Ugly Guns

Note: The following article was written by my friend, William "Butch" Reid, a skilled, competitive trap shooter.  He has graciously shared it for readers of this Blog and it is hoped that he will become a regular contributor.

My love affair with the scattergun started at the grand old age of 12 when I became the sole inheritor of a 1950’s era Stevens 311 side by side.  This blocky, heavy, and unbalanced gun was complete with double triggers and chokes tight enough to head shoot hummingbirds at 40 yards. This was the gun that I learned to wing shoot with.

These painful lessons began on the opening day of dove season. Our yearly allowance of hunting was on opening day at my great-uncle, Newman Ferguson's farm in Sedalia, North Carolina: a small, 65 acre farm that held just enough cut corn for a decent day of hunting.

As an excited and aspiring bird hunter, I had visions of masses of doves falling from the heavens, victims of my trusty 311. Well I wish I could tell you that I put a serious dent in the dove population in Sedalia, but it just didn’t happen that way. Armed with that hulking double and 4 boxes of Remington field loads, I scored a total of a sore shoulder and a bruised ego that was further trampled when my aunt Patrice showed up late and proved that she could drop the quick darting little birds with little effort.

Even though my game bag was empty, I loved being in the field, the excitement of hearing someone yell "bird! bird!" and that wonderful smell of spent powder. In search of a reason as to why the birds did not fall to my gun, I concluded that I was the only one in the field poking at the sky with an old relic of a side by side.

I watched as doves fell to Remington 1100’s, Browning Auto 5’s, and one old, worn Franchi 48AL.  Yet, they safely passed my two barrels without fear. I was convinced that it was that ugly, mule kicking gun of mine that was the sole reason for an empty game bag and I vowed that when I grew up, I would have myself a slick looking automatic that seem to magically fill the dinner pot with fowl from the heavens.

They say that beauty is in the eye of the holder and, at 21 years of age, I purchased a new, Browning B 80, which was a pleasure to behold. I was so proud of this light weight shotgun, equipped with amazing, new screw in chokes, and I knew that it would be a "game changer". Soon, I would be king of the dove field with this modern marvel of the scattergun world!

The little B 80 didn’t let me down. The slick little Browning got me in and out of the field with a dove limit collected with a single box of shells. As much as I would love to give all of the credit to that wonderful, Belgian beauty, the fact is that I had simply learned to shoot.  However, I did feel more confident with a better balanced and aesthetically pleasing auto loader.

Yet, I have always been drawn to finely crafted shotguns. I think of a shotgun as more than a tool; it is a work of art!  There is a natural beauty in the craftsmanship required to mould fine walnut and blued steel into an equisitely balanced and functioning tool. I simply do not understand the trend and popularity of the  endless supply of UGLY shotguns.

The words fine, crafted, and balanced have given way to the terms, cool, bad, and sick. Sick? Yes, this is really the sad state of the gun market today. Fine walnut and blued steel have given way to plastic, carbon fiber, and baked on finishes that resemble the bottom of cast iron lodge wear. I have seen more than one tasteless Rambo "wannabe" salivate over a shotgun that looked as if it had been assembled with a set of Legos.

It truly frustrates me that big, American gun manufacturers have abandoned the art of building beautiful, high quality, heirloom pieces in favor of Hollywood movie prop, space-age junk. Anyone over 40 years of age has noticed the tasteless society that has evolved around us. No taste in music, literature, the silver screen, or firearms. I guess in modern, rapped English, if it ain’t black its whack.

In other words, if the gun isn’t high cap, laser equipped, red doted, railed, lit, and chainsaw gripped, it’s just not cool. I might be accused of being a gun snob at the local trap and skeet field, but I do frown when I see the sagging pants and untied shoe laces of the youthful trap shooter who approaches the firing line with his Sick and Ramboesque scattergun.

Contemporary wing shooters have been seduced by super lightweight polymers that kick like hell, so they purchase recoil reducers to tame them. Then, they must purchase high viz sight tubes and electronic optics, without ever learning how to use a bead--and, of course, this shotgun must be able to shoot the highest powered, 3 ½ inch magnum shells.  The doves and turkies of our modern era must be high on PCP or heroin, for the old and outdated 2 ¾ loads of yesteryear just can’t fill the bill.

I have even noted that Beretta has equipped their latest semi auto with a battery powered contraption that fits into the stock.  It will give the high tech wing shot a constant reading of the number of rounds fired and the current humidity in the atmosphere. This reminds me of the old saying about the fool and his money being soon parted.

I simply wish that people would refuse to accept the garbage that is being placed on the local sporting goods shelf and demand a quality product. I recently inquired  about ordering a Remington 870 classic trap gun and was informed that there were none available at this time. Remington stated that the demand for high quality items is so low, they build very few.

It sounded to me as if they were saying that the majority of American gun purchasers are seeking low quality, bottom of the barrel firearms. This is a Chinese manufacturing dream come true. You can have all the ugly, plastic, movie prop guns that you want and call it sick, I will take my second hand 1969 Browning Superposed with its fixed chokes, European Walnut, deep blued barrels, and hand checkering and call it fine.  On the range, I will be busting clays while you are putting high tech, ack ack in the air.