Uncle Larry's Model 99

When I was eight my Dad mounted a mule deer rack in the garage to serve as a coat-hanger.  He's told me the story of how that deer met his demise many times.  In prepartion of a Nevada deer hunt my Dad borrowed his Uncle Larry's Model 99 Savage.  This wasn't just any Model 99; it was a .270 Titus, sometimes called a .270 Savage.  The Titus, so I've read, was developed by gunsmith Bliss Titus of Heber City, Utah.  Essentially the .270 Titus is a 300 Savage necked down to accomodate the .270 projectile.  They are purported to be very accurate.

Anyway, Uncle Larry handed over his rifle with a box of hand-loaded rounds, and my Dad made some comment that he "only needed one," but Larry scoffed and sent my Dad on his way with a full ammo box.  The next day, as the sun rose over the Nevada desert my Dad spooked a nice mule deer in the bottom of a ravine.  The deer charged up the other side and my Dad squeezed off a round just as the buck reached the top and the sun's light  flooded the scope.  In the early morning silence my Dad heard him fall to the ground and die.  The shot was 450 yards and the bullet entered the deer's back between the shoulder blades.  At his van a pair of road hunters asked if he had seen any deer, to which my Dad, with blood all over his clothing replied "nope, not a one."  Back in Reno my Dad returned the rifle, ammo box, and empty casing to Larry, probably with some smart ass comment about how he only needed one.

I'm hoping I'm as lucky this year as I try to take my first deer using the same rifle my old man used to take his.  She's a real beauty and I feel honored just to be able to take it out of the house.

Oldie = Goodie

Like everyone I have some interesting relatives. Family gatherings are best spent listening to the same stories for the umpteenth time. A lot of the tales revolve around how my Dad and his brother and friends tried to give my Grandma a heart attack...there was the time Dad drove his friend's motorcycle off a cliff...or the time Grandma had to pick him up at a party because he had (temporarily) blinded himself. My sister and I can recite these chronicles word-for-word if called upon, but they're better told by the people that lived them. Besides, we'd rather listen anyway.

Of course you've figured my Grandma never waivered. She's a strong, tough woman of her generation. Her experiences prepared her for life as a mother of crazies, and I'm sure my Dad prepared her for a stint as a California parole officer. There was the one time a disgruntled parolee said he was going to come into the office and blow everyone away, so the entire office decided to start packing. Packing heat, that is. Grandma bought a snub-nose .38 special. Thankfully she never had to use it.

Recently, my Grandma gifted me her pistol, and now I own one of the props that we've been hearing about since I can remember. I was amazed when I first saw it. She still had the original box with manual, and inside she kept the check she wrote for $70 back on Oct 1, 1970. It's in near mint condition, and although it's no collector's piece, it's not for sale.