One thing my dad would allow my brothers and me to do, even at an early age, was to let us pick our hunting spots. While he would give his input and guidance the decision to where to sit was ours. The first year that I was old enough to hunt I pick out a small hill that over looked a valley that was divided by a small creek. The hill was on a neighboring property that butted up to my grandfather’s farm. We had permission to hunt and I took advantage. The weeds were high enough were I just took out a small stool and nestled myself on top. I could view quite a bit; I had a possible 300yrd shot in front with possible 100yrd plus shots east and west of me. Behind me was a gravel road and across that was one of my grandfather’s fields.

The rifle I was given to hunt with was a 1903-A3 in 30-06 Springfield. Someone took the top hand guard off and tried to cut the fore stock down. If memory serves me they did not do a good job. My dad took the sporterizing the rest of the way, finishing the stock with boiled linseed oil and mounted a peep sight on it. My dad was not a woodworker but seamed to do his best work on gunstocks. I really fell in love with the wood on this gun. The boiled linseed oil gave it a dark tone with a nice tight grain, American walnut I am assuming.  The problem was that at the time I weighed a stout 115lb. The gun was heavy and kicked like a mule, at least to 14 year old boy.

Opening day came, it was my first year I could hunt with a gun, it was kind of a right of passage. Instead of sitting at the farm house with binoculars watching everyone else, I was out there just like the grown ups. The day began like another opening day, lots of shooting in the distance and deer on the move. Early morning I saw a group of does east of me on the other side of the creek. They got my heart pumping but I was only caring a buck tag. That night I saw another group of does but still no horns. My dad was a little bummed, he was really hoping that I would get my first buck opening day.

Second morning came around and the deer must have caught on. I seen nothing the whole morning and my feet were getting cold fast. I finally give in and decide to walk back to the farm house to warm up. Instead of walking down the gravel road that lead to my grandfather farm house, I decide to cross into my grandfather’s field and walk the fence row up in the hopes of seeing something.

I walk in between two small trees that grew in the ditch and took a look around. As I looked to the east I was surprised to see a nice six point crossing the creek heading right towards me. I flip the safety off and put my gun up to my shoulder. The buck trotted 40yrds in front of me, never knowing I was there. My heart was pounding out of my chest; I pull the trigger and hit the buck right through the ribs. I quickly chamber another round and brought the gun back to my shoulder but decided to hold. Keeping my senses, he was slowly trotting away from me with his tail and head down. I could have pegged him again but realized that the first shot was fatal. The buck drops about 50yrds from where I shot him. The ammunition I was using was factory Remington 180gr core locks. As for the kick I did not feel a thing.

Two seasons latter I dropped a nice doe with that gun from about 85yards, knocked here down right were she stood. My dad had a chance to trade the gun for another, don’t remember what now. Being on the heavy side and not knowing the history I said to go ahead. I seen the gun a couple of years after that, a neighbor somehow ended up with it. It was now drilled and tapped and the bolt was poorly ground down to clear the scope, whole set up was poorly done. He has since moved and I really don’t know if he still has it. With every passing season I grow fonder of that 03’ and have grown to love the 30-06.