Soul
Well, while I have perished this thread with great interest, I have found a great variation in what some will define soul as. One comment by Fishtail caused me to pause and reflect. That was his comment on the Winchester model 24. While not a classic, and not the canoe Oates model 21 that so many hold in such high esteem, I have a model 24 that has more soul than Gladys Knight, her Pips, The Four Tops, the Temptations and James Brown all rolled up into one.
That little 16 ga 24, bought by a young man, age 24 in the midst of the Great Depression with money earned working in the WPA and used until he gave up hunting in 2001 at age 86 brought more game home than most guns ever saw. From native pheasant on Staten Island, when the population was less than 45K to ducks and geese along the now lost NE Atlantis flyway, to grouse [ partridge] as the old man called them and woodcock in the high Catskill mountains and the Poconoes. There were many buck harvested in the shotgun only counties of NY and NJ. The first time I was allowed24 on the outsid to go to deer camp with him was 1960 and although rifle country, he carried the e chance a shot presented itself for me. Well, in 1961, on a very cold late November morning, sitting with my Father atop a mountain, freezing but afraid to shiver, he quietly pointed towards a stand of mountain laurel and there, making its way towards us was a black bear at @ 150 yards. We watched in a statue like pose in what seemed like an eternity and when that bruin was at about 50 yards, that model 24 let loose with both barrels, one after another. That sound crackled forever it seemed until the silence was deafening. And the bear laid dead. Taken with a gun more suited to rabbits and birds. That gun hunted the northeast for six plus decades always the go to gun. There were others he used including a beautiful GHE 12 ga. but the 24 was always present either in hand or waiting in the wings as the pro always did. The most amazing thing I have ever witnessed was a shot Dad made on a real nice Dutchess County whitetail buck sporting a 9 point rack. As we were walking to position ourselves as standees on a drive, walking a small overgrown tote road, a driver yelled "buck coming your way". Looking towards the voice, that buck was hell bent to get away and flew over the slate walls bordering the road. In full flight about forty yards in front of the old man. Without hesitation, he shouldered that old, worn out 24 and swung through the shot like any good wing shooter would and that buck fell dead smack dab in the middle of the tote road, killed with a single pumpkin ball. Dad was 81 at the time.
To this day, no matter how many fine Parkers pass through my hands and how well sime handle and shoot, for some unknown reason, that old Winchester model 24 16 ga. outperforms them all. I'll call it SOUL but it is rather uncanny but some might call it his soul.
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