Opening Grouses

Dell Whitman, author and two grouses

Finally the best time of the year has arrived! Gone are the dog days of summer, after some great storms and days of rain the air is cool, the leaves are just starting to change colors and some of the ferns are starting to die.

And believe it or not, today was a great Monday! Well, I left home early enough to think that I was about to go deer hunting instead of being on the way of the joys and challenges of grouse hunting in the luxuriant (and really wet) forests of lower northern Michigan.

I was a Del's by 7:00 AM and after loading Zap and Gena in their crates we drove in a mostly southwestern direction. You don't really expect details on how to find grouse cover, do you?

During the first hour and half we only hunted Gena, and we had eleven woodcock flushes, mostly carefully pointed, plus a large amount of wild mushrooms. As we already knew where we will be at the opening of woodcock season next weekend and did not locate any grouse, we packed up and drove to Matt's home for the second hunt of the morning.

While we waited for Matt to arrive Del provided us with a crackers and goose liver patet and some mildly hot hunter's sausage, and I thanked him in the usual way, by pestering him any way that I can imagine, especially his choice of using an ugly "automatic", when anyone that any sense knows that only a side-by-side gun should be used in such a gentle sport!

After Matt got ready, Del released both Zap and Gena, but before doing so he attached a couple of brand new bells to their collars. I can't say that I like the electronic bippers, but contrary to some better writers opinions there is no poetry in those bells dinging and donging while the dogs crisscrossed the woods after birds. The bells just annoyed us.

Anyhow, on this second hunt we busted through some thick and heavy cover, getting wet to the bone in the process. The balance was another five woodcock flushed, one deer spotted in the distance, a rabbit that was pointed but not shot, and some grouse.

There were two wild flushes, Del shot a young bird pointed at the edge of a two track and I shot a not so young bird pointed by Gena under a tree that made a bee line to my left and was brought down by a 1 1/8 ounces of number eights from the right barrel of my old Laurona shotgun.

A bit latter Gena had a seizure, probably due to hypoglicemia according the vet, and thus the first morning of the 2014 hunting season ended.

I had to be out all afternoon, but tomorrow I will grill my grouse and sauté the mushrooms in butter as a side dish.

Gough Thomas's Gun Book

An original (shot)gun guru

I am not going to apologize again for not writing in over a month, but should say that I've been relatively busy during these weeks, including doing a small amount of shooting around beautiful Traverse City in this somewhat mild summer and trying to catch up on my reading, since i had the opportunity to acquire a large number of books on hunting and shooting and now have a backlog of around twenty titles.

The pleasant surprise for the season's shooting was that my son Daniel and son-in-law Zak have joined me in a lot of it and both demonstrated good improvement in their form and their scores. Daniel decided to move from his Beretta A-3901 to my Browning Lightining Sporting Clays and Zak is using his Remington 1100, while except for the side-by-side shotgun event decided for once to sitck to one gun, my Caesar Guerini Summit Limited. As bird season approaches I will have to change guns, and it will either be my Browning BSS 20 gauge that I sho very well last year or a Beretta A-400 Xplor Light that has been much neglected.

But let's get back to books and the subject of this posting. Just minutes ago I finished reading Gough Thomas's GUN BOOK which I acquired along some other titles at Landmark Books, a fantastic used book shop here in Traverse City.

I believe that I was first "introduced" to Mr. Gough Thomas Garwood reading Michael McIntosh, especially while discussing the subject of shotgun chokes as both authors believed that with modern shot shells almost any choke was too much, with Mr. Garwood being a stronf advocate of the "true cylinder" bore for almost all shotgunning conditions, except Trap and waterfowl under certain conditions.

"Gough Thomas's GUN BOOK: Shotgun lore for the sportsman" is a collection of articles published in the Shooting Times and Country Magazine during the 1960's discussing shotgun design and its use and presenting conclusions based on both his experience and testing, and his discussion on maximum shotgun range is particular interesting, presenting sensible argument and data to justify the conclusions, considering both pattern density to ensure required number of hits and minimum pellet energy to ensure proper penetration.

As expected the book revolves around the British Game Gun ("The normal gun is fairly represented by a side-by-side hammerless ejector, boref improved cylinder in the right barrel and half to three-quarters choke in the left. It has 2 1/2 inch chambers an 28-inch barrels, and weights, say 6 lb. 6 oz. to 6lb. 8 oz." - and who could argue the point?), but especially in the opening chapters there is good discussion on "repeaters, both recoil and gas-operated as well as the pump-gun" the later being described to my surprise as "one of the best, if you can handle it."

Repeaters or semi-automatic shotguns surface again during the discussion on recoil, bot as the ultimate solution, but as an alternative. However, the author deeply objects their mechanical noises as really disturbing and conductive to "recoil headache."

Other interesting points are the discussions on damascus barrels, gun-fitting (which in Mr. Garwood's opinion should not be used as a solution for improper shooter form), and the quality and affordability of "best" Spanish guns.

A brief search showed that most of Mr. Garwood's books are available at on-line book sellers at affordable prices, but on-line shoping is not nearly as interesting as visiting real book stores and uncovering lost treasures.

Death by Perdiz

Dead Tired

Last Saturday I returned home from a great week of perdiz (Nothura maculosa) hunting with JP Cacerias in Trinidad, province of Flores, Uruguay. As always João Paulo da Costa and his beautiful family welcomed us in a delightful way and we felt truly at home at El Solar del Cazador.


This was a week to renew and strength some friendships, create others, exchange experiences, stories and lies, commune around good food, common memories, a glass of local red wine or just the right amount of a long traveled Macallan.

In his fantastically provincial speech my friend Eloir superbly describes some highlights of our latest hunt in his own blog “Contos de Caçada”, and I talked briefly about it on the previous post “An Exercise in Self Control”, but I do feel that there is more to talk about.

The first great surprise is that I finally found a great airport restaurant! At Montevideo’s Carrasco International Airport surprised us with a refined black olive and honey tapenade, a delicious Bife Ancho (Rib Eye) accompanied by a refined chimichurri and papas al libro, an oven roasted potato that is thinly sliced, but not all way through, so it reminds a book. The desert, a crêpe with local dulce de leche was also freshly prepared. A bottle of Don Pascual merlot highlighted the excellent and reasonably priced meal.

The second surprise that I also already talked about was the increase in the number of perdigões or martinetas (Rhyncofus rufensis). By the end of the week I would have had the opportunity to shoot at ten of the Queen of Upland Birds, but of course no shots were taken, and we can only hope that in the near future we shall be allowed to hunt these great game birds.

There is also a substantial increase in the local duck population which had been seriously impacted by years of draught, and it is recovering to levels that may justify the re-opening of duck season in the region.

Although not a surprise, the bad news is that, like in other parts of the world, changing in agricultural practices are the real danger for sustainable perdiz populations. Perdiz needs native grasslands, and although it can adapt certain other covers and agricultural crops like millet, sorghum, corn and wheat, its two worth enemies are encroaching the Uruguayan landscape in a seemingly unstoppable way, soybeans and eucalyptus.

Soybeans and eucalyptus create green deserts that bisect the pampas. The chemicals required by soybeans kills not only weeds and insects, but also the perdiz and other wildlife, and nothing in South America eats eucalyptus, except fire ants.

On the positive side, João Paulo tells us that the recent rains that made our walking the Uruguayan fields so much more difficult will also boost the coming perdiz hatch, and we should expect a very health population next season.

Talking about rain and difficult walking I really missed my Muck boots in this hunt, by my chaps saved the days. And walking was the price to pay for every bird we collected. It may not be the mile a flush for ruffed grouse during the bottom of the cycle, but it was close. And a lot of the places we found birds this year was on e edge of water, with the perdiz only moving to drier higher fields during the warm hours of the day.

At the end of a long day at Durazno, which included a parrilada with more than one bottle of Don Pascual, I was so tired as to almost consider death by perdiz!

After this great week in a distant and pleasant country I brought home memories and sore feet, and an ardent desire to do it again.

An Exercise in Self Control

Rhynchotus rufenses

Yesterday we had our first field day on a new hunting expedition in Uruguay. We have many of the usual suspects, Bill, Jim, Eloir and myself, and a couple new friends that joined the group, Pedrinho from Caxias do Sul and José from Americana.

As usual, we come to Uruguay for the fantastic upland hunting, and Perdiz (Nothura maculosa) is our main goal, along with a couple half days of dove shooting and the odd invasive European hare (Lepus europaeus) that hides among the rock outcrops in the fields.

Last Friday and Saturday we had a lot of rain and the hunting and walk has been hard as there water just about everywhere taking a heavy toll from our (or mine) sedentary legs, but that does not stop the birds from flying hard. The brutal wind is a different thing and challenges the best dogs in locating and flushing our birds.

However, rather than the shots we made, what made the first day memorable were the shots we did not make!

The field that Pedro and I hunted had a small stream bissecting it, and prety heavy cover, which besides perdiz is also home for the Perdigão or Martineta (Rhynchotus rufenses), a protect bird in Uruguay, which is the true "Queen of the Upland Birds."

As the German Shorthair, Uma, got in her first point the cover looked a bit suspect to us, and after some great dog work a perdigão flushed with the same subtleness of a Huey helicopter. I held my shot and told Pedrinho not to shoot. Perdigão generally live in pairs, and a couple minutes later another heavy bird took to the air, this time at Pedrinho's point. Again, no shot was taken.

We started hunting in some higher drying ground and shot several perdiz, and decided to cross the stream to the other side of the field, and of course as we walked through the heavy cover Uma went on point again and a third perdigão flushed from almost under Pedrinho's feet. Not five minutes later, another perdigão took the air, right in front of Uma's nose.

All four birds presented perfect shooting opportunities and although we were both disheartened from not being able to bring home the greatest game bird of South America, we were both equally proud of our painful exercise in self control.

Pigeon Safari

Patagioenas picazuro and the Cricket

Meanwhile, in an undisclosed South American country, I was reacquainted with the joys and challenges of long range air gun hunting.

My friend Aluísio took young Gustavo and me on a brief late afternoon outing for one of my favorite game animals in the world, Patagioenas picazuro, also known as White Winged Pigeon, in an almost urban environment.

We parked the car under a shade tree to avoid detection from the ever watchful eyes of the incoming pigeons and we started scouting to find a suitable bird concentration that would soon provide us with some outstanding memories.

The pigeons were in the center of a large field, clearly visible over the short grass, but keeping quite a safe distance from any potentially dangerous predators, including us. We started walking on a more or less parallel path in order to avoid spooking our prey, and assumed a prone position almost without cover, but about seventy meters from the group of pigeons.

Resting the forearm of the Kalibr Cricket Tactical 22 on the edge of a wooden plank and ranging the target at 75 meters I selected the first target and put the proper Mil-Dot where the wing joins the body. The shot departed almost noiseless and after flapping the wings for a couple times the pigeon rested not to move again. The surrounding birds showed almost no reaction and continued to pick in the recently watered grass.

In the next several minutes we had unstoppable action and the downed birds acted as decoys attracting other passing pigeons.

Gustavo was then introduced to the gorgeous Cricket and on his first shot connected with a pigeon at around sixty meters. Quite a feat!

But pigeons exist in large numbers because they are not fools and apart from the downed birds, no other would come in range. But eventually I located one lonely bird almost across the field, quartering away from us, form right to left, at a pigeon's pace.

I adjusted the scope to have a sharp view of the unsuspecting pigeon and picked the lowest Mil-Dot to give maximum elevation, and put it just ahead of the top of the breast and gently pressed the trigger. After what I felt was half of an eternity, the 18 grains JSB pellet struck home, and the pigeon was quiet with no more an a flap.

Aluísio and Gustavo walked to pick up this last pigeon and using a laser range finder clicked me from my shooting position at exact one hundred and thirty meters!

The following photo session helped us preserve the memories of a fantastic afternoon, the first blood bath of a new hunter, and celebration of friendship and the love of the chase.

Come Dawn, Come Dusk

A couple days ago I finished reading "COME DAWN, COME DUSK - 50 Years a Gamekeeper" by Norman Mursell which are personal memories of his work from apprentice to head gamekeeper for several Dukes of Westminster, mainly at the Eaton Estate, from the 1930's to the 1980's.

Mr. Mursell probably could be describred as a true "pomp and circumstance" Englishman, and if Non-Comissioned Officers are the true keepers of regimental history, then gamekeepers have the same mission when it comes to the many forms of "shooting" (meaning the taking of fowl by means of a shotgun) in Great Britain in general and England in particular.

"Come Dawn, Come Dusk" presents in a unique way the various aspects of animal husbandry and game management that were and are required to rear the large amount of game birds including pheasants, partridges and mallards in order to have the numbers that make driven shoots possible, as well as forestry and vermin control activities to go hand in hand with the blood sports.

I believe that it is hard for most of us to imagine the real cost and effort to maintian extensive estates, gamekeepers, foresters and all other sort of manpower in order to create entertainment for selected guests of the likes of Winston Churchill and the Prince of Wales for a handfull of days a year.

Even if "shooting" at Eaton or other high-end driven shoots is quite different from the bird hunting that I am used to, which I believe is called rough shooting in the UK,  and most of game pursued ends up in high scale restaurants both in London and the continent instead of my Big Green Egg, I would like to try that extravaganza some time in my life.

My New Hat

My New Hat

June is here and finally the cold and snowy winter is just present in our memory and while the dog days of summer don't arrive we can enjoy some nice time at the shotgun range, at least when I am not traveling on business, which is not very often.

Anyhow, yesterday my son Daniel and I drove to Cedar Rod & Gun Club (www.crgc.org) to shoot some Trap. Any form of shotgunning is always my preferred form of relaxation after a working day, and it is always more enjoyable if Daniel can come along, even if does not accept my coaching.

Driving from Old Mission Peninsula to Leelanau is always enjoyable, and I particular enjoy the country views once we leave M-72 and get 651 towards Cedar. The gentle rolling hills where farming and old growth forest intertwine always hide a deer or a flock of turkeys, keeping the distant fall hunting season alive in our hearts.

When we got to the club shooting was already underway and Daniel and I got engaged in some small talk with other members which soon turned to some new gun appreciation, as someone always has a new gun.

On our first round I started at station 5 and missed my seventh and eighth shots, which were taken at station 1, finishing with a score of 23. The Eighth Ammendment of the US Constitution prohibits cruel and unusual punishment, and while missing while shooting flying, be it birds or clay pigeons, is not unusual for me, it is always cruel to miss two birds in a row!

On the second round we only had four shooters in the squad which makes for a little faster pace, while I'd rather have a slower one. Anyhow, I was just "in the zone" and could focus the bird that was slightly affected by a rising air current with eagle eyes, despite being a middle aged grandfather. The Caesar Guerini Summit Limited was throwing the Remington Gun Club one ounce load of No. 8's exactly where they were supposed to go.

My last five shots were taken from station 3 and by the 21st or 22nd shot I had to start some yoga breath control in order to keep my concentration and avoid thinking about a possible twenty five straight, which is a clear receipt for disaster. The last shot was a straight-away bird, which is a harder shot for me, since I've always been a Skeet Shooter.

Anyhow, yesterday I had my first twenty five straight at Trap, and after everyone congratualted me they asked for my hat following a very old tradition, which may go as fas back as the OLD HATS pigeon club in England. Unusually I did not have one, so I bought a brand new CRGC hat, distributed ammunition to the other five shooters present, stuffed the had with a handfull of clay pigeons to give it some weight and threw it up.

The picture clearly shows what being hit by ten rounds of twelve gage ammo does. It turns a brandnew hat into an honorable Old Hat and a true trophy in seconds.

I just would like to thank all present to have allowed me to throw the hat in the air, rather than have to wear it when they shot it!

The Rebellion

The First National HDBF Shotgun Championship

It is no secret that shotgunning is a very important part of my life and that I get really annoyed with activities that interfere with my shooting, be it bird hunting or clay shooting, even if I miss more than my share of both kind of birds, the soft feathery ones or the hard clay pigeons.

It also should be no secret that I have a "corporate life" (whatever that may be), and that this means substantial amount of traveling and meetings, but for the most part I was able to fit in some amount of shotgunning after working hours. During the short but great year that I lived in Torino, Italy, I was able with the help of my friends Pino Facchini and Vito Benevelli to do a lot of shooting and enjoy many great meals throughout the Piemonte, Lombardia and the Venetto.

My current job takes me multiple times a year to southern Brazil, and in Caxias do Sul - RS I found the fantastic Clube Caxiense de Caça e Tiro where I made good friends, was treat to more great meals, and found an infrastructure that second to none in Brazil and fully comparable to the clubs I used to visit in Italy.

I was even able to get some bird hunting during the odd business trip or even when getting acquainted with new business partneres, but the "places" that would keep me away from shotgunning were conventions and business forums, that apparently are (or were) totally committed to golf, for whatever reason this may be.

I've never played more than three of four golf games in my life, but to say that this so called sport frustrates me is a gross understatement. The last game that I was forced to play (yes, I was actually forced to participate in a "team building" event that took place in a golf course) frustrated me so much that I threw one of the clubs away in a swamp.

But in the last couple weeks things started to change! I attended two conferences back to back, first in Phoenix, Arizona and then in La Jolla, California, and the rebellion started at these places or events.

As an alternative to golf, in Arizona about 30% (around 65 people) of the participants elected to shoot Sporting Clays at the fantastic Ben Avery Shooting Facility"s Clay Target Center. We shot the "Roadrunner Course" which had some very challenging target presentations, especially if you add the forty mile an hour winds that made the desert even drier. The range provided Beretta A-391 semi-automatic shotguns and Fiocchi one ounce 12 gauge shells. Truly a great combination, and I was told that I shot a 38 out of 50 possible and that I was high gun for the day.

The following week in California I passed on the "opportunity" to play golf at Torrey Pines from where the players have a gorgeous view of the Pacific Ocean and instead got in a bus with a box lunch and eight other brave souls for the hour drive to the P2K Range in El Cajon.

When we got there we had to answer a safety questionaire (actually not a bad thing), rent shotguns, which were a mix and no match of everything from Caesar Guerini (at double the rent of the other guns), through Remingtons, Berettas, CZ's and a single Browning BT-99.

First we shot Trap and there Tim G. (the brave guy wearing a pink shirt in the center of the photo) demonstrated the capabilities of the classic BT-99 breaking 23 birds at trap. The pool shark later disclosed that he grew up on the birth place of modern trap shooting, the State of Ohio, and that at some time in his high school years he was Junior State Champion. Just another example of never to bet on a game unless you know all the players.

Then we shot Five Stand, which was a much more challenging course than I would have given credit to. As not all the shooters in our team were proficient with shotguns we decided to shoot single only and take only one shot per bird. Even with a very humbling 13 I was high gun under the hot and dry California afternoon.

On the way back to Torrey Pines instead of boxed lunches we made sure that we have enough cold beer to quench our thirst and divert our attention from the terrible traffic.

This is it. The rebellion has started. We may be few, but we know that we will prevail as palns are already in place for next year's events. Until there, keep on shooting!

Perfect Plan

A perfect plan for the one week in thirteen

A couple months ago I was seating in an airplane at the Detroit Metro Airport headed for Brazil on another business trip, and as more and more passengers boarded I could not avoid noticing a T-shirt that one of the passengers was wearing.

I had never met the gentleman before and I doubt that we will ever meet again, but I asked if I could take a picture of his T-shirt as it really reminded me of how my weeks should be.

The (sad) reality is that most people need to work 12 weeks to be able to enjoy and/or afford one week of vacations, and I believe these four weeks are so important because they do not happen every week.

To be very sincere, I will sharpen my knives, clean my guns, buy new gear and plan a hunting trip during a normal work week's nights, so I can savor every minute of a vacation week actually hunting.

I am scheduled for another bird hunting week in Uruguay in a couple months, and a lot of planning is already happening, but I still like the T-shirt.

Controlling Sus scrofa

Last Friday César, Ivan, Ivandro and I left a business meeting in Bento Gonçalves under torrential rain and drove to Caxias do Sul where we would collect our gear (or better speaking, their gear since I had little more than my business clothes) and then drove, mostly under the same rain, the one hundred odd miles to a farm close to Bom Jesus to join the remaining of our group in a mission to help restore ecological balance in southern Brazil.

In the last several several years Brasil was invaded by a most dangerous, prolific and destructive alien species, Sus scrofa, also known as European boar. O as is the case in most other places invaded by swine, they play havoc with crops, carry or transmit disease to domestic animals, compete with native species, and by now there is at least one case of a boar killing a person, I believe in Minas Gerais state.

Currently in Brazil there is no open hunting season for any game animals, although there is a lot of subsistence hunting in many of the less developed regions of the country and a lot of poaching everywhere, with limited and ineffective control or enforcement of regulations, so it was very difficult for the "proper authorities" to come to conclusion that one of the only practical and affordable ways to control the invasive wild boards and their offsprings was to allow volunteers to locate, pursue and eventually terminate these animals.

And of course, in order not to offend sensitive (and mostly brainless) people, this would not be called hunting or even culling, but "controlling."

But I digressed. We arrived sometime past 9:00 PM and met several friends and made new acquaintances that would soon become friends as is common among hunters...pardon me...controllers. We were greeted with some libations and in no time I found my way to the improvised grill where a proper churrasco was being prepared over hot coals by Celso. Sausage and spring chicken were the appetizers and large amounts of beef made the main course.

After dinner most of us left in two trucks going different directions spot lighting for boar. As wild boars are invasive non-game animals they can be controlled all year around, day or night, by any means, except poison. During the two or three hours that we were out we saw no boars, but we spotted and left alone seven or eight deer, several graxain, which is similar to a fox, but is grey with an almost black back, and at least three very large European hares, another invasive species, but that is not subject to control at this point in time. The temperature was quite comfortable and there was only a light drizzle.

When we came back some people while the older and wiser stayed around the fireplace telling hunting stories and associated lies, sharing drinks and eating roasted pinhões, the delicious fruit to the Araucaria, a typical southern Brazil pine tree. And the stories, drinks and pinhões lasted a long time, as it was 2:30 AM before I found the couch where I was to sleep, gently volunteered by Nicolas, one of our younger controllers, so older men (that meaning me!) could sleep more comfortably.

In here late small hours the storm that we had left behind the previous night caught up with us and besides the heavy rain it brought severe winds which brought down a lot of branches and even some trees, and shook the frame of our old wooden house.

In the morning some of the late nighters had a rough time, but by 8:00 AM the pack of clearly mixed hounds was let loose most of the controllers followed it under an annoying rain. Since I had no gear to speak off and needed dry clothes for the return trip (at least that is my story and I will stick to it) I stayed behind with Ivan and Celso and we applied ourselves to swapping stories, turn the leftover churrasco into a carreterio (rice cooked with meat), and enjoying the contents César's bottle of Johnny Walker to the very last drop.

Around noon Ivandro came in and said that Gilmar had shot a nice boar, and that they were dragging it to a point where one of the trucks could retrieve it and some of the by now very tired hunters. Oops, my fault! I meant to say controllers. Gilmar hit the hog with three of four shots from his 308 rifle. The first shot effectively castrated the hog, the second and third hit it in the shoulder and around the jaw articulation, but I don't know in which order.

After lunch, the hog was weighted (65 Kg or 143 pounds gutted), pictures were taken, and five of us made our way back to Caxias do Sul where I had to attend a beneficent banquet with other friends from Clube Caxiense de Caça e Tiro. Life can be so demanding...

Shotgunning My Way

Today my new book "Shotgunning My Way" (ASIN: B00JIBGE20) was released for sale at Amazon Kindle Store.

"Shotgunning My Way" is a collection of short stories and commentaries (previously presented at my blog www.awildbeastatheart.blogspot.com) centered around bird hunting, shotgun shooting, good food and great friends.

At the release I noticed that there is an issue with the internal pictures, but I hope to be able to correct this soon.

I hope that you enjoy the book and appreciate if you help me to promote it.

Your reviews would be most welcome.

A French Connection

A handful of French folding knives

There seams to be a very long love-hate relationship between two great nations, the United States of America and la République Française. Actually, our relationship goes back to well before there was a United States of America when French and English explorers started to compete for the fur trade in the Hudson Bay and Great Lakes regions of what would eventually become the USA and Canada, and some time later the French were cordial enough to support the Thirteen Colonies on the Revolutionary War against King George. Of course, a couple times during the XX century the United States gave a hand to the French to reclaim their country from recurring German invasions.

History aside, there is constant bickering over food, where the sophisticated Haute Cuisine is embattled against American classics like the hamburger, and no body can forget the Paris Wine Tasting of 1976 surprisingly won by California wines over traditional French wines on a blind tasting comparison done by an all French pannel.

And then there is the dispute over sporting guns, and the comment that French design is...well, French. But, we should not forget that the first modern breech loader shotgun and self-contained shell was French, designed and made by Casimir Lefaucheux. I have a 16-gauge Manufrance Robust that kills pheasants with definitive authority, even if some of its design features are clearly French.

But over the years I found that besides good wine (even if challenged by California), great food (which may be challenged by a great burger), and like the fantastic Mirage fighter, French folding knives design and manufacturing is second to none. They may be different, but different does not mean inferior.

My first French knife was a Laguiole Arbalète made by Genès David, a company that operates in Thiers, the traditional French cutlery centre, since 1810. The Laguiole is clearly inspired in the Spanish navaja, but it is a lot slimmer. Legend says that Napoleon commissioned the Laguiole knife both as a general purpose tool and as a last line of defense for the soldiers in the French Army. I don't know if that is true or not, but this superbly made knife is clearly up to the task. I bough my Laguiole in a Tobacco store just outside the Gare du Nord in Paris in 2003, if I am remember correctly. At first the large blade and the "rat tail" handle look strange, but when I was able to handle it the natural balance is apparent, be it for slicing a nice salami or piece of cheese or other less pleasant uses. When the blade is folded the large Laguiole just "disappears" inside a front pocket until you need it.

I don't recall when or where I bought my first Opinel, but the latest one (the one with orange died handle) I bought last month in Düsseldorf. While the Laguiole is a refined and somewhat pricey knife, the Opinel is an extremelly affordable working man's or peasant's knife. The Opinel simple and elegant design consists of a blade, wooden handle, stainless steel metal clamping band, stainless pivot pin (axle), and a stainless steel Virobloc locking collar, which locks the blade open or closed, and in 1985 the Victoria and Albert Museum in London selected the Opinel as part of an exhibit celebrating the “100 most beautiful products in the world”. The Opinel was also selected as one of the 999 classic designs in Phaidon Design Classics, and has been exhibited by the New York's Museum of Modern Art (MOMA) as a design masterpiece. This is quite an accomplishment for a low priced poor man's knife that has been around since the 1890's.

But I do recall very well that I bought my L'Ecureuil (the Squirrel), which is a nickel-plated version of the famous Douk-Douk all metal folding knife primarily market in France. I had a meeting with an editor in down-town Marshall, MI, and on my way back to my truck I saw the sign to a small knife shop down some stairs from the street level. I broused around for a while until I spotted the Douk-Douk decal and the L'Ecureuil. I first read the history or story of the Douk-Douk and its creator, Gaspard Cognet in Gérard Pacella's "100 Legendary Knives" ("100 Couteaux de légende). Like the Opinel, the Douk-Douk, in its many variations, is a simple, yet very well made, utility folding knife, intended to be a tool for the working man. In the case of the Douk-Douk it was originally designed for export markets formed by then French colonies around the world, but its inherit quality made it a success at the heart of the French empire and many other countries. When I was a child in Brazil the Douk-Douk design and manufacturing process was widely copied, although the quality was not the same.

I may not carry or use my French knives everyday, that is the privelege of my Swiss Army Huntsman and lately a CRKT Ken Onion Swindler, but I would feel very comfortable with either of these unique French knives. Vive la Différence!

Blix

An enjoyable and great read

Baron Bror Fredrik von Blixen-Finecke (25 July 1886 – 4 March 1946) is probably best remembered as being the unfaithful but likable husband of writer Karen Blixen in the movie "Out of Africa", but during his twenty-four years living in Africa he became highly respected professional hunter, or at it was known at those politically incorrect times, White Hunter.

Bror von Blixen was known to his friends simply as Blix, and we could say that he had a restless soul that demanded constant change and action and hated stability and repetition. Therefore, what better profession to suit a wanderer than a big game hunter, leading distinguished clients, such as Edward, Prince of Wales, after wandering and exotic dangerous animals through the heart of an Africa that was still savage.

But the same need to wander would eventually take Blix from Kenya to Cuba to go deep sea fishing in a boat name Pillar with a certain Ernest Hemingway, who he describes as "a gigantic fellow weighting, I am sure" over a hundred and ninety pounds with shoulders like a wrestler and a chest like Hercules."

In return Hemingway said that "The Baron was not a man that you forget", and to make sure about that he used Blixen as the inspiration for professional hunter Robert Wilson in the unparalleled short-story "The Short Happy Life of Francis Macomber." It is important to mention that although Mr. Wilson is inspired in Bror von Blixen, the story's love triangle and its outcome is really based on events of the life of John Henry Patterson, writer and slayer of "The Man-eaters of Tsavo," but that is another story.

During some of his elephant hunting years Blix had a close association with another fantastic and larger than life Africana figure, Beryl Markham, writer of "West with the Night" and the first person to fly across the Atlantic from East to West. Anyhow, Miss Markham used her light Gipsy Moss airplane to scout for elephant, which Blix and his clients would them pursuit on foot.

About those times Miss Markham would later say "Six feet of amiable Swede and, to my knowledge, the toughest, most durable White Hunter ever to snicker at the fanfare of safari or to shoot a charging buffalo between the eyes while debating whether his sundown drink will be gin or whisky.”

Blix left Africa, never to return, in 1938 following the accidental death of his third wife, Swedish adventuress Eva Dickson, moving first to the United States of America and then back to Sweden where he took a field hospital during World War II.

His book "African Hunter" was also translated to English in year of his exodus, and it is an insightful and entertaining book, that any professional small boy will devour, be it in the confines or a jet plane during a business trip, or by the dim light of a dying flashlight under the canopy formed by a light blanket out over the head, so your parents cannot see that you are way past your sleeping hour.

I believe that some the best compliment to Blix came from his first wife, Karen, who is reported to having said shortly before her death that "If I could wish anything back of my life, it would be to go on safari once again with Bror..."

A True Masterpiece

First group from my new Smith & Wesson K-22

Some weeks ago my wife was gracious enough to allow me to acquire a new piece that will enhance my humble collection and also provide me with long periods of relaxation at my indoor range.

As you will immediatelly tell from the picture above the new old Smith & Wesson K-22, or more precisely a Model 17-3 made around 1971 according to the serial number, is in pristine shape, and the first (and so far only) off-hand five-shot group at 10 meters demonstrates that purebred target precision is clearly alive and well.

The roots of the K-22 can be traced back to 1899 when Smith & Wesson introduced what would become the gold standard to which all revolvers are compared, the .38 Hand Ejector Military & Police Model revolver, built in the then new K-frame. By 1913 the adjustable sight configuration, the .38 Hand Ejector Military & Police Target model (eventually called K-38) held 24 of 40 all-time records of the U.S. Revolver Association.

But the .38 Military & Police was not only popular with target shooter, it also became the virtual standard police handgun, not only in the United States of America, but either as original Smith & Wesson or unauthorized copies in countries that issued wheel-guns to its police forces.

And due to the massive popularity and constant use of the .38 Military & Polcie, both target shooter and police department started claiming for a revolver with same handling carachteristics od the K-38, but that would shoot the much lower cost .22 rimfire ammunition (and by this time the .22 Long Rifle had already become the de-facto standard).

In order to provide the same handling, the new .22 revolver had the same loaded weight as the K-38, and to allow for the same handling the center of gravity had to be the same, and threfore the .22 barrel is slightly taped towards the muzzle. And in keeping with its competition roots, Smith & Wesson guaranteed that the new K-22 would group five shots under 1 1/2 inches at 50 yards.

From 1931 to 1939 this fantastic .22 revolver was called the K-22 Outsdoorman, and from that point, after incorporating a new micrometer-adjustable rear sight it became the Smith & Wesson Masterpiece, and I cannot think of a better name to christen the best .22 revolver ever made.

In 1957 Smith & Wesson introduced model numbers to replace the model names, and the K-38 became the Model 14, while the K-22 became the Model 17. Why they did not became the Models 38 and 22 I will never understand!

In order to really pair my new K-22 and my old K-38 I need to find some original grips to replace the aftermarket combat grips of the latter, but that is neither hard nor expensive, and in a short time I should have a perfect pair of target revolvers.

Another Week in Europe

Schinken-Schweinehaxe "Zum Schiffchen"

It is hard to believe that is has been almost one year since my last visit to Europe, but I can be only so many places (generally one) at a time. In nine days business took me to the Netherlands, Germany, Turkey, Sweden, and then back to Germany and the Netherlands.

But even in the, at times, challenging schedule of a business trip, I try, as much as possible, to find some connection to nature, hunting, fishing and the outdoors. And that started in my dinner at Vitali's in Gelsenkirchen where I had wildschwein or wild boar for dinner pared with a good, and reasonably inexpensive, bootle of Primitivo red wine.

A couple days later in Izmir, I was reminded that Turkey is one of the best countries in the world to eat fish, which is multiple ways is the center of the local delicious and healthy "Mediterranean Diet". As I don't speak Turkish it is almost impossible for me to remember the name of the different fishes we had, but is easy to remember that the meals were pared with healthy amounts of Yene Raki, and I drink it in the proper way: pour the Raki to about a third of a tall narrow glass, add water almost to the top, and then ice. The other of the factors is all important.

The time in Sweden was way too short to even try a proper meal, but I had a very flavorfull sandwich at the Arlanda International Airport. Anyhow, as we were speeding down the highway to Södertälje I noticed a tree stand overlooking an automatic deer feeder, and a short time after that I saw three or four deer in a field. Probably the Swedish hunter will be shooting a 6,5x55 mm rifle instead of a .270 Winchester or a .30-06, but that could almost be a post card from Michigan.

Back to Germany, and we landed in the beautiful and reliable Düsseldorf International Airport, where I was to spend my weekend. On Friday night I was just too tired even to go out to dinner, so I had a protein bar and crashed, but Saturday was a different story!

The weather could not have been any better. Bright blue sky and temperature reaching up to 20C/68F, made the Altstadt an irresistible attraction for people. My first stop was at one of the local cutlery shops, then I went to pay my respects to the fast flowing Rhine, the vibrant economic arthery that connects the industrial heart of Germany to the Atlantic. A relative short walk away was the Church of Saint Lambertus and its magnificient art work. Around noon I could not resist any longer and had a couple of the excellent and fresh local Altbier at Uerige Hausbrauerei.

Lunch was nothing more than a large bratwurst held by a small crisp bread bought at a farmer's market right in front of my hotel, and I ate it on the go while I walked to the high end Königsalle to visit Frankonia, which I could describe as Germany's Cabelas. Hunting is really an elitist sport in Europe, and the prices reflect that. I engaged in small talk with the gun counter salesperson and he sort of pissed me off a bit by mentioning the German hunting tradition as something far superior to the way we hunt in the United Stated, especially considering that we wear camouflage! I know several other European hunters and I know that they do not share the same opinion.

Coming back to the Altstad I found the crowd almost unbearable and longed for my much quieter Old Mission Peninsula. The only thing I could do to save my sanity was to go back to the hotel and sleep for a couple hours, and when I woke up it was much quieter and I walked the two blocks to Brauerei zum Schiffchen which has been serving locals and visitors, including a certain Napoléon Bonaparte since 1628. It is pretty clear that they have learned with time, and the schweinehaxe mit sauerkraut und bratkartoffeln (porc nuckles with cabbage and home fries) was a fantastic ending to a long day.

Work of Love, Work of Art

Paulo points a work of art

Last week I had the pleasure and honor to be invited by my friend Paulo Mattana to spend the weekend at this ranch in the municipality of São Francisco de Paula, state of Rio Grande do Sul, Brazil.

Paulo and his "cousin" Beto picked me up at my hotel on Friday afternoon and we started our trip taking the least traveled path, from Caxias do Sul to Ana Rech where we bought some fantastic home made bread among other treaties, then to Fazenda Souza and Vila Oliva, and after that by a mountainous unpaved road (that in the US could be described as a track) to steel bridge crossing a deep gorge or canyon over Rio dos Sinos over a ancienty Krupp steel bridge. After the bridge it was uphill again until we came to the touristic city of Canela, took the road to São Francisco de Paula, but left it well before town to cross the Salto dam on the Caí river to get to Paulo's ranch.

Along the way besides the beautiful sights we had good music and better conversation.

As we arrived late in the afternoon (my fault, I know it), there was little to be done besides greeting the ranch hand and his family, unload the supplies from the car, open a cold beer, not getting in the way of Beto while he prepared a "Caipira" (the typical Brazilian cocktail made of cachaça, sugar, limes and ice), which in typical Gaúcho fashion is shared by everyone, get out of Paulo's way while he served the cheese and egg-plant Caponnata, get some music on the i-Pad and talk about guns, hunting, ranching and other less pleasant subjects as politics. As you can see, really nothing to be done. Dinner was tomato and arugua salad, rice and Kung Pao chicken along a couple bottles of great red wine.

Of course, after so little to do the previous night Beto and I over slept, and by the time we woke up Paulo had breakfast well underway.

After breakfast Paulo released his German shorthaired pointers and we got into his Jeep so he could show me the property. The dogs will either run ahead or follow the Jeep and as we drove around the pastures they pointed and eventually flushed a perdiz (Nothura maculosa) and a perdigão (Rhynchotus rufescens), and in both cases I pointed an imaginary shotgun at the birds as they disappeared in the luxurious grasslands.

As Paulo drove me along the property he would tell me about his efforts to restore the land from a very degraded form of several years ago when it was void of almost any life to its present form where the soil is protect from erosion and the cattle and sheep live along the local wildlife. A true work of love.

When we arrived back at the ranch house the two boat mechanics that Paulo was waiting for were already at work on his boat, and after they finished their work we were forced to take the boat to water and test its engine. The lake formed by Barragem do Salto is realy beautiful and we took the boat several miles up river and saw several weekend camps along its shores.

As we came back to the boat launch Paulo and I decided to enjoy the misterious dark waters of the lake, and we floated for quite some time, enjoying cold beers and warm conversation.

Arriving back at the ranch house again we had two pleasant surprises: the lamb barbecue (Gaucho style over hot coals, off course) was almost ready and our friend Armando Rezende had just arrived. A good barbecue (my friends from Alabama will remember me that this is grilling) is food to both body and soul, and after feasting on copious amonts of lamb, fresh salads, tender home made bread, and some libations we had to retire, some to bed others to the veranda, and enjoy soft conversation while the first heavy rain pour of the afternoon washed the skies.

During the rain Paulo showed us one of his most prized possessions, a little .410 single shot hammerless shotgun that his father, Mr. Alfredo Mattana, made in the early 1950's while working at Eberle (Mr. Mattana eventually retired from Eberle after fifty four years of service!) The gun is an exact copy of a Beretta Model 412 single shot hammerless shotgun, and according to Paulo his father made three of them, one for himself and two for close friends.

Paulo shot his first perdiz with this gun, and after his father passed the gun went to one of his brothers, that embellished the gun with great taste. Eventually, after the premature passing of his brother, Paulo received the shotgun from his sister-in-law, and it is truly a work of art.

After the first rain (which was quite mild compared to the storm that came at night and made us think about the campers at the the lake shores) and before the impressive subtropical sunset, Armando and I had the pleasure and honor (I know that I good author should not repeat himself, but I am not a good author) to shoot Paulo's shotgun at some aerial targets. But that is another story...