Home Forums Hunting & Shooting Canada Hey You, Boy! A younger man meets an older hunter

Hey You, Boy!
copyright 2003 – Stephen Redgwell

“Hey you, boy! Yes, I’m talkin’ to you. Come over here!”



I have to admit that being called 'boy' was not something that I’d normally answer to...if you catch my drift. Heck, I’m fifty. This old guy wanted to talk though, and I had time. One of the important rules at the range was being prepared to shoot the breeze too.

“I seen you here before. Whatcha gonna do? Gonna shoot?”

What a gruff old bugger. He had to be in his eighties at least. But you know, old people can be like kids in some ways. Trying to pin down their ages is a prime example. He wasn’t too tall. Five foot six maybe. He hadn’t shaved in a few days and the grey stubble matched his hair. He was slightly built and dressed in a red, plaid shirt and dark pants.

“Good morning, sir. Yep, I’m here to do some shooting. How about yourself?”

“Sassy boy, eh? Well, at least your folks taught you some manners. Of course I’m here to shoot! Are you an idiot? Squirrels runnin’ loose upstairs maybe? Why else would I be here?”

Hmmm. Maybe a tad senile too. No harm in that.

“Well, I thought you might be here to watch, or maybe to take in the morning air.”

“Is that so? You think I’m too old to shoot? Why, I was blastin’ up this here pile of dirt before you was born. Heck, I was here before it WAS a range! And hey, did your daddy slap you in the head much?. Takin’ the morning air! On a gun range! Sweet Lord Aloysius!”

He seemed upset, but extended his hand nonetheless and introduced himself as Mr. Beresford. With the same hand, he waved me over to a bench loaded down with rifle cases.

“These here would be my rifles. Actually, they’re my favourites. I see you only got one. Forgot the rest at home, did ya?”

“No sir. I brought this one because I built some loads for it and wanted to test them.”

“Cheese and rice! A reloader!”

I didn’t quite know what to think of that. Mr. Beresford was what my dad would have called “a character”. Tough to figure out. Was he looking for attention or just naturally grumpy?

“You didn’t tell me yer name, boy. If I’m goin’ to address you, I gotta know yer name. You DO have a name don’t you? Or did ya leave that at home with yer powder?”

“My name’s Ed. Ed Anderson. And I’m pleased to meet you.”

Mr. Beresford stared at me for a few seconds, his hand rubbing across the stubble on his face. I think that he was trying to figure out why I was still acting politely. Or maybe not. It was hard to tell. His tone softened though when he pulled out one of his rifles.

“This here’s Molly. She’s a Model 95 Winchester that I’ve had since new. Wanna hold her?”

“Please.”

That was all I could say. You should have seen it. The rifle was in beautiful condition. It had to be 70 or 80 years old, but looked almost new. The wood was in flawless condition. Oil rubbed no doubt. The metal was smooth, with no scratches or pitting. The only place where the finish had worn off was around the lever and at the muzzle.

“It’s beautiful, Mr. Beresford. Do you hunt with it?”

“Yes. And in all the years I’ve owned her, Molly’s never let me down. I took a nice buck with her last year and many moose before that. It’s my primary gun. This here’s my backup.”

He pulled a second rifle from an old leather case tied up with hide. It was in well used condition with lots of scars, but obviously cared for as well.

“This is Sadie. She’s an 1893 Marlin in 30/30. She was my father’s. He gave it me just before he passed away in 1950. Sadie can’t keep up with Molly though. Molly’s a 303 British. But heck, you can’t fault her either. She’s taken her fair share of game too. Let me get some shells and we’ll try them out.”

These rifles were a joy to hold. They were both original pieces to be sure, but when Mr. Beresford spoke about them, his tone softened. It was the fact that he had them for so long and they had become part of his life. Lots of fond memories.

“See here, Ed? These marks on Sadie’s stock were from when Dad went huntin’ around Sault Ste Marie back in the ‘20s. I was too young to go. He told me later that he was stalkin' this deer, and took a tumble over some rocks. Stupid deer. They’re supposed to hear everything. Dad got up, cut and scratched to beat Jesus, saw the deer starin’ down at him and shot it on the spot. He used to say that it was the best damn deer meat he’d ever eaten. “

“Is this gouge in the side plate from the fall too?” It was touched up with a cold bluing stick by the look of it.

“No. That’s from the time when me and my oldest boy was huntin’ out the back of the farm. I gave it to him for to use that day and he closed the tail gate of the truck on her. Boy, was I mad. I didn’t say nothin’ though. You could see in his eyes that he felt awful. He hurried up real quick and got the cleaning kit. He wiped her down and coloured in the nick with a black magic marker. Later on, we fixed the spot with proper bluing.

Larry loved to hold and clean all the guns. When he got older you could always trust him with any of ‘em. He went out with me every year, ‘til he joined the army.”

“You must be very proud of him.” I said.

“Yep. But we lost him in 1979...”

“Oh, I’m sorry.”

“Heck son, don’t be. He’s just got more time now to scout out the spots for me. I reckon I’ll be joinin’ him in a few years myself. It’s nice to know that someone’s there ahead of you, checking things out. He’s probably with Dad right now.”

That touched me deeply. I had lost my father two years before. No matter where either of us were in this world, we always made sure that we were together for the moose opener. Lots of good memories.

“Mr Beresford, do you have any other children?’

“I got Tammy. She’s my little girl. Her and her mom would go out with the rest of us over deer season. Except for grouse, she never hunted, but Tammy and my wife looked after things back at camp.

You could always rely on her and Marie – that’s my wife – to have hot food ready when we got back. Tammy loved to make a grouse stew for everyone on the first night at camp. She’s married now, and I hunt with her husband Al. And she’s there too, complete with a hot stew!”

“That’s great, Mr. Beresford. You’re a lucky man to have people around that care. I go hunting with couple of friends from high school. My little brother goes too, now that he’s got his business running well. My dad’s not here anymore, but like you said, he’s up ahead scouting things out for the rest of us.”

Mr. Beresford had that thoughtful look in his eye when people are thinking of something pleasant. Then he turned around and headed back towards his guns saying,

“You can take that to the bank, Ed. No matter where we go or what we do, somebody’s always watchin’ over us.”

He stared up at the sky and saw black clouds moving in.

“Well Ed, looks like there’s no time left to shoot today. I guess nothin’ good came of the morning...”

Keeping it to myself, I respectfully disagreed.