Like many of those I've met through Gunnutz, I seem to be happiest when I have one or more long term projects on the go. Usually that means booking a hunt and saving up for it over a few years. But when I turned 47, something in the dark recesses of my mind somehow decided that the looming "50" three years hence was somehow justification to plan a rifle project. Not just any rifle project, mind you. But "The Big One". You know what I mean. That one you always dreamed about, but never quite dared hope to make real.
For years, I had been in love with the elegance and style of the British gun trade back in the early decades of the 20th century. Those oh-so-beautiful beautiful bespoke rifles that always seemed to end up on an African safari, or on a tiger hunt in India. Back them, it just seemed to be pure magic when a German action ended up in the hands of a London gunsmith. At least, it was magic when the right London gunsmith was involved. But that was then, this was now, and it wasn't like I'd ever be able to afford to call up someone at Holland & Holland and order up a new rifle.
But still, the idea kept festering in my mind. Eventually, I started looking at having someone closer to home build the rifle. But who? I quickly realized that if I actually did this, I wanted the rifle to be something truly special, and to come from a shop that could do both the metal work and the wood work -- and to do both at the very highest level. If I was going to jump off the ledge and do this, I was only going to get away with doing it once, and I needed to find someone who would get it right the first time.
As I did my research and weighed my options, a few individuals made their way to my shortlist. Joe Smithson. Jim Brockman. N.L. Heineke. And a few more. But none of them seemed exactly what I was looking for. Some, like Smithson, seemed to have a pretty good handle on the British Express Rifle, but no one really seemed to completely dedicated to that style. Many borrowed heavily from it, but they didn't seem to really immerse themselves in it. The world had just moved on to more modern designs and tastes. But I knew what I wanted, and I kept looking. And looking. And looking. And then, to my utter astonishment, I discovered that the person I had been looking for all along was right here, right under my nose. So close I could just drive out and meet him.
So I did. On a vacation in BC in 2013, I made a slight detour and dropped in to visit Ralf Martini at his shop in Cranbrook. By the end of that visit, hands were shaken, papers were signed, and a rifle -- a very, very special rifle -- was commissioned.
During our initial discussion, Ralf and I covered a lot of ground. The rifle needed to be chambered in a useable cartridge. Not a big African thumper, but rather something practical that would allow me to use it on 99% of the things I chase. Everything from coyotes to moose (or, more romantically, everything from jackals to eland
. At the same time, the chambering couldn't just be something pedestrian. But it also couldn't be so esoteric that brass was going to be a problem in the future. It was a fun conversation, and despite all the twists and turns, it was funny how we both seemed to naturally drift to the same conclusion. Thus was born a .300 H&H.
There were a lot of decisions to make. Barrel length? Sure, 24" is about right for a .300 mag -- but why not go with the more authentically traditional 23-5/8" length? And yes, a red rubber butt pad was generally the norm on those old classic rifles, but then again, so was a leather-wrapped pad on the better guns. The quarter rib presented its own issues once I had selected the scope I wanted to use, and we looked at some different profiling options. Rear sight? On that we both agreed -- folding leaf sights look great, but really have no place on a working rifle that needs functional simplicity and 100% reliability, not complicated adornments that can confound things at an inopportune moment. And so it went, detail after detail.
Eventually, the conversation led us into Ralf's store room of wood blanks. Wow. Just ... wow! It took awhile to narrow down the options. Ralf was patient beyond belief, showing me the chosen blanks in a variety of lighting conditions, and wiping them down with a wet sponge in order to help visualize the finished results. These days, most of his rifles are made with Turkish walnut, and he had some truly lovely pieces of wood from that country. But there was one blank I kept coming back to, and looking at longingly. Ralf initially scowled a little. "I had kinda been saving this one for something down the road -- probably a big bore double rifle. The wood is a little denser than most of the Turkish blanks -- a little heavier too, but a little stronger."
"Yes," I replied. "And also, I think, a little prettier. Actually, a lot prettier." And really, it was. Beautiful rich grain, straight grained through the grip area, and (rarest thing of all) with good interest throughout the forend, not just in the butt.
Silence.
Ralf sighed.
"OK," he said, finally smiling. "So there goes my last piece of English walnut. I'd better start looking for some more."
We wrapped a few more details, and then I hit him with a very unique request. I didn't want his logo on the floor plate. I needed the space for something else.
"Your family's coat of arms?" he said. "Now THAT'S an interesting request. And not one I've ever had before."
I think that was when Ralf truly understood what I wanted him to build. It wasn't just a rifle for me. It was a rifle to be passed down from one generation to the next. It was a rifle that would not live its life in a glass case, hidden away like some rich man's rare artwork or expensive wine collection. This was to be a rifle that would see lots of honest use not just in my hands or my son's hands, but also in the hands of those not yet born.
And so there you have it. The plans were made. The deal was done. Nothing to do now but wait. Yeah, that's the problem when you commission a rifle from someone whose work is in such incredible demand. The waiting list is over 3 years long...
Three years later, my 50th birthday came and went. The rifle wasn't ready, but it was close. And Ralf very graciously took the time to photograph the project as it stood at that time and sent it to me as a birthday greeting. We were getting close. And 4 months later, we were finally there.
And so, without further ado, here we are. My apologies for the number of photos that follow. For those who think it's too many, you're not really Gunnutz. And, for all of you who love things like this, here you go!
Initial finishing of the stock...
Shiny bits of metal starting to come together...
A truly personal touch - the Anderson Family Coat of Arms: an oak tree girded by a leather belt, with the family credo: "Stand Sure".
Time for final fitting! Wood with 2 coats of oil (5 more still to go!) and metal in the white. 18 LPI flat top diamond checkering still to come (not as visually spectacular as a 24 LPI sharp diamond pattern, but vastly more durable over time on a working rifle).
Metal with all the engraving finally complete. The embellished mag release in the trigger guard makes me swoon!
And then at last, it all comes together...
So here I sit, with this rifle in one hand and in the other 2 cow elk tags for a hunt a week from now on the CF Suffield military base in southern Alberta. I think that will be a dandy way to break the barrel in properly, and to start building some memories
Now, the obvious question ... what the hell do I do with my other rifles?!?
For years, I had been in love with the elegance and style of the British gun trade back in the early decades of the 20th century. Those oh-so-beautiful beautiful bespoke rifles that always seemed to end up on an African safari, or on a tiger hunt in India. Back them, it just seemed to be pure magic when a German action ended up in the hands of a London gunsmith. At least, it was magic when the right London gunsmith was involved. But that was then, this was now, and it wasn't like I'd ever be able to afford to call up someone at Holland & Holland and order up a new rifle.
But still, the idea kept festering in my mind. Eventually, I started looking at having someone closer to home build the rifle. But who? I quickly realized that if I actually did this, I wanted the rifle to be something truly special, and to come from a shop that could do both the metal work and the wood work -- and to do both at the very highest level. If I was going to jump off the ledge and do this, I was only going to get away with doing it once, and I needed to find someone who would get it right the first time.
As I did my research and weighed my options, a few individuals made their way to my shortlist. Joe Smithson. Jim Brockman. N.L. Heineke. And a few more. But none of them seemed exactly what I was looking for. Some, like Smithson, seemed to have a pretty good handle on the British Express Rifle, but no one really seemed to completely dedicated to that style. Many borrowed heavily from it, but they didn't seem to really immerse themselves in it. The world had just moved on to more modern designs and tastes. But I knew what I wanted, and I kept looking. And looking. And looking. And then, to my utter astonishment, I discovered that the person I had been looking for all along was right here, right under my nose. So close I could just drive out and meet him.
So I did. On a vacation in BC in 2013, I made a slight detour and dropped in to visit Ralf Martini at his shop in Cranbrook. By the end of that visit, hands were shaken, papers were signed, and a rifle -- a very, very special rifle -- was commissioned.
During our initial discussion, Ralf and I covered a lot of ground. The rifle needed to be chambered in a useable cartridge. Not a big African thumper, but rather something practical that would allow me to use it on 99% of the things I chase. Everything from coyotes to moose (or, more romantically, everything from jackals to eland
. At the same time, the chambering couldn't just be something pedestrian. But it also couldn't be so esoteric that brass was going to be a problem in the future. It was a fun conversation, and despite all the twists and turns, it was funny how we both seemed to naturally drift to the same conclusion. Thus was born a .300 H&H.There were a lot of decisions to make. Barrel length? Sure, 24" is about right for a .300 mag -- but why not go with the more authentically traditional 23-5/8" length? And yes, a red rubber butt pad was generally the norm on those old classic rifles, but then again, so was a leather-wrapped pad on the better guns. The quarter rib presented its own issues once I had selected the scope I wanted to use, and we looked at some different profiling options. Rear sight? On that we both agreed -- folding leaf sights look great, but really have no place on a working rifle that needs functional simplicity and 100% reliability, not complicated adornments that can confound things at an inopportune moment. And so it went, detail after detail.
Eventually, the conversation led us into Ralf's store room of wood blanks. Wow. Just ... wow! It took awhile to narrow down the options. Ralf was patient beyond belief, showing me the chosen blanks in a variety of lighting conditions, and wiping them down with a wet sponge in order to help visualize the finished results. These days, most of his rifles are made with Turkish walnut, and he had some truly lovely pieces of wood from that country. But there was one blank I kept coming back to, and looking at longingly. Ralf initially scowled a little. "I had kinda been saving this one for something down the road -- probably a big bore double rifle. The wood is a little denser than most of the Turkish blanks -- a little heavier too, but a little stronger."
"Yes," I replied. "And also, I think, a little prettier. Actually, a lot prettier." And really, it was. Beautiful rich grain, straight grained through the grip area, and (rarest thing of all) with good interest throughout the forend, not just in the butt.
Silence.
Ralf sighed.
"OK," he said, finally smiling. "So there goes my last piece of English walnut. I'd better start looking for some more."
We wrapped a few more details, and then I hit him with a very unique request. I didn't want his logo on the floor plate. I needed the space for something else.
"Your family's coat of arms?" he said. "Now THAT'S an interesting request. And not one I've ever had before."
I think that was when Ralf truly understood what I wanted him to build. It wasn't just a rifle for me. It was a rifle to be passed down from one generation to the next. It was a rifle that would not live its life in a glass case, hidden away like some rich man's rare artwork or expensive wine collection. This was to be a rifle that would see lots of honest use not just in my hands or my son's hands, but also in the hands of those not yet born.
And so there you have it. The plans were made. The deal was done. Nothing to do now but wait. Yeah, that's the problem when you commission a rifle from someone whose work is in such incredible demand. The waiting list is over 3 years long...
Three years later, my 50th birthday came and went. The rifle wasn't ready, but it was close. And Ralf very graciously took the time to photograph the project as it stood at that time and sent it to me as a birthday greeting. We were getting close. And 4 months later, we were finally there.
And so, without further ado, here we are. My apologies for the number of photos that follow. For those who think it's too many, you're not really Gunnutz. And, for all of you who love things like this, here you go!
Initial finishing of the stock...
Shiny bits of metal starting to come together...
A truly personal touch - the Anderson Family Coat of Arms: an oak tree girded by a leather belt, with the family credo: "Stand Sure".
Time for final fitting! Wood with 2 coats of oil (5 more still to go!) and metal in the white. 18 LPI flat top diamond checkering still to come (not as visually spectacular as a 24 LPI sharp diamond pattern, but vastly more durable over time on a working rifle).
Metal with all the engraving finally complete. The embellished mag release in the trigger guard makes me swoon!
And then at last, it all comes together...
So here I sit, with this rifle in one hand and in the other 2 cow elk tags for a hunt a week from now on the CF Suffield military base in southern Alberta. I think that will be a dandy way to break the barrel in properly, and to start building some memories
Now, the obvious question ... what the hell do I do with my other rifles?!?
