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My Uncle Lester was the man responsible for my love of the outdoors. I remember the anticipation, waiting for a squirrel to show itself, while we were sitting quietly under a hickory. I remember him climbing a tree leaning over Starks Creek, in order to snag some suckers which were resting in its shade. He took me on my first deer hunts with my uncle Claude, and they both shared in my excitement of my experiances with deer turkey and foxes.

Uncle Lester used to tell me stories of when he was a young man, hunting with his beloved shotgun, a Stevens pump 520 early model, with the safety in the trigger guard. Back in the 30's food was in short supply in the ozarks. He loved to tell of sneaking up on a pond of ducks, pop up and shoot it empty, seeing how many he could get. He always said he regretted getting rid of that gun, and wished many times, he had it back in his later years.

I'm not sure what he said happened to that gun, but I think he may have said he traded it to WF Cox. I do know that WF owned it at one time, either before or after. Uncle Lester said WF killed the last turkey gobbler in Hickory Co with it, in those depression era days.

After some searching I just aquired a pretty nice Stevens 520 12 gauge to be placed on my wall to remind me of those stories and my past. I am impressed with it's workmanship and will probably take my next turkey with it. If anyone has a lead on a near mint 520, I would be interested, thanks.

Great story about your uncle . I wish every kid in america could expereince that kind of life . I grew up doing some of the same things as your uncle and have passed them on to my son and his friends . My holy grail was a stevens 20 gauge side by side ,but alas I had to settle for a mossberg bolt action . I now have the toys I desired as a youth . Tom

Good story. Although my Dad was 47yrs. old when I was born, he did like to go out hunting Prairie Chicken and Ruffed Grouse. When I was pretty young, he used to take me along. I was the "retriever". One day, as we were heading out of town to go chicken hunting, he pulled in to the old hardware store. He told me I'd better come in. He asked the owner, "Tom do you have a single shot .22?" The answer was yes, and Tom took a new Cooey Model 39 down off the rack. My Dad told him we would take it! I was so happy and proud, I could have bust! I was about 11 yrs. old. I think the rifle was about $12, a pretty fair amount of money at that time.

Dad was a grain farmer and always lived in town after he married. In the winter, on a Saturday afternoon, he would often drive me out to a good rabbit bush and let me off. He would come back just before dark. I spent many hours carrying that little rifle out at his farm, often chasing a huge flock of chicken from one bush to another.

Dad passed away in 1965, when I was 17. Ever so many times I've thought about the days when we would be hunting chicken, coming home at dark to a good home, with supper cooking. I can still see him dropping a couple of Imperial Special Long Range shells into his old Tobin double, closing it quietly, and taking aim.

Rest in peace, Dad, and thanks a million for the good times and the good home!

Those old high base Imperial shells bring back sweet memories for me. It seems the brass base was about half the length of the shell. Prettiest shotguns shells I have ever beheld!

Enjoyed your story kjohn. My Dad taught me to hunt grouse when I was 11. He bought me a brand new Noble 12 gauge pump when I was 12. We had a lot of good times in the woods for grouse and deer. Sounds like you are about my age - just a little younger I think.

I would really like to see some of those high brass shells.

On the left is a Canuck Heavy Load, middle is a Maxum, right side is a good old Imperial Special Long Range. Imperials were all my Dad ever used, and not very many of those! He was born in 1900, and came through the 1930's. They were tough times, something I wouldn't know about.

Yep, the one on the right. Wonderful memories. I had so much confidence in those shells - tremendous mojo

Good mojo, indeed. That mojo counts for more than what's really inside those shells. The truth is that the height of the brass has no bearing whatsoever on a shell's 'power' or how hot it can be loaded- I currently load my waterfowl loads in empty AA target hulls. A darn good marketing gimmick way back when. As a kid I would grab for the 'high brass' shells to fill my pockets and the old man would grin and shake his head in amusement. Took me a while to get over that attitude.

Did those freshly fired Canadian hulls have that wonderful sweet smell that our empty paper hulls had? For that reason alone I miss not having paper-hulled shot shells.

(A couple years ago I took a buddy pheasant hunting on a preserve, because he had never gunned a pheasant. For nostalgic reasons I gathered up a mix-match of old paper shells for the 'hunt'. The first bird went up lazily and I dropped it. As the 'guide' sicc'ed the dogs onto the dead bird, I popped the empty out of the Smith and took a good deep whiff of that wonderful odor. My buddy asked for a whiff too, so I tossed it to him. Whilst standing there sniffing empty shot shells, another bird went up between us. Boy did we feel dumb, and started to laugh like idiots.)

gnoahhh: Yes, the Canadian shells had a glorious smell to them! As a kid, I kept a few in my drawer in my bedroom. I am busy gathering a good supply of Imperial paper cartridges at gun shows, just so I can have a fresh supply of the beautiful smelling old hulls on hand. Makes good sense, eh??

Dern , ya'll done went & got me all nostalgic & stuff,

Think I'll fire off a couple paper hulls tomorrow just so's I can smell of 'em.


Mike

I, too, long for the old days (I'm 65). I think the older I get the more nostalgic I get. I have an old box of paper 12 gauge Federals that once a year I take a shell out of and fire just so I can smell that old familiar perfume. Then I carry it around in my shirt pocket so I can get a whiff every once in a while. I think it's interesting how a smell such as above can bring back those old memories.