| Chris Pope |
01-03-2021 04:47 PM |
I’m new to PGCA and thought I’d add a late note to this great chain of hunting “red letter days”. Last October a friend of mine had to return home from hunting camp and “lent” me his 28 ga Parker Repro. A little background on him- he’s the only one of the five of us not yet retired (we all rent a log cabin every October up north for bird season) and the youngest, in his fifties. He works in a very large gun store and has a life long passion for doubles, especially the classics. Every year when he arrives at camp we drool over the 3 or 4 new (old) shotguns he has acquired or is “trying out”. In any case, he found himself in a quandary. He owned this 28 ga repro with a pistol grip stock but he had just tried out an identical 28 ga repro only with an English stock and liked that better. I knew what he was up to. He thought if he “lent” it to me that I would fall in love with it and buy it from him so he could re-invest in other Parkers since he liked the English stock version better. I don’t fall for this trick any more because I’ve known him for too long and have bought many shotguns from him. On the other hand, I wasn’t about to turn down the opportunity to try out this little beauty. I was now alone with my 2 Griffs (and my loaner 28 ga repro) to fend for myself in the northern woods infested with woodcock and grouse. We hit a sweet little woodcock covert that runs along a stream that empties into a larger stream. 15 minutes into the covert, my 2 year old griff crosses in front of me and jambs on the breaks skidding to a stop. It was as though his nose had been snagged by a large fishhook dangling from an alder. But it was no fishhook. It was the sweet scent of a woodcock. I promptly walked up. The bird launched with that classic whistling twitter from behind an old apple tree. I could not see the bird at first. But the direction was right before me so I began to mount the 28 side by side. Suddenly the timberdoodle appeared right in the notch between the two main branches of this old wild apple tree. As it sped away it imbedded an image that shall remain forever in my mind. Because the Parker Repro fit me so well the butt found my shoulder and my cheek the stock and all I could see was this bird on the bead at the end of the barrels as it moved out to about 25 yards. I pulled the forward trigger and down went the bird. The griff fulfilled his duty by bringing that beautiful woodcock to hand. It’s that fall dance that all of us who hunt know- dog, bird, scent, point, flush, gorgeous Parker to shoulder and bird back to hand. Then I shouted a really bad expletive because that darn friend of mine had done it again. I violated that golden rule. If you don’t want to buy the car don’t test drive it! And yes, now I own it. My first repro. What a fine memory.
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