At last, at long last, a rifle of my own!

It was a beautiful Friday afternoon. After several days of rain, the clouds were clearing. The sun was sinking toward the horizon. I'd run my last work errand for the day, and I was on my way home. In short, I was feeling good.

As I approached the turn into my neighborhood, I thought to myself, "Why not keep going?"

You know you've had that feeling. Screw routine - you're ready to do anything.

So I did. I kept driving all the way to Wild Sports - my local hook-n-bullet store - and I bought my first rifle. Read more...
Well, that's sort of a lie. My first rifle was a family heirloom I inherited after my dad died. An 1896 Krag - a pristine one. It's a shame that was my first rifle, because the action on that thing is like butter, and it spoiled me, and I don't think there's a modern rifle that can hold a candle to it.

But it shoots like crap - nothing I can hunt with.

So I've borrowed Boyfriend's rifle - a .270 Remington 700 - for all the big game hunts I've done, and while it's lovely that he's shared it with me, I've always wanted my own damn rifle.

I kinda had an idea what I wanted when I sauntered into Wild Sports - yeah, I'm buying a gun, baby! - but I really wanted to check out my options, which are limited because I'm a tough customer.

I ticked off my issues to the guy behind the counter: "I'm right handed, but I'm left-eyed. I could probably shoot either way, but I have arthritis bad in my right index finger, so I'll get more shooting years if I shoot left-handed. But my right hand has more strength..."

The guy sized me up. "You're a real mess, aren't you?"

"Yep," I said.

"Yeah, me too," he said, proceeding to list all of his problems. Now we're talkin'!

Up to this point, I'd had my eye on a Savage 114 Classic in .270 Win, left-handed model. But you can wait a long time for a lefty model, so I was open to new ideas. All I had decided for sure was that I wanted a .270, because that's a caliber that can handle the game I'm most likely to hunt - pig, deer, maybe an elk someday.

He showed me the right-handed Savage 114 - and demonstrated how it wouldn't be so tough to pull the trigger with my left hand and work the bolt with my right. And the safety, he pointed out, was in the center.

I liked it. My right hand's better with the bolt anyway.

"Show me more," I said.

He handed me the Remington 700. "I don't know if I have it in the left-handed model," he said.

"I don't care," I told him. "My boyfriend has a Remington 700. I don't want the same gun as my boyfriend."

Besides, I remembered that incredibly loud safety that spooked the biggest buck ever before I could even get a look at him.

He understood completely.

Next, he pulled down the Tikka T3. Nice action. Too light - recoil would kill me. But my gunsmith could drop some lead in the stock to take care of that (yeah, I'd already talked to him).

But the safety for the Tikka was on the right, and that just wouldn't fly with left-handed shooting. I handed it back.

He showed me a couple more, but none of them felt as good as the Savage did.

I engaged him in a conversation about what makes the Savage good and why the Tikka, for example, might be considered a better gun. He talked to me about bolt construction and a bunch of stuff that I comprehended at least halfway. He told me about the biggest flaw in the Savage - something about a pin in the bolt - and that it was something that would potentially be an issue with high-volume shooting. Way higher volume than I'd be shooting.

"I'll take the Savage," I said with a big fat grin on my face. Perfect. I could shoot left-handed. My strongest hand could work the bolt on the right. My strongest index finger could work the trigger on the left. Safety was in a neutral position. Weight was good. Length was good. Everyone I know who's ever owned a Savage has raved about them. Deal done.

"How about scopes?" I asked. "Can you install them here?"

Why, yes, they could.

I'd been contemplating a Leupold VX II - 3-9x40, just fine for the distances I'm willing to shoot at this stage of the game. That's what Boyfriend has on his rifle, and in this case, I didn't mind mimicking him.

"But is there a way to adjust this control?" I said, pointing to the magnification thingie. It is so damn stiff on the Leupold that my stupid arthritic hand can barely move it. That caused me a lot of problems pig hunting last summer, trying to move from high magnification to lower magnification to locate the animal in my sights.

"Maybe you could send it back to the factory..." he said.

Oh no. I'm not in the mood for that.

"What do you have with something a little easier to move?"

He pulled out the Bushnell Elite series scope. I held it up and checked out the guy walking up way down the gun counter. No, not that kind of checking out - he wasn't hot. He was a filthy-T-shirt-wearing-guy going to the gun counter.

I zoomed in and out. Much better. Like my camera. Not like opening a jar Boyfriend has screwed shut so tightly that it would survive nuclear impact.

"I like this one," I said.

Yeah, I know Leupold is better. But that doesn't do me one bit of good if I can't work the thing properly, so I got the Bushnell and saved a bundle of money too.

All that was left to do was pay the man (damn, I did not get in under four figures), and go through all that background check stuff, telling them, and initialling, and signing seventeen times, that I had never been convicted of a felony and I was not defective in any way. And giving them my thumb print.

Done!

Except I have to wait 11 days to get my gun, because California wants to make sure I'm not going to go out and kill some pig in anger.

Oh well. That gives me something to blog about on April 21.

© Holly A. Heyser 2009