This is the one that got away that I cry myself to sleep at night over.
The .300 Winchester Magnum in the middle. That was my sweetheart. I bought that rifle off my buddy, who couldn't shoot it. I fired the first shot from that rifle, unsighted just for fun and knocked over a 300 yard steel pig offhand.
It started life as a model 70 Black Shadow, with a synthetic stock and matte bluing. One Fall I was walking back to my truck parked along a forestry road. I was following another old road and I looked at my rifle. Here I was in Gods country, surrounded by everything beautiful and I was carrying an ugly rifle.
I got home and swapped stocks with a beat up walnut handle. I stripped it down, fixed the dings and scratches and gave it several coats of Linseed oil, and rubbed it to smoothness with complete love. Then I stripped the metal down to the white, and cold blued the metal. The result was a brand new rifle that looked older, usually the opposite of what guys want.
Then I gave the rifle to a local gunsmith, (big mistake) and he installed the iron sights for my back ups. See, I was planning on a plains game hunt in Africa, and started saving a bit of money to go. Plans changed, but I still hope to go one day.
This rifle was extremely accurate, and loved Hornady's 165 SST bullet. It was so good in fact, that it would outshoot a fellow that I know with his .300 Dakota. I put so many rounds down that barrel that I could almost shoot it blindfolded. I sold it in a moment of weakness, and have regreted it ever since. Who ever you are that owns her now, if you feel sypathetic to me and want to sell it back, I'll take her off your hands for you.
The .300 Winchester Magnum in the middle. That was my sweetheart. I bought that rifle off my buddy, who couldn't shoot it. I fired the first shot from that rifle, unsighted just for fun and knocked over a 300 yard steel pig offhand.
It started life as a model 70 Black Shadow, with a synthetic stock and matte bluing. One Fall I was walking back to my truck parked along a forestry road. I was following another old road and I looked at my rifle. Here I was in Gods country, surrounded by everything beautiful and I was carrying an ugly rifle.
I got home and swapped stocks with a beat up walnut handle. I stripped it down, fixed the dings and scratches and gave it several coats of Linseed oil, and rubbed it to smoothness with complete love. Then I stripped the metal down to the white, and cold blued the metal. The result was a brand new rifle that looked older, usually the opposite of what guys want.
Then I gave the rifle to a local gunsmith, (big mistake) and he installed the iron sights for my back ups. See, I was planning on a plains game hunt in Africa, and started saving a bit of money to go. Plans changed, but I still hope to go one day.
This rifle was extremely accurate, and loved Hornady's 165 SST bullet. It was so good in fact, that it would outshoot a fellow that I know with his .300 Dakota. I put so many rounds down that barrel that I could almost shoot it blindfolded. I sold it in a moment of weakness, and have regreted it ever since. Who ever you are that owns her now, if you feel sypathetic to me and want to sell it back, I'll take her off your hands for you.





















































