out and look through the scope to admire his new toy.

Years later, I saw him again and talked to him for a long time. I asked him how the rifle was shooting and he asked me how my son was doing. All in all, a very good trade for both of us.

When I hear some folks say that they would never sell a particular gun, they might want to remember that little story.
There's always something more important.

I'm glad I grew up in that generation, that little business transaction would be almost impossible now. I went to his funeral about ten years ago and his grandson still hunts with that rifle.

Oh well, sure do miss that little Sako.

Tom

Traded a customized Mexican Mauser chambered in .300 Savage for a standard Model 70 Winchester in .300 H&H back in 1961. Had a Lyman Alaskan scope with a 6x Lichert adapter on the objective lens. This was the firearm that got me into reloading. That rifle would drive tacks with 180 gr Remington Bronze Points and some IMR4350 powder. Used to come back from the range with a throbbing headache and aching shoulder and tell the wife what a great time I had! :D

Went on a deer/bear hunt to Canada in 1963 with my father-in-law and a mutual friend. As will happen in the fall of the year, it snowed about 12" of wet, heavy snow during the night on about the middle of the hunt. Didn't bother us in the big log cabin lodge we stayed in, but was definitely more than we wanted to wade around in the next morning.

The friend and I decided to take the canvas and wood canoe across the lake and hunt the far shore where we had seen signs the day before. The lake was like a mill pond that morning and it was a joy to paddle across and rubberneck at the scenery. Upon reaching the shore, the friend went one way and I another, agreeing to meet back at the canoe around Noon for a trip back to camp.

Didn't see much deer sign - cut lots of moose sign - so ended up back at the canoe in easy time to meet the friend. When he showed up we discussed the trip back because the wind had come up and was blowing at right angles to the line to camp. We decided to skirt around the lee side of the lake to keep out of the wind and heavy water that had transformed the mill pond into a white capped sea. Everything was going well and when about halfway around, we decided we could chance cutting the corner and strike out across the lake where the wind and water didn't seem so bad. Big mistake!

Upon getting further into the lake it became a chore to keep the canoe with the rollers and yet try to gain toward camp. Somehow, the canoe got twisted, swamped and over we went! The shock of hitting the cold water was no greater than the shock of realizing we were in deep water with heavy hunting clothes and knee high rubber boots.

The overturned canoe was used at one end for a seat by the friend and I held onto the other end with one hand and swam with the other, pushing the canoe and friend. He paddled backwards in water up to his armpits. With my ear pressed against the bow, I could hear a slight hiss as air escaped from the overturned canoe.

Many things went through my mind, especially the care and upkeep of my wife and young daughter - just how far would the insurance stretch in providing for them. My FIL was our insurance agent also, so I knew he would surely see to their well being.

The parka and wool pants became a burden, along with the rubber boots. I was afraid to stop and try shedding them, afraid I might go under and not be able to resurface again. Additionally, they seemed to provide an amount of insulation against the cold water. They were sapping my 25 year old body's strength, though.

After seemingly hours (later determined to be 45 minutes) of kicking, swimming and paddling, we were nearing shore. My FIL had come from the cabin after seeing us struggling in the water (he at first thought we had shot a deer and was towing it back to camp). After a mighty struggle to reach shore, the canoe refused to budge any further when we were about fifteen feet from the bank. Unbeknownest to us, the tie rope for the canoe was trailing in the water from the friend's end and had snagged on the rocks in the lake bottom. At the end of my endurance, my feet sagged downward and I figured I'd drown that close to shore. My feet hit bottom!!! Trying to stand up, the heavy weight of the water soaked clothing only allowed me to stand hunched over with my nose inches from the water. Finally, slogging and stumbling over rocks, I reached shore while dragging my end of the canoe along with me. My FIL and I gave a heave on the boat almost losing the friend backwards into the lake and managed to get it close enough to pull him off.

My FIL somehow found the dry kindling and matches to build a big bonfire in a scuffed out spot on the bank. The friend and I linked arms over the fire and tried to regain some warmth. Eyebrows and hair stank from singeing, but we didn't care. I looked at my hands and they were black. Horrors! I thought they were frozen. Then, a little reasoning crept into my still shocked brain and I realized I had some black leather gloves on. Today, I can remember how slowly it took for thoughts to form and answers gained, due to cold and shock. Guess from the brain down, all body functions went into lockdown during the ordeal.

Back at the cabin, a brisk rubdown with towels, 2 sets of wool longjohns, a quilt, an overstuffed leather chair pulled up in front of the walk-in fireplace that had a roaring fire and a water tumbler full of Canadian whiskey to sip and the world slowly began to revolve again. The friend had ran back to the cabin in his wet bvd's in the snow, jumped in the shower and stood under the scalding water until it was cold. He caught the world's nastiest cold and I barely had a sniffle afterwards.

I lost that prized Model 70 to the depths of a black water lake and the friend lost his Savage Mod 99 in 308 Win. We hired the local diving club to attempt to recover the rifles and even dragged the lake ourselves trying to find them. The divers said the silt was armpit deep and they were in it before seeing bottom, so we never did recover the firearms. At the time, I felt gratified it was the rifles and not our bones resting down in the muck.

Still feel that way today.

Wow, I think both you guys should have followed careers in writing!
Still, the moral of either story is pretty obvious!
Really enjoyed that fellas, write some more!! :D

Bryan

Wow, I think both you guys should have followed careers in writing!
Still, the moral of either story is pretty obvious!
Really enjoyed that fellas, write some more!! :D

Bryan
Bryan,

Ken's got me on that one. I don't know why but every once in a while, I will remember a hunting story from the past and think it might help someone.

I started hunting when I was 8 and I am now 57...UGH
Outside of a few close calls with Rattlesnakes, its been pretty uneventful, but very enjoyable.

I really enjoy posting on this site. Feels like I'm sitting around the campfire swapping stories with friends most of the time.

Good Luck

Top stories guys worth the read

Traded a customized Mexican Mauser chambered in .300 Savage for a standard Model 70 Winchester in .300 H&H back in 1961. Had a Lyman Alaskan scope with a 6x Lichert adapter on the objective lens. This was the firearm that got me into reloading. That rifle would drive tacks with 180 gr Remington Bronze Points and some IMR4350 powder. Used to come back from the range with a throbbing headache and aching shoulder and tell the wife what a great time I had! :D

Went on a deer/bear hunt to Canada in 1963 with my father-in-law and a mutual friend. As will happen in the fall of the year, it snowed about 12" of wet, heavy snow during the night on about the middle of the hunt. Didn't bother us in the big log cabin lodge we stayed in, but was definitely more than we wanted to wade around in the next morning.

The friend and I decided to take the canvas and wood canoe across the lake and hunt the far shore where we had seen signs the day before. The lake was like a mill pond that morning and it was a joy to paddle across and rubberneck at the scenery. Upon reaching the shore, the friend went one way and I another, agreeing to meet back at the canoe around Noon for a trip back to camp.

Didn't see much deer sign - cut lots of moose sign - so ended up back at the canoe in easy time to meet the friend. When he showed up we discussed the trip back because the wind had come up and was blowing at right angles to the line to camp. We decided to skirt around the lee side of the lake to keep out of the wind and heavy water that had transformed the mill pond into a white capped sea. Everything was going well and when about halfway around, we decided we could chance cutting the corner and strike out across the lake where the wind and water didn't seem so bad. Big mistake!

Upon getting further into the lake it became a chore to keep the canoe with the rollers and yet try to gain toward camp. Somehow, the canoe got twisted, swamped and over we went! The shock of hitting the cold water was no greater than the shock of realizing we were in deep water with heavy hunting clothes and knee high rubber boots.

The overturned canoe was used at one end for a seat by the friend and I held onto the other end with one hand and swam with the other, pushing the canoe and friend. He paddled backwards in water up to his armpits. With my ear pressed against the bow, I could hear a slight hiss as air escaped from the overturned canoe.

Many things went through my mind, especially the care and upkeep of my wife and young daughter - just how far would the insurance stretch in providing for them. My FIL was our insurance agent also, so I knew he would surely see to their well being.

The parka and wool pants became a burden, along with the rubber boots. I was afraid to stop and try shedding them, afraid I might go under and not be able to resurface again. Additionally, they seemed to provide an amount of insulation against the cold water. They were sapping my 25 year old body's strength, though.

After seemingly hours (later determined to be 45 minutes) of kicking, swimming and paddling, we were nearing shore. My FIL had come from the cabin after seeing us struggling in the water (he at first thought we had shot a deer and was towing it back to camp). After a mighty struggle to reach shore, the canoe refused to budge any further when we were about fifteen feet from the bank. Unbeknownest to us, the tie rope for the canoe was trailing in the water from the friend's end and had snagged on the rocks in the lake bottom. At the end of my endurance, my feet sagged downward and I figured I'd drown that close to shore. My feet hit bottom!!! Trying to stand up, the heavy weight of the water soaked clothing only allowed me to stand hunched over with my nose inches from the water. Finally, slogging and stumbling over rocks, I reached shore while dragging my end of the canoe along with me. My FIL and I gave a heave on the boat almost losing the friend backwards into the lake and managed to get it close enough to pull him off.

My FIL somehow found the dry kindling and matches to build a big bonfire in a scuffed out spot on the bank. The friend and I linked arms over the fire and tried to regain some warmth. Eyebrows and hair stank from singeing, but we didn't care. I looked at my hands and they were black. Horrors! I thought they were frozen. Then, a little reasoning crept into my still shocked brain and I realized I had some black leather gloves on. Today, I can remember how slowly it took for thoughts to form and answers gained, due to cold and shock. Guess from the brain down, all body functions went into lockdown during the ordeal.

Back at the cabin, a brisk rubdown with towels, 2 sets of wool longjohns, a quilt, an overstuffed leather chair pulled up in front of the walk-in fireplace that had a roaring fire and a water tumbler full of Canadian whiskey to sip and the world slowly began to revolve again. The friend had ran back to the cabin in his wet bvd's in the snow, jumped in the shower and stood under the scalding water until it was cold. He caught the world's nastiest cold and I barely had a sniffle afterwards.

I lost that prized Model 70 to the depths of a black water lake and the friend lost his Savage Mod 99 in 308 Win. We hired the local diving club to attempt to recover the rifles and even dragged the lake ourselves trying to find them. The divers said the silt was armpit deep and they were in it before seeing bottom, so we never did recover the firearms. At the time, I felt gratified it was the rifles and not our bones resting down in the muck.

Still feel that way today.
Ken
Here's a picture of that Sako 243. after a good night of varmint hunting. I told you there was nothing else to do in high School-

Year 1963

Ken
Here's a picture of that Sako 243. after a good night of varmint hunting. I told you there was nothing else to do in high School-

Year 1963
try again-

OK - Now that you've gott'um, what're ya gonna do with'um? :p

Hey, Tom - You gonna make the household move by barge or boat?! You guys have had so much rain the the DFW area, catfish farming in the backyard is probably a real opportunity. Bet them 'skeeters are big enough to saddle!

Did you have a chance to sneak off to the lease last weekend for some varmit hunting?

OK - Now that you've gott'um, what're ya gonna do with'um? :p

Hey, Tom - You gonna make the household move by barge or boat?! You guys have had so much rain the the DFW area, catfish farming in the backyard is probably a real opportunity. Bet them 'skeeters are big enough to saddle!

Did you have a chance to sneak off to the lease last weekend for some varmit hunting?

No, but I am going this week-end. I'm going to fill two feeders and see what the hogs are doing. I'll bring about two cans of mosquito repellent and maybe a bullet or two. Probably bring my new varmint call as well.

I haven't feed because the rains have the grasses so tall the deer don't even need to bend down to eat. This should have a good effect on the horns.

I haven't seen this much rain in June in 25 years. There is more coming through Friday and then finally its suppose to stop for the week-end. In the past 5 weeks, we've had about 13 inches.

I wish you guys would get some of this. Its either all or nothing around here.

tvp,
Loved your story. I am going to tell you a similar tale.
In 1961 at the age of 14 I received my first deer rifle as a birthday gift from my Dad. It was a .270 Remington model 721 with a 24 inch barrel and a 3# trigger with a 4X Weaver scope. I beleive my dad paid $85 for it. Even though I was the third owner the gun was just like new. As a 14 year old I started reloading and loved to shoot. Anyway about 30 years later I get a call from an old family friend asking if I still had that .270. Yes I did. Why? He proceeded to tell me he was the first owner of that rifle and his grandson was turning 14 that year and was wondering if I would consider selling it. Since I had recently purchase another .270 about 6 years earlier I agreed to let him have it for his grandson.
What took me so long to say is you may have an opportunity to get your gun back. I hope so!!!!!!!!!
Oh and my first grandson will be 14 in only 12 years, who knows........ I know where that lovely old 721 is..........

30-06 in a Remington. Who the heck gets a Sako for their first gun------Wow. Anyway, the only rifle in the house was an old 30-40 krag that my grandfather had (dad was not a hunter). I used the 30-40 and pretty much thought it was mine. Then my brother turned 12 and dad said he could use the 30-40!!!!! And exactly what was I supposed to use? I was in college and didn't have any $. I don't recall the answer but it obviously was not what I wanted to hear. That summer I played ball for a sporting goods store. I got close to the owner and told him the story and told him to look for a good used rifle for me. Months go by and nothing really shows up. He said how about a new one. I didn't have the $ but he said I could work it off evenings in the store-------he didn't need any help. He took me to Scranton to the wholesale warehouse where he got a lot of stuff and said go pick one out. I picked the 760 and he paid for it on his account-------$95!!!! The year was 1972. Still have it and it looks almost as good as new. It now has a 3x9 Leupold on it after a couple "experiences" with cheaper scopes. I don't use it much anymore. No particular reason, it could really shoot and I never shot at a deer that didn't get hung up. Sometime back I got the lever "fever" and now have about 8 of them. The one I most often reach for tho is the 444. Probably overkill but I just that gun. But the ole 760 saw a lot of field time and every time I haul it out of the safe and wipe it down a memory is emmitted. JOHN

tvp,
Loved your story. I am going to tell you a similar tale.
In 1961 at the age of 14 I received my first deer rifle as a birthday gift from my Dad. It was a .270 Remington model 721 with a 24 inch barrel and a 3# trigger with a 4X Weaver scope. I beleive my dad paid $85 for it. Even though I was the third owner the gun was just like new. As a 14 year old I started reloading and loved to shoot. Anyway about 30 years later I get a call from an old family friend asking if I still had that .270. Yes I did. Why? He proceeded to tell me he was the first owner of that rifle and his grandson was turning 14 that year and was wondering if I would consider selling it. Since I had recently purchase another .270 about 6 years earlier I agreed to let him have it for his grandson.
What took me so long to say is you may have an opportunity to get your gun back. I hope so!!!!!!!!!
Oh and my first grandson will be 14 in only 12 years, who knows........ I know where that lovely old 721 is..........
Just saw your post, and thought that was a good idea. My grandson is 2 years old. A bit early to start shooting but to get that little Sako back now would be priceless.
Think I'll give it a try. Thx Tom