Michael McIntosh — 1945-2010

A tireless student of the gun and a skillful writer

I first became aware of Michael McIntosh in the early 80s. At the time there was a dearth of information on fine quality double-barrel guns. All we had was Don Zutz’s The Double Shotgun, which asked more questions than it answered. Hungrily searching Hackensack Public Library’s card catalog one day, I came across a reference for “The Best Shotguns Made in America.” The Dewey Decimal number led me not to a book but to the magazine section, where I struck pay dirt between the pages of The Missouri Conservationist.

I heartily consumed page after page on Parker Brothers, L. C. Smith, Ithaca, Lefever, Fox and the Winchester Model 21. Not cliché gun tests praising “gun-to-metal fit” and “outstanding internal ballistics”; here were well-illustrated, fact-filled histories written by a literate enthusiast. I thought “the literature professor meets Geoffrey Boothroyd,” but I was wrong. When I began corresponding with Mac after he kindly sent me the book version of The Best Shotguns Ever Made in America, I learned his inspiration was actually a chartered civil engineer named Gough Thomas.

Despite owning Thomas’s books, I never met the man. But Robin Brown of Birmingham gunmakers A. A. Brown had said his defining quality was “he hated to get things wrong.” Mac—like his mentor—hated to err, especially in print, and took a professional’s pride in researching and rewriting his scholarly articles. He was a tireless student of the gun and a skillful writer, two qualities that have not conjoined all that often in the history of firearms.

Round about the time I met Mac he added a John Wilkes shotgun to his modest collection of American classics. He wrote admiringly of British guns in general and John Wilkes in particular, generously allowing that they were superior to the homegrown product. Late in the summer of 1992 I happened to be talking on the phone to David Trevallion, Mac’s pal and co-writer, and made a comment about Mac’s Wilkes which had recently appeared between the pages of Shooting Sportsman. “Well actually it’s something of mystery gun” said David in his unmistakable London accent. “When we look up the serial number in Wilkes’s records it’s not the same gun.”

My friend and then-business partner Don Gustine happened to be with me, and as I put down the phone—even before I finished describing the mystery Wilkes—Donnie was shuffling through recent copies of Shooting Sportsman. He found a picture of Mac’s gun, we looked at it and turned, looked at each other, and then like a pair of cartoon twins, spoke as one: “W. J. Jeffery!”

Mac soon after received a letter explaining that his gun shared “a slew of characteristics with a Jeffery’s ‘best’ gun from the turn of the century.” Donnie and I then suggested Mac ask Holland & Holland, who at that time owned the Jeffery registries, to look up his particular gun number. In due course we received a letter from Mac dated October 5, 1992, which opened, “Well, my friend, reach around and give yourselves an honest pat on the back in praise of having an excellent eye.” It continued “So mystery solved, and I thank you again for putting me on the proper track.” The likely explanation was that at some point the gun was stolen, and the thieves, rather than alter the serial number, filed out Jeffery’s name and substituted John Wilkes’s.

Mac asked me not to reveal the truth about his Wilkes, perhaps a little embarrassed he did not recognize Jeffery’s house style himself. Like his mentor he was a proud man who didn’t like to get it wrong. He suggested the situation “… could be easily misunderstood and wouldn’t help anyone, I’m afraid.” I have to admit to being a little chagrined at the time because I thought it would make a good story, but I did as he asked out of respect for the man who had become my mentor.

— Douglas Tate

It is his friendship that will stay with me

I just learned of Michael McIntosh’s death over the weekend, and my heart is heavy.

I am deeply proud to have been the editor of several of Michael’s books. He was, without question, the best “natural writer” I ever worked with in a publishing career that has spanned more than 30 years. Early in our professional relationship (I think I was working on my first Michael McIntosh book), I remember saying to him over the phone, “I get the strong impression that all this comes very easily to you.”

He responded with one of his trademark drawn-out guffaws and admitted as much, his beloved pipe clicking against his teeth as he laughed. Michael’s ability to turn technical “gunspeak” into readable, fascinating, instructive—and even funny—prose will, I think, never be matched, by anyone.

And, when he wrote of the birds, dogs, and coverts he loved so much, Michael created for me and so many thousands of readers, scenes of extraordinary wildness, beauty, and often poignancy. Michael and I shared one such experience at dusk in a flooded Illinois cornfield, where his legendary skill with the double gun made my own efforts look precisely as clumsy as they were (and still are). But the big mallards he dropped that evening gave my big Lab some challenging work, and I clearly remember Michael’s dismissing his shooting as far less important than the skills the dog was demonstrating.

I’ve heard a few people say that Michael could act full of himself, but I never saw it. Ever. With me, he was always full of warmth, kindness, patience, and affection. Michael’s complete mastery of the written word will always inspire me, yet it is his friendship that will stay with me the most strongly.

This fall, as my current Lab and I take to the coverts of Maine, Michael will walk with me—just as he has in every season since I met him. When the first woodcock or grouse explodes in front of the dog, I’ll raise my gun, yes, but that bird will fly on, untouched. That one will be for Michael, whose spirit is now free and at peace among the Red Gods he so cherished.

— Chris Cornell

I have hunted quail in Georgia, chukar in Idaho and pheasants in South Dakota with Mac. I learned a few things about shooting from Michael, but most importantly I saw how one man could bring smiles and laughter to everyone around him.

I will miss Michael but I will enjoy the many memories and good times I enjoyed with my friend forever.

— George Hickox

Above all else, Mac was a wordsmith

Those of us who toil in the freelance wars always regret the loss of a fellow battler. Michael McIntosh was such a soldier and a good one. Many years ago, the former college English professor turned in his grade book to write magazine articles and to craft his own books. Forever the teacher, Mac’s instructions and opinions found their way onto the printed page—many printed pages, in fact—over a long freelance career. Along the way, he helped legions of appreciative readers to be better shooters and bird hunters. A thorough researcher, McIntosh knew shotguns, especially double guns, as well as anyone still living. His deep knowledge and love for them live on in the words he carefully and handsomely wrote.

I learned something from nearly everything McIntosh penned, an eclectic span not limited to adjustable triggers and other technical stuff. The travel pieces he wrote for Shooting Sportsman and other magazines had a lyrical, personal touch to them, allowing the reader to travel along vicariously. He wrote the occasional short story and at least one book of fiction: The Dogmen. Above all else, Mac was a wordsmith; anyone who aspires to the craft of good writing would do well to read any of his books, many of which were written in the 1990s when he seemed to hit full stride. Among my favorites are Wild Things, Traveler’s Tales: The Wanderings of a Bird Hunter and Sometimes Fly Fisherman, and Shotgun Technicana, a new copy of which Amazon will sell you for $170. Of course, we writers hope our books stay in print forever. When they don’t, the love-hate relationship with publishers who remainder them only intensifies. I like to think Mac got the last laugh before he exited this life.

They say you know a person by the company he keeps, but I found McIntosh to be a private man who kept largely to himself. That is not to say he was aloof or distant. The few times I met him at various sporting events, such as the Fieldsport Shooting School in Traverse City, Michigan, he was both engaged and engaging. I enjoyed our all-too-brief talks very much. He was not a close friend, more of a colleague or associate, but a man I always looked forward to seeing again.

My personal regret is not getting to know him better. I almost had that chance years ago when an Orvis dealer in New York State called to see if I would do a weekend seminar on bird hunting for customers. Naturally, we would shoot sporting clays, and I could offer “expert” tips on how to improve scores. “I’m not the man for that,” I said over the phone. “You need Michael McIntosh.”

The Orvis dealer agreed. I called Mac, who was both appreciative and enthusiastic. Together, we put together a plan and presented it to the dealer. For some reason, it didn’t pan out and the itinerary went into my “To Do Someday” file. Now that Mac has left us, I wish more than ever it had come to fruition.

— Tom Huggler

A gentleman and a scholar . . .

— Chris Batha