Copyright 2000 – Stephen Redgwell
Do you remember your first 22? I remember mine. It was a single shot, bolt action Cooey of undetermined age that my dad bought used. I packed that little gun everywhere. I don’t even remember what happened to it except that maybe dad sold it off or gave it away, many years ago. It’s a shame that I never held onto it. It would have been nice to pass down to my children.
When I was a kid, having a 22 to take hunting was a rite of passage. In the 1950s and ‘60s, parents weren’t nearly as neurotic about their kids being outside with guns. Saturdays were safari days. Most weekends, my best friend Kerry and I would leave from his place and “go hunting” in the fields and along the fence lines around his farm. I don’t really remember when or how it happened, but we discovered that rabbits, birds, groundhogs and deer fed around there and walked the edges of the fields. The ground was pockmarked with burrows, packed down trails and small holes in the walls of vegetation that partially covered the wire farm fences.
Hawkeye and Chingachgook, Last of the Mohicans
Lon Chaney Jr. (l) played Chingachgook and John Hart (r) was Hawkeye
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NOTE: Captain “Hawkeye” Pierce from MASH was named after Hawkeye in that story.
The day would fly by, but you sure could cover a lot of ground! It was all part of learning to be an outdoorsman. Your Saturday adventures might take you over previously traveled ground or in a whole new direction. Every week was different.
If it rained though, you went to the movies. That was important too, because you could learn a lot watching Roy Rogers, Davy Crocket or Hawkeye and Chingachgook. Call it celluloid osmosis. For me, Hawkeye and Chingachgook, last of the Mohicans, were really special. I never thought about the white man and aboriginal (then called Indian) relationship. I was too young to understand about him being the last of the Mohican tribe either. Most of the kids I knew were simply amazed at their skills as woodsmen. The stuff they could do! Things like cutting up trees and bark to make snares. How skillful Chingachgook was with a tomahawk! And he could dig a pit to trap animals or a man, if it came to that. And it did sometimes.
It was the same with Roy Rogers, the King of the Cowboys. We all knew he was great! Here was a man with a big, friendly smile, who could sing, play guitar, fight off the bad guys and was as honest as the day was long.
When I was about eight, I had the chance to meet one of his ranch hands – Tumbleweed Tom. All the local kids gathered at the general store one Saturday. He told us that Roy couldn’t make it, but asked Tom to meet us instead. We were only disappointed for a minute. He did some rope tricks, sang and twirled his six-shooter around. He told us stories about Roy and Dale of course, and just before he left, reminded us to always tell the truth. I’ll never forget that day!
I never tried to do any gun tricks while on horseback, but I did look through some binoculars while in the saddle. Despite my best efforts, I could never manage a steady hold, even at a trot. It didn’t make sense. Roy was always rock solid on horseback. He could lasso anything. Trigger must have been an important part of his amazing skill. He gave Roy a steady ride. A lot of my friends used to say that too, and it made sense at the time. Youthful ignorance blurred the line between real life and the movies.
When I had grown up, Roy was still touring and his shows were still on TV. If you went to the city, you could eat at one of his restaurants. On weekends, you could watch him and his wife Dale Evans on the Nashville Network. It was fabulous to be able to watch all his old movies again. Because of that, I even got to introduce my own children to him too. He’s still one of my heroes. Happy trails, Roy.
When I was about fourteen, I learned that shooting wasn’t as easy as it was in the movies. It was disappointing to find out that my aim wasn’t nearly as good as the cowboys in the Saturday matinees. About then, the hunting bug bit hard and I spent more time pursuing game. Between my own limitations and those of a beat up set of iron sights, hitting what I aimed at was more “miss” than “hit”. This became a life lesson the week before high school started. I learned that it’s not wise to scare resting skunks with an errant shot, unless you’re far enough away. I won’t bore you with the details, but that mistake was never made again.
I do not know how much game fell to my little rimfire. I never got a raccoon until I was older, but I’m quite sure that if I had the chance, I would have made myself a stylish hat to wear hunting. On the other hand, the numbers of squirrels was thinned considerably where I lived. There was a lot of hardwood around my place and my best friend Kerry’s farm. It’s funny, but I’ll bet that we spent more time in the local fields as kids, than we’ve done all of our adult life to date.
We discovered gullies and trails where game traveled. We found out where the watering holes were and all best perches on which to sit and scan the fields. In all of our travels in that “great wilderness”, my little Cooey always came along, with a few 22 shells stuffed into the pocket of my jeans.
The Forest Rangers
Kerry and I built a bunch of tree houses that acted as outposts or observation points. We used to pretend that we were scouts, sent ahead to meet and make friends with the local Indians. I guess things would have been perfect if we could have had a fort like the one in that show The Forest Rangers. It featured a bunch of kids that lived in the bush and didn’t have parents. We never questioned where their moms and dads were or why they got to stay overnight in the fort, unsupervised. I guess that having an RCMP officer, a park ranger and an Indian guide living nearby was good enough. Anyway, they inspired us to build our own frontier outposts. We still use some of those tree houses as stands during hunting season to this day.
Do you still use your old 22? It never hurts to dust it off and take it out for a good run. Most of us leave them in the closet or gun safe these days. That’s a shame. Other, bigger cartridges have taken on more importance now that we’re older, I guess.
Call me sentimental, but the memories of past times with my old 22 have left more of an impression than my first trip to hunting camp. They were the endless days of summer. They were the first times that I adventured out on my own. I miss those carefree days that were interrupted by growing up.
It’s easy to re-live the fun. Even if you don’t have your original rifle, grab the 22 you’ve got and take off out the door. Make sure you invite the kid in you too. He’s still there, hidden under all the grown-up stuff. Just let him loose. He knows what to do. While you’re at it, take your kids, grandkids or invite another grown-up. It’s good for your mental and physical health. Go scout some local game trails. Don’t plan the route, just the general location. Join up with Joe Two Rivers or Roy Rogers again. They’re out there waiting for you.
Just remember to leave the grown-up in you at home.