My $99 Anschütz

The perfect complement for my Haversack

On my latest trip to Brazil I had the opportunity to visit my hometown in the last weekend of October, and during that time I had the pleasure to meet my friend Aluísio Albuquerque, and during a brief visit to his home he showed me a gift that he had received shortly ago, a little Winchester 22 bolt-action "Tumb Trigger". To say that I was envious would probably be an overstatement, but that reminded me that I did not have a single shot twenty-two, and a professional small boy, to parafrase the late Peter Hathaway Capstick, who was too smart to take himself too seriously, not only needs, but truly desires such a timeless classic.

Well, some weeks ago my wife, who among many other responsibilities takes care of our mail and personal accounting, handed me a US$ 120 vaucher that Gander Mountain sent me and minutes later I found another US$ 10 gift card gratiously sent by Pheasants Forever. With that much "free" money available I was compeled to visit the local Traverse City store and explore the many possibilities to use my newly acquired funds.

The first trip with my wife was unsucessful as nothing caught my eye, but a week or so later the situation changed. After dropping my wife at the gym I drove to Gander Mountain to again search for that special something that would find a place in my heart and my life (you know how small boys behave).

Upon entering the store and quickly perusing the new firearms without finding anything attractive I moved to the relative small used guns shelf and among a lot of Mosin-Nagants, several shotguns and other center-fire rifles there was this small bolt-action twenty-two. I saw that it was in very decent shape and started to exam it and two things really caught my eye: the ANSCHÜTZ logo on top of the action and the $99 price tag!

As the sales associates were busy and there were other people looking at used guns that could steal my just found treasure I just stood there until help came my way, and before anything I double checked the price. It really was $99 and soon afterwards we , the little Anshütz and me, were on our way home.

When we arrived I immediately started an internet search to learn about my new acquision and after some false starts which called the rifle a "Garden Gun", which would have made me happy if that was the case as I really like those ancient European smooth bore "micro-shotguns", but finally I found a copy of an early 1960's Stoeger catalog that portraited ANSCHÜTZ JUNIOR VARMINTER .22 Long Rifle Caliber Rifles and Carbines. There were four guns on the page with prices varying from $22 to $110, and the top and least expensive one was the MODEL 1361E .22 RIFLE. The description matches my own rifle in every aspect, except that while the catalog states "A single-shot rifle with a manual cocking knob" my rifle will cock upon the bolt being closed.

As we had a week of pretty nasty weather the only place that I could comfortably test my new rifle was my basement airgun range, and in order to make it safe I relied upon Aguila's Super Colibri ammo which is actually less powerful and quieter than some of my air rifles, and therefore totally safe for my bullet traps. At around thirty feet off-hand (remember Jeff Cooper: rifles must have practical hitability) the little Anschütz performed as expected, hitting the twelve gauge empty hulls I was using as reactive targets and later my airgun metallic silhouettes. The only noise was that of the 20 grain lead pointed bullet hititing its target.

Today I disassembled the little Anschütz for proper cleaning and to better understand it mechanism. A single screw joins the stock with the lock and barrel. A robust leaf spring provides resistance to trigger movement, and the complete lock mechanism is of a sinmple and elegant construction, and the complete rifle probably has less than twenty parts, counting all moving and non-moving parts. "Simplicity is the ultimate sophistication" - Leonardo da Vinci

Since my Anschütz held minute of mice accuracy in the indoor range, I am sure it will perform just as well outdoors, and I am now planning a small game safari after cottontail rabbits and maybe squirrels for the Christmas holidays, but first I must secure the front sight that has some play to it. Maybe Del will coach me.

Well, now I have a rifle that not only rivals Aluísio's Winchester Tumb Trigger, but complements my grandson's Crickett (maybe in four or five years), and also is the perfect companion for my haversack. And who knows which adventures we may enjoy in the northern Michigan woods?

The 1960's Stoeger catalogue page

Public Land Hunting

Frozen crab after the first storm

This morning the first snow fall of the season and the strong winds quit, and my first responsibility was to turn the snow blower on and clean my driveway. Shortly after I had started I heard four shots in quick succession, an unnecessary reminder that we are right in the middle of gun deer season.

Sometime after lunch I packed my gear in the truck and drove to Mission Point Lighthouse Park where "hunting is allowed by DNR regulations." After parking I got dressed to face the comfortable windless 22F (-6C) weather, loaded my beautiful old Winchester Model 70 (of course in 270 Winchester since Jack O'Connor was right after all), market the location in my Bushnell Backtracker GPS and started walking on the trails that are closer to shore.

There were a lot of boot and dog tracks, but very little else disturbed the white snow covering the soft fall leaves. Even in cold weather deer must drink water, so I started walking the shore line looking for tracks, but the only animal I found was a frozen fresh water crab that, to tell you the truth, I did not even know lived around here.

After sometime I came to a place where the coast line raised suddenly and decided to come back to the park trails, and as I came over the rise I saw two other orange clad hunters, a young girl holding an H&R 20 gauge single shot shotgun and a man in his late twenties with a Remington 770 rifle. I approached to exchange some small talk and a minute or two later another couple joined them. The guy had a Remington 1100 semi-automatic 12 gauge shotgun and the girl a Marlin 336 lever action, I expect in 30-30.

I bid them goodbye and continued my way until I came to a very hilly portion of the park where I heard a not faraway shot. At the same place I saw another hunter walking the crest of the tallest hill. I waited a bit, but decided that the neighborhood was very crowded and started walking back to the lighthouse. Again I crossed paths with one of the young hunters that I had met earlier and continued my way, and not a hundred yards later I spooked four deer. They were somewhere between the trail and the shore and the only portion of their anatomy that I could clearly see was their flagged white tails.

I squatted down on the trail with gloves off and rifle at ready and heard the deer running through the woods but never had the opportunity for a shot. As the animals traveled south at a running pace I heard three shots, a yell and another shot. I only have an antlerless license for private land, so I need to be extra carefull before taking a shot and make sure that any deer has at least three points to a side before I pull the trigger.

After all this action I doubt that much more would happen, so I continued to my truck and before getting there heard yet another shot. As there was enough daylight prior to what was another magnificent sunset for which we are blessed here in the Old Mission Peninsula I decided to drive around the park boundaries a bit to locate other potential sites and as I came over a knoll I saw three antlerless deer about to cross the road.

After a dozen years living in Michigan this was only my second time hunting deer in public land. While there are deer, there are also a lot of other hunters, so it is really a matter of luck who pushes deer to who, and who gets the shot. The balance of the day was a frozen crab, five other hunters, seven deer sighted, six or seven shots heard and a renewed appreciation for blaze hunter orange.

An Unexpected Encounter

The Mitsubishi "Hobo" Knife

To say that as a child I had a rather fertile imagination and unconstrained curiosity would possibly be an understatement. My grandfather, Vô Tô, was a great contributor to that and fed me uncountable Tarzan and likely heroes stories, and the house that I grew up housed many "secrets". And while my father could have been considered a realist, he did not create barriers to my many exploits, even when they took me to his office desk, fishing box and other private and personal assets.

From a very early age I understood that every adventurer needed to have some special gear, a knife being first and foremost the most essential and valuable item. And do it happened that during one of my many visits to my father's "things" I found an extraordinary object.

This was a "survival knife" even if I never heard the term until Rambo First Blood movie came in a decade and a half later. It was a big folder with eleven "blades" that include almost everything from a clip point main blade, to saw, scissors, can and bottle openers, cork screw and even a spoon and a fork. The contraption was housed on a leather sheet decorated with multiple tackles. While really interesting, the heavy folder was not really practical. Since none of the "blades" detached one could not use the knife and fork simultaneously.

Sometime after the discover my father gave me that "survival knife", and that was probably my very first knife. It came even before my Beyer Tarzan knife!

I carried the thing around my waist to a lot of places and social functions, which is just a name to extended family barbecues, and I took good care of it. And then some time during my teenager years the knife mysteriously disappeared and I never saw it again.

And then last week while I was exploring the internet, on e-Bay I came across a Vintage WWII JAPAN Camping/Survival Knife Fork Spoon (hobo) Mitsubishi *RARE*, and surprise, surprise it was exactly the same knife that my father had given me almost forty years ago!

I really doubt that this knife even existed during WWII. The complexity and amount of material required to make it, plus the fact that Japanese people use chopsticks and not knife and fork, would put it completely out of place in Guadalcanal or the Kwai River bridges.

Of course I could not avoid buying the rare Mitsubishi hobo knife immediately and then the terrible waiting for its arrival began. I arrived home yesterday night from a business trip and inside my mail box was a small USPS box with the seller's Florida address on it.

My new old knife is in good, but not great, shape. In my opinion there a bit more rust than patina, but my original knife was in even rougher condition. The smaller sheep's foot blade does not open all the way, and some of the smaller "blades" have some play. But irrespective of the condition this knife brings memory from a very distant past.

I probably will never take the Mitsubishi Hobo Knife to the great outdoors, be it in northern Michigan or anywhere else, but every time that I will handle it I will have found memories of my father presenting me with an unique piece of cutlery.

O-Day + 1

Bill and his buck

My friend Bill Berghuis invited me to join him for Opening Day of Michigan firearm deer season in his property just outside South Haven in the southwestern part of the state. We met on Thursday afternoon at his condo in the banks of the Black River and immediately drove to his beautiful 68-acre property to scout it a bit, or actually for Bill to show me a couple places I could hunt, as his blind is very well located on the eastern boundary over a gas pipeline, which in reality is a great shooting lane.

Bill was very worried as last year the local deer herd had been devastated by EHD or bluetong disease, and no deer were taken during the 2012 season. As we walked we saw some tracks and even found a buck rub, but the traffic was far less than in the past.

He took me to a beautiful valley formed by a creek in the south end where several large bucks had been bagged in the past. on the way there we spotted a very large flock of turkeys that immediately spotted us and soon disappeared in the under cover. Due to the mature mixed hardwoods the ground was covered with dead leaves and is great squirrel habitat and over the next few days they would be a ever present companion.

We came back to my truck at last light, drove back to South Haven, had Italian food for dinner and spent the next couple hours getting current as we had not met in several months. A bottle of 15-year old Glenfiddich provided all the fuel we needed.

We woke up at 5:00 AM, had breakfast at a local McDonald's (not the healthiest choice, but convenient at that time), and arrived at the property before 6:00 AM. We geared up and walked together to Bill's blind. We wished each other good luck and I started the half mile or so walk to my ridge and on the way I spooked several turkeys on their roost. Due to the absolute darkness I could not located the same spot that Bill had shown me, but I found  a good spot and put my stool close to a deadfall and used my camouflage net to brake my profile.

It is amazing what the early twilight will do to a deer hunter imagination. As light starts to defeat darkness, every leaf still hanging against the desires of fall shines just like whitetail's eyes, and every dead branch becomes a polished antler. Call it illusion or delusion, but at the brief moments of daw's first light a hunter feels completely alive, every fiber of his body tense, and the soul fulfilled by the primeval predator desire to strike upon its prey. At dusk, a similar process happens when dusk sets in, but, at least for me, it is not as intense.

Over the next several hours I saw squirrels, black squirrels, red squirrels and even chipmunks. I also saw several crows and a very large, and now out of season, tom turkey. Close to 10:00 AM Bill texted that he was coming my way and that I should be aware for deer movement, but nothing moved.

We went back to the condo and enjoyed two hours of great sleep, and after that had lunch at Clementine's, a great local restaurant. Before going back we stopped at one of my favorite places, Black River Books.

In the afternoon I decided to hunt the trail that cuts the property east-west just north of the swamp that divides it in two. This gave me a good shooting lane, at least ninety yards each way, and swamp really looked like a place where deer would be bedded for the day and coming out at dusk, but Bill mentioned that the only reason I selected the place was because it was a much shorter walk that the ridge overlooking the valley.

Again my company was made of squirrels, two very nice tom turkeys, crows and a sparrow hawk. Sunset was gorgeously red and a large flight of Canada geese provided the music to complement it.

Bill's flashlight marked the path from his blind to my unsuccessful ambush, and although a bit discouraged by the lack of deer he commented that next morning, if not better, could not be any worse. We got back to the condo, had some more lively conversation and went out for some good burgers.

The beginning of Opening Day plus one, Saturday, November 16th, was pretty much the same. When we got to the property we waited for a couple minutes for Joe Rix, son of our friend Terry, and then all of us walked to Bill's blind and from there Joe and I took our own paths. The only difference for me is that I did not spook the turkeys on my way to the ridge.

At around 8:30 AM I got a text from Bill that he had shot at a deer, probably antlerless, but was not sure if had hit it. I kept my hopeful and solitary vigil and at around 9:30 I heard another shot from Bill's direction and shortly afterwards got a text with the picture of a marvelous ten point buck peacefully laying on the fall leaves.

We talked on the phone and Bill told that he had also found a blood trail from the first deer he shot, so I packed my gear and joined him to track that animal. And then we tracked it, sometimes with a great blood trail, others spending long times looking for that illusive flash of bright red blood. We stayed as blood hounds, without the benefit of sent, tracking the blood trail, trying to identify the spoor on the carpet of dead fall leaves, and after almost two hours and half a mile later we completely lost the trail on the edges of bad looking and very wet swamp. We were both disappointed, as no true hunter readily accepts the loss of a wounded animal, but at that point there was nothing we could do.

We came back to where the ten point buck rested, loaded it in my truck and drove to the barn where I gutted it, so Bill would not strain his back (you know, older guys are smart enough to take advantage of age and con younger man in doing the hard work for them).

In order to close this story I need to tell you two things: first, Bill made a perfect heart shot and the big buck did not run more than forth yards from where he was hit; and second, Bill told me his secret for attracting big bucks: he put lip stick on in the morning so he would be more attractive to the bucks in rut!

Wild Behaviors

My son Daniel and me

Yesterday we left Traverse City in the early morning and drove a couple hours to Morley, MI, to hunt pheasants at Haymarsh Hunt Club (www.haymarsh.com). Before anyone asks, there is fantastic hunting all around Traverse City, but woodcock season is already finished for the year and grouse are at the bottom of their cycle, and probably the main reason was that we were taking my son, Daniel, on his first hunt over dogs, and common sense told us it would probably be easier and more gratifying for him to hunt pheasants in more open cover than breaking bush all day long in the hope of a couple flushes from almost invisible birds.

My friend Randy Halseth arrived on Friday afternoon and we had dinner before Daniel arrived past 11:00 PM. We started the Saturday (yesterday) morning driving to Meijer's so Daniel could buy a Resident Small Game hunting license, and then we drove south on Garfield Road to meet the other members of the expedition, Del Whitman with German Shorthairs Zap and Gina, David Reed with Vizsla Oliver and Gus Newbury with English Setter Pepper.

We arrived at Haymarsh around 10:00 AM, were guided to our fields and even before parking saw three roosters walking across the road. We backed up, parked, got dressed, released the dogs and went after the colorful roosters.

As we started down the road a rooster flushed wildly and Del got it with a crossing shot while the dogs pointed another one. Every body motioned Daniel forward as it was his first pheasant hunt. Daniel walked behind the dogs and when the gaudy pheasant flew his gun did not fire and I took it with the right barrel from my BSS 20 gauge.

It was a great start, but anyone that taught that we would have an easy hunt was deeply wrong. The cover was dense and in a lot of places it looked a lot more like grouse and woodcock coverts than pheasant country. We went south against the wind to give an edge to the dogs and crossed some wet ground from where besides bagging some more pheasants we flushed several whitetail deers.

After a couple hours we came back to the vehicles for refreshments, both for dogs and hunters, drop a heavy load of birds, rest some tired legs, lie about great shots and the normal things we all do when hunting with friends.

We went back to the north field and very soon we had a double point along the tree line and within seconds of each other two hens flushed, David got one and Daniel and Gus hit the other. Along that edge, all the way to the end of the field the dogs pointed and we eventually flushed several woodcock. Too bad the season was already closed or we could have supplemented our bag with several gorgeous timber doodle.

At the end of the north field Pepper, Gina and Zap came to a beautiful point, and as Del, Randy, Gus and Daniel approached a large dark feathered rooster flushed into the trees. Gus hit the bird twice, but it continued to fly and Del dropped it with a shot from his twenty-eight in a relative open spot. We all marked the spot, but three dogs and five men were unable to locate it. After almost a quarter hour we gave up, all of us with broken hearts.

We started again walking the big field with the wind on our faces and flushed several other woodcocks. At one point Pepper and Gina got very birdie near a ditch and after relocating several times a hen flushed very near me and I got it with a single shot.

We were all getting tired, especially the dogs that were running a hundred yards for every couple yards we walked, but before we got to the cars the dogs took us again to the heavy cover in the south field, and again after relocating multiple times Pepper, Gina and Zap cornered a rooster that took off wildly. I hit it with my first barrel and missed with the second and saw where the bird landed. Soon after Del was there with Gina, Zap and me, and after a couple minutes the rooster flushed a second time and came down hard after I fired the right barrel.

We got back to the cars around 2:00 PM and counted fourteen birds, equally divided between roosters and hens. After the photo session and splitting the birds Del was the first to leave as it was his birthday and he had to take his wife for dinner.

We stopped at the Moe-Z-Inn tavern for something to eat, and after the two hour drive we all, minus Del, arrived at my home in the Old Mission Peninsula for an improvised wild game dinner. The Big Green Egg was going in no time and I quickly had some venison kaftas (venison, garlic, onion and pistachios) and black bear back straps going while I cleaned some spruce and ruffed grouses that I brought from Canada. I seasoned the grouse with garlic, kosher salt and olive oil, and while we waited for the meat to be ready my wife served some mashed potatoes and beef pie.

To help the meal we had a bottle each of Stags Leap Cabernet, Dona Paula Malbec and Renwood Zinfandel, and to close the night just the right amount of Sandeman's Founders Reserve Porto.

Overnight I smoked a large piece of bear and Randy, my wife and me had some of it for breakfast this morning. It is wonderful the magic that salt crust and hardwood smoke can perform on a good piece of wild game.

Even if Daniel was absolutely safe during the day and got his first pheasant I guess that he was not prepared for the hunt. He went to bed at 8:30 PM last night and only woke-up around 11:00 today!