Favorites

The other day a pal of mine asked me where to get a new gun safe. When I asked what was wrong with the perfectly nice one he had, he said that it was full. “So sell some,” I wisely opined.

“I can’t,” he replied. “These are my favorites.”

I know the feeling. As I look through my little collection, all I see are favorites. Well, perhaps there is a temporary miscreant or two sulking in the corner, but by and large I love them all. The guns that didn’t fit in or fell out of favor are long gone.

What makes us like one shotgun so much more than another? For some of us it is the looks, for some the performance, for some the mechanics or even just the name. Then, of course, there is the sentimental side. It may have been your dad’s old beater or your very first gun as a young hunter.

One of my favorites always has been the Winchester Model 42 .410 pumpgun. The basic concept is relatively silly. It weighs as much as a light 12, shoots like my grade-school rubber-band gun and operates like something Rube Goldberg thought up. Four-tens are called “idiot sticks” for a reason. What sane person would want one of them? But I love those guns dearly. To me, they look attractive in a mechanical way. They are cleverly designed and have stood the test of time. Plus I like shooting the .410 at appropriate targets and moderate distances. For preserve quail over good dogs, the Model 42 is a hoot to shoot.

Then there is my old Webley & Scott 400 boxlock. Made around 1923, it was enjoyed by numerous owners before it came my way 25 years ago. The barrels have no bluing at the muzzles, the case coloring is long gone and the stock has been repaired a couple of times. The safety had been flicked on and off so often that I had to have the metal re-checkered. The gun never had thoroughbred provenance, but the light barrels of the old Webley and the ultra-slender stock wrist make it handle the equal of any London “best.” It was made when even a middle-class gun was done right.

But it is fragile and fussy. It keeps running, thanks to Abe Chaber’s talented gunsmithing, but I’m afraid to shoot it too much. Even though it is a 12, it gets only low-velocity 1-oz loads. But that’s enough for ruffed grouse, and that’s what counts. It probably would be more practical to swap it for a durable modern gun, but I’ll sell that Webley when I sell my dog.

Of course others think I’m crazy to mess with these guns. Perhaps you know what I am feeling here. Do you have a gun or two that you love dearly but doesn’t really make sense? Share it with us below, so that I know I’m not the only one cursed with sentiment and blind impracticality.

That’s it for now. Boots off. Beer open.