November 2007 NewsletterJim Casada
Web site:
www.jimcasadaoutdoors.com A Fondness for FirstsFor several years I have been writing a weekly column for the little newspaper in my boyhood hometown, Bryson City, North Carolina. Mind you, I’ll never get rich off these efforts for the Smoky Mountain Times, but it is gratifying to give a something back to the place of one’s roots even as I relive what was a joyous boyhood. The subject matter of the column in recent weeks has been a series of warm reflections under the general title of “A Fondness for Firsts.” Some of those firsts deal with the first game animal I killed, the first fish landed in my lifelong pilgrimage as an angler, and tales of my first trout and first grouse are yet to come. Yet in addition to animals killed and fish caught, there’s another kind of “firsts.” These focus on treasured material items which are milestones in one’s evolution as a sportsman. Among them are one’s first gun, first fishing rod and reel, and at least in my case, simpler items such as the first book on the outdoors and first set of Duxbak clothing. In my case, I became the proud possessor of many of these items at Christmas, for the Yuletide season in the high country of yesteryear was a truly special time. It was the only time I ever received a full box of shotgun shells, there was almost always a pocket or sheath knife, and just thinking of the wonders womenfolk worked on the culinary front puts my salivary glands in overdrive. I want to share the tale of one of these holiday firsts, but first you got to endure the obligatory commercial. I would simply note that books make a mighty fine Christmas gift, one that endures for years and has potential to bring an ample measure of pleasure for all of the recipient’s life. For example, the first outdoor book ever given to me was a cheaply produced hardback copy of Zane Grey’s “Spirit of the Border.” It still holds a proud place in my collection, and I must have read it at least half a dozen times over the years. If you visit the Web site from which this newsletter comes to you, you’ll find a whole host of books with the potential to bring a smile of joy, followed in due course by hours of reading enjoyment. Foremost among them is the new biography, Ruark Remembered, written by his secretary, Alan Ritchie. I was privileged to edit it, and if you know a Ruark fan it would be an excellent choice (due out later this month). Also consider The Lost Classics of Robert Ruark, a collection of writings from The Old Man’s Boy which had never previously appeared in book form, or perhaps a similar effort focusing on Jack O’Connor, The Lost Classics of Jack O’Connor. In the case of the O’Connor book and the Ritchie biography, deluxe editions are available along with the trade ones. I’ve also recently added hundreds of Africana titles to my list along with revising the existing list of African books. Altogether you’ll find the better part of a thousand items focusing on sport and exploration in the Dark Continent. Or consider a good cookbook or two. My wife, Ann, and I have done a passel of them, and they give you a wide range of options when it comes to game, fish, and wild foods. Maybe if some of you find an item or two suitable for Christmas gifts, there will, in turn, be a few shekels to celebrate the season in the Casada household. Now, with that hucksterism out of the way, join me for some fond time travel back to my most memorable Christmas. The one which found me the proud recipient of my first gun. Becoming the proud possessor of a firearm is a landmark event in the life of any boy brought up in a hunting or shooting environment. For me, it came when I was about nine or 10 years of age. I already had some experience in shooting, thanks to Dad having arranged to borrow a little single shot .410, the gun I used to kill my first squirrel. There had also a bit of plinking with a .22 and I had owned a BB for several years. There were only two birds, blue jays and starlings, I was allowed to shoot at with the little Daisy Red Ryder. Incidentally, I no longer own that original BB gun but I do have, for reasons of nostalgia, an exact replica made at a later time. Evidently, based on that varied exposure to firearms and considerable experience in going afield with Dad, he and Mom decided I was ready to own a gun. The year I received it was and remains the most cherished of all my wonderful Christmas experiences, although there was one problem which took a bit of shine off this season of glory. That particular year we traveled to Winston-Salem to spend the holiday with my maternal grandparents—I think it was the only time in my first 25 years I didn’t spent Christmas Day in Bryson City—and for three or four days I had a gift circumstances did not permit me to use. Simply put, all I thought about was getting back to the high country and taking to the woods with my new gun. It was a simple and inexpensive firearm, but in my eyes it rated right up there alongside the finest firearms Parker or Fox could produce, or for that matter those made by legendary British gunmakers such as Holland & Holland or Purdy. It was a little single-shot 20 gauge, Stevens Model 220A, choked tight as a miser’s fist. Many years later I went to no small degree of trouble to learn what such guns retailed for at the time. In the early 1950s they sold for $25 to $30, and I imagine a shrewd shopper (and Dad certainly fit that description) could have found one for a few bucks less. I don’t know whether he ordered it from Sears & Roebuck (they were a great source for anything and everything in those days), had Doc Woody’s local sporting goods store get it for him, or obtained the gun through some other source. All I know is that it was new and came with a full box of number six shotshells. I may not have been loaded for bear (although I would subsequently get a couple of slugs, then known as “punkin balls”), but I was certainly primed to deal with squirrels, rabbits, quail, and grouse. Or maybe I should qualify that a bit. I was equipped to shoot at these commonly encountered game animals. Hitting them was another proposition entirely. Although I dealt quite satisfactorily with bushytails from the outset, provided of course they sat still as opposed to scrambling through the treetops, it would take many shots and the passage of two or three years before I somehow figured out the equation to hitting rabbits with some consistency. I never did really reach that point with quail and grouse, although that was more a product of the 20 gauge’s dense pattern than simple wingshooting ineptitude. On the other hand, had there been wild turkeys available to hunt in my boyhood (and I certainly would have given them a “go” had such been the case), it would have been an ideal beginner’s gun for America’s big-game bird. In fact, many years later, when I did gain my first exposure to a type of hunting which has since become an integral and supremely important part of my life as a sportsman, I took my first gobbler with the gun. That wasn’t of necessity—by that time I owned half a dozen shotguns—but for the simple reason of connection with my sporting roots. Today the gun shows plenty of signs of hard use over a long period of time. The original bluing is pretty well non-existent. The simple walnut stock and forend bear dents, scratches, and dings from countless forays into briar patches and over rough ground. Still, the fittings remain tight and the forend pops off and on with a satisfying snap. Mostly though, it’s what only one gun could be—my first. It put rabbits and squirrels on the table when I was in graduate school and the budget my wife and I lived on made anything beyond tuna casserole pretty much a non-starter. It was my staunch companion on a bird hunt with my father-in-law which enabled him to view me, for the first time, in a favorable light (and that had nothing to do with the fact he was a splendid wingshot who killed three or four quail for every one I downed). In short, it’s a treasure which to me is pretty well priceless even though its monetary value is minimal. I hope many of you have a gun which means as much. Thank you for subscribing to the
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