I've been shopping around lately for a new rifle, and while i was having a look at some of Ruger's offerings, I began to think about my first rifle. Odd what can pop into your head when you least expect it, and I thought "What the hell, I'll share the story and just maybe, others will have their own tales about that first gun."
I found it in the back of a pawn shop, unceremoniously left in a corner of the "Gun Room" to gather dust and slowly rot away. Being enamored of antiques, or old junk as is more often the case, I fell in love at first site. It was an old bolt action .22 very much like the Remington model 33. The stock was faded and cracked, with a few well intentioned nails pounded in by a previous owner to keep her in one piece. The rear site was long gone, and the barrel looked like it had been through hell. Somehow, and I give credit to both the desert air and providence on this, the bore was bright and shiny, and the bolt was buttery smooth. There was no price tag, so after a little negotiating I handed over $50 and walked out with my prize. After a little TLC she became a great plinker, Everything a lazy ski-bum could want out of a "just for fun" rifle. I've since owned many a better rifle, but none have brought out quite the same feelings of pure joy, almost love really.. Of all the guns that have passed through my hands, that was the only one I regret having let go. If I could go back, I would have beat myself for even thinking about getting rid of it and instead kept her as a wall-hanger, a fitting shrine for the one that started this damnable obsession I've now got.:smile: