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It's too bad you fellows never had the joy of using a real chronograph. An older fellow at my club used to talk about them.

The Stutz-Packard 1000
copyright 2014 – Stephen Redgwell

I can always depend on the oldsters at my gun club to offer their opinions on the latest gear. And why not? Wisdom is supposed to come with age, right?

Talk to a cram of seniors about shooting or hunting, and they’ll all try to convince you that such and such a rifle, bullet or scope is the best. They are always too happy to give you their opinions - based on years of experience – even if you didn’t ask. If you’re younger and reading this, consider my narrative a head’s up. You cannot escape them.

If you’re an ‘in betweener’, that is, someone who is middle aged, you are in an unenviable position within the shooting/hunting community. You’re too young to know what the oldsters are talking about, but too old to hang out with the younger crowd. That is the rub; you don’t belong to any identifiable group. Only a handful of people know you. No one says much, except the standard greeting when they walk by.

As someone from that group, I have tried everything to engage people in conversation after they’ve finished shooting. The trouble is, if they don’t know you, they don’t really want to talk. You can try the weather, favourite game animal or the latest news headline, but that only lasts for a minute. Shortly thereafter, you are back to an awkward silence. That said, nothing sparks up a conversation like a new piece of shooting gear!

We used to have an old fellow that shot four or five times a week at the 100 yard range. He never said much, and the others let him be. I thought that despite his age, we had some things in common. The biggest thing being that not too many people stopped to chat with me either.

He was very thin, 5 foot 3 maybe, and had a full head of bright white hair that always seemed in need of a trim. He wore a pair of older style, black framed glasses and an ancient hat. I think that it was beige once, but ‘once’ would have been thirty or forty years ago. He kept to himself, but with that hair, was easy to spot. He’d shoot for a while, and then stop for a coffee. He always had a Thermos in his range bag. In 15 years, I’d never heard him speak.

Last spring, I needed to test some loads for a 30-30.I had just bought a new Mossberg lever. I bought it because the reviews were okay and the price was right. My plan was to shoot some 170 grain cast bullets and head home. I brought a small range bag, my chronograph, and the rifle. I put the bag on the ground and the rifle on the bench. The old fellow was using No 4, the lane three over from me, and watched my every move. We were the only ones there, so I asked him if I could hang some targets and set up my chronograph.

“Go ahead.” was all he said. He didn’t get up or even look my way. He just waved me forward.

After everything was ready, I sat down at the bench and started loading the rifle. That’s when he stood up and came over.

“What in the hell possessed you to put a scope on that 30-30?”

He sounded angry.

“It’s a Leupold 2.5x20mm Ultralight.”

“So? Lever rifles ain’t supposed to be scoped!”

My folks taught me never to argue with someone older, but it was difficult not to respond.

“Well, I wear glasses." I figured he’d understand that. He had a pair himself.

“So? How do you think older hunters got game years ago? They didn’t have scopes or glasses to wear!”

Wasn’t this interesting?

“Well, that’s what I’ve got. Thanks for the advice.” I raised rifle to my shoulder and was getting ready to shoot.

“Hey, is that a chronograph?”

I nodded yes.

“I had an old chronograph. Yours looks like it’s made of plastic.”

“A lot of the parts these days are plastic. It’s a Pro Chrono. They aren’t expensive, but work great for what I need.”

The old guy walked up to my bench, crouched down and stared downrange. I figured he was checking the line of sight, so I put my rifle down.

“Does it use that new-fangled electronic ignition?”

What an odd way of putting it! So I answered, “Electronic ignition? Yeah, it’s got electronics in it. I’m not technically inclined, so I don’t know exactly how it’s made.”

He just looked at me and shook his head. “The trouble with people like you is you think that these new inventions are the bee's knees. They don’t always work so good, you know. Mine was an older gas model. I had to pump it a couple of times to get it to turn over.”

“What?”

“Are ya deaf? I said, I had to give my chrono a pump. Beside the gas tank there is a pump. You unscrew a brass knob, put your thumb over the hole in the knob and give it a couple of pumps to prime her. I still got it, but my son says I can’t use it because they don’t make leaded gas anymore.”

I was confused. It sounded like he was talking about a Coleman stove. I must have looked puzzled because he stared back and shook his head like he was talking to an idiot. Then he explained how his chronograph worked.

“I bought mine after reading the ads in the back of Field and Stream magazine. I remember like it was yesterday. It was the June 1956 edition. The ad said something like, ‘Are you tired of relying on factory ammunition for your hunt? Make your own and save! And don’t forget the chrono!’ So, I bought one. It's a real beauty. She’s fire engine red with chrome trim – a Stutz-Packard 1000. Their slogan was, ‘Welcome to the Future!’ One thing I gotta say is it sure beat the heck out of the older, steam driven chronographs.”

He wasn't making any sense, and that was probably the reason why no one bothered with him.

“Yep, it cost me $19.99 plus $1 shipping. That was a lot of money in 1956. I thought the wife was gonna shoot me! The day I got it, I took the box out back and set everything up. She’s well made. I guess she weighs about 25 pounds without the stand.”

“This IS a chrono we’re talking about, right?” I asked. He sounded mixed up.

“Yes. What’s wrong with you, son? Don’t you speak English? The Stutz-Packard 1000 was cutting edge in its day. It took half a gallon of high test gas, fired by America’s favourite, a Champion spark plug. There’s nothing better.”

“Oh...” What could I say?

“Your chrono has cheap shields.” He said, pointing at my machine.

“What shields?”

“Them cheap looking, plastic atmospheric shields on top. The Stutz-Packard has chromed shields with fins on the back. It sure looks racy.”

“They call them diffusers these days.”

“I’ll bet you paid a premium for those plastic shields. That’s the problem with the world. Everything’s made so cheap. I’ll bet they’re made offshore somewhere using slave labor.”

“Actually, my chrono is made in the USA.”

“Not with plastic parts like that it ain’t. Sorry son, you got took. And where’s the speedo?”

“The speedo?”

“Yes, you need one of them so you can see how fast the bullets are going! My speedo is built on underneath. The needle and numbers are fluorescent, so you can read the dial in virtually any light. For another $2, I could have got the illuminated speedo, but I just couldn’t manage the extra money. It’s touches like that what made the Stutz-Packard a premium buy.”

At this point, I didn’t know whether he was serious or just pulling my leg. Still, it couldn’t hurt to play along, and I said,

“If you look at the plastic screen on the back of the unit, you can see the digital display. When I take my first shot, the display will tell me the velocity.”

The old guy smiled and patted me on the back.

“I’ll tell ya what, son. You have fun with your cheap plastic, electrical chronograph – without fins, or any chrome. I found my loads a long time ago, and get a deer every fall. My old chronograph gave me many years of service before the Arabs took away the leaded gas. Thank goodness I managed to work up all my loads before the gas crisis in the 1970s.”

With that, he walked back to his bench. As he was leaving, I said, “It was nice talking to you.”

“You too, son. One day, when you’re older, you’ll understand the wisdom. It’s too bad you’ll never have the thrill of using a REAL chronograph.”

I just smiled and waved. When he was out of earshot, I started to laugh, thinking that I was simply too young to have experienced the golden age of reloading with a Stutz-Packard 1000.