Issue link: http://www.e-digitaleditions.com/i/742011
S P O R T I N G C L A S S I C S • 65 Y ep, I'm a self-confessed, sentimental old slob. It's no secret. Actually, I was a sentimental slob long before I got old. I tend to form attachments to people and things, and once I'm attached, I'm attached. I don't let go easily! Some of my oldest, fondest attachments are to things that exist only in my memory. Old times. Hunts that we made 50 years ago. Places that I've been and probably will never see again. Friends that are gone and will never return. And sometimes all these elements seem to crowd together and metamorphose into one, with something serving as the lightning rod that brings a charge of old memories together, blowing through the insulation of the subconscious mind and surging into the conscious. I just had one of those experiences. As I write this, it's September, and I'm writing ahead, as usual in the magazine business. In "real time," we're all getting ready for "The Season." In my little corner of the world, dove season is the beginning of all the good stuff. It's the first opening, of course, but it's much more. It's a symbol of all that is to follow. We celebrate it in grand style, too, with gatherings of old friends, barbecues, and, of course, the dove hunting itself. Everything is planned to a "T." This year, because of a confluence of unusual events, I had a small quandary shotguns by robert matthews A LIFETIME OF MEMORIES WITH "THE OLD MAN." about which gun to shoot. In an ordinary year I'd just go to my current favorite or one of the many test guns tucked into corners of my safe. This year, though, a couple of test guns inexplicably didn't arrive when expected, and my current go- to guns were off in various shops having minor details addressed. And so, I just didn't have a standout selection for the "Holy Day." Time to rummage in the dark recesses of the gun safe. Move this, shift that, and suddenly an old face grinned back at me and said, "Where've you been so long?" It was "the old man," my beat-up, gray- patinated, plain-as-a-mud-fence Parker. The one that's been with me for what seems like eons and which I've described before as being "beyond price." It's the first gun that ever fit me well, and it instantly turned a duffer into a pretty fair shot. Except for the occasional rubdown, I hadn't had the old boy out in years, and he was long overdue for some field time. It's a Trojan grade, Parker's utility gun, and though it has all of the famous maker's quality on the inside, it has the refinement