The RBL-16 has arrived!

And I'm about as pleased as I can be with it!
The laser engraving is far superior in hand than it appears in pictures or advertising. Same goes for the laser checkering. If I didn't know that it was applied by laser, I wouldn't have guessed. The slight darkening adds to the appearance, in my opinion.
I ordered 4X wood, was prepared to be disappointed, but was pleasantly surprised. The "money side" for a righty is better than the side showing in the case.. Both sides nice and smoky.
Chokes have been opened to Skeet/Light Modified and the abominable auto safety converted to manual, which is far safer where I come from! Onme applies the safety as habit, without coming to depend on a mechanical assembly to do it for us.. Anything mechanical is subject to wear and failure, so I'd much rather attend to this important detail myself to be sure it's done!
The stock was ordered pistol grip, with a splinter forend. The RBL splinter is rather large for a true splinter anyway, so I thought it a good choice over the more bulbous, but very attractive beavertail..
The new shotgun has only been here a few hours, so I still in the "fondling stage.." There will be more pictures and updates to come as I go over the new edition with a fine tooth comb, and soon put it through it's paces..

It's been a long time comin'...

But I finally got the call I've been waiting over 9 months for, and I can finally type the words I've been waiting so long to type.. For those that are not into "RBLspeak," those infamous words are "Carol called!" Every soul who has waited and waited on a CSMC RBL will recognize that phrase.
I got the call about 2:30 yesterday afternoon. My wife, who answered the phone, stuck her head oput the door and said "Connecticut Shotgun is on the phone.."
Now, I may be a bit arthritic, but those words got me movin' in pretty good shape!

So, the long awaited RBL-16 will be here next week, and at the moment, I feel like a kid in a candy store... Let's hope the 16 gauige RBL leads me to shotgunning nirvava..

A Special Treat

The following article has impressed me immeasurably over the years. It's one of the funniest pieces of gundog related literature I have ever read, and whenever I think that dog out there in front of me should do everything right, in spite of the fact that when it becomes my turn to perform, I can't, I try to remember this article. I get a laugh all over again, and it puts the whole reason we're out in the field with a dog into perspective once again!
My thanks go out to the author, Mr. Joel Vance, for his kind permission to reprint the article here, in it's entirety..
I know our readers will get just as much from it as I have every time I've reread it over the last 20 plus years..

So, without further adieu..

Guff's Bad Day

By Joel M. Vance

They say every dog has his day, but when Guff had his, planets collided and stars rocked in the firmament.
Now, there are good days and bad days. This was a bad day. Well, saying it was a bad day was like saying an encounter with the guillotine is "a little owie."
You must understand, Guff is my pride, my talented child, the kid who just spelled "anopheles" in the Spelling Bee finals.
Guff is a dog.
Not just any dog, you know, but a French Brittany who has enough Gallic blue blood in his background to out-do the house of Burgoyne. His grampa was a champ and his daddy was a champ. Most of his uncles and aunts win field and bench shows nationally and internationally. They look on Westminster as "that silly little American show."
Guff is short for "McGuffin" which is what Alfred Hitchcock called the gimmick in all his movies that all the good guys and the bad guys sought. The McGuffin is what everyone wants.
McGuffin is an ardent hunter who will come out of a sound sleep if someone murmers "birrrrrd!" He is broadchested with the typical butt-sprung gait of Brittainies. He has several bird seasons under his orange and white hide which have included just about every game bird in North America-ruffed grouse, sharptailed grouse, woodcock, pheasant, quail. He has worked them all, growing as reliable as Mr. Goodwrench.
Guff has a cute little freckled nose that makes cute little freckled girls gush over him, so I take him to a lot of places where there are many cute little freckled women.
He loves attention, thrives on affection, does adorable things that make you just want to hug him. God! I envy him!
Large men in brush pants no doubt are gagging at the thought of hugging a bird dog unless you're trying to squeeze some sense into it, but I love my dogs and we share pretty much everything.
For example, I buy a sack of caramels every time we come north to the pine woods to hunt ruffed grouse and woodcock. Some are for me, some are for Guff, most for the family dentist who enjoys replacing my fillings and taking his own vacations in more southern climes. But the caramels keep our energy up as we stumble through God-forsaken swamp edges where the footing is somewhat like break-dancing on a pool table covered with ball bearings.
Because Guff is first a quail dog, he has trouble with grouse. Since he only sees them once a year, he tends to forget they aren't just big quail who will sit right under a French Brit's black nose as if skewered there with a dirk.
Instead, grouse are stupid birds, brainless and indecisive. Anything foreign in their environment throws them into a mindless confusion that usually leads to movement-they either walk off or fly up in a tree where they can be taken in what one of our hunters euphemistically refers to as "the pre-flight position."
A French Brittany creeping forward like a roan cat definitely qualifies as "foreign" and Guff has trouble realizing that he must instantly freeze at the merest whiff of grouse stink, no matter the direction, that he must not try to locate that smell or make it grow stronger. He must learn that a bird spotted on the ground walking around is not crippled and will fly if you try to catch it.
So, it is understandable that he has the occasional bad day. But this bad day was the Johnstown Flood compared to an overflowing toilet.
Guff started it by falling off his bed. He'd sneaked up on the overstuffed chair in the old cabin where we stay, and probably dreaming of cute little freckled ladies, rolled over and onto the floor with a thump that woke everyone up.
We all thrashed around in bed, grumbled a bit, and went back to troubled, interrupted sleep. God knows what Guff dreamed about, but no matter how wild his reverie, it couldn't have approached the reality that was fast approaching him.
I was expansive at breakfast, telling a disbelieving audience in the log cabin where we shuck civilization that I had reformed.
"No more screaming at the dog," I said and they smirked. "No," I protested, "I mean it. Just not worth the hassle. Besides, the dogs have settled down and I just don't need to run them down and speak long and earnestly at them. We're both mature now." I smiled paternally at Guff. Me and my doggie, finding grouse, shooting them, a scene to warm the cold, revered shade of Burton Spiller.
I spoke the words and believed them. Ah, the words with barbed wire wrapped around them, the toughest kind to digest when you have to eat them.
"Zen dog training," Ted Lundrigan said. "I'll swallow that when I see it."
Ted and I walked the edge of a doghair popple stand which crowded a pasture. I searched the thick saplings in vain for the noble sight of my dog, descendant of champions, as he coursed the covert. Then a movement caught my eye, in the field beyond.
There was my noble dog snacking on a cowpie, his shoulder drooped and twitching, like Charles Laughton in "The Hunchback of Notre Dame," ready to roll in what he didn't eat.
It may come as a shock to new dog owners to think that their endearing companions would eagerly snack on bovine biscuits, but life with bird dogs is filled with such taut moments of unhappy discovery.
My Zen calm went out the window when I roared ancient Anglo Saxon while Ted tried to pretend he was hunting alone.
I lost it again after the third point Guff busted. Zen went the way of my resolve never to touch Scotch and Water again, never to buy another shotgun, never to lie about my shooting.
I laid curses on Guff that you couldn't cancel with an exorcism. I held him by the cheeks while I explained in dog language what I expected. Dog language is sheer, roaring filth that even the most inane creature comprehends.
Perhaps Guff pointed a grouse that day, but if so it was done while I wasn't with him. I do know that he busted at least a half dozen birds, most of which had been nailed by Ted's setter, Salty, until Guff came along like a derailed cattle car.
You can steal a man's children, corrupt his wife, ruin his business, even insult his baseball team-but let your bird dog bust up a point that his bird dog has made and you've really ticked him off.
Ted began to look at Guff as if he were head lice, then looked at me as if I were the head.
I muttered about "competition" and "doesn't realize you can't lean on grouse" and Ted muttered something about "take that dog's head off with a two-by-four."
Salty was becoming jittery, Ted was becoming, well, homicidal is the word that springs to mind. Fortunately, the sun took pity on me and started to go down.
We headed back to Pine River. Guff, of course, had to assistant-drive, his face between us, panting a fog of recycled manure.
Back in the cabin I regaled a bored audience with tales of Guff's misbehavior. "He was disgraceful," I said. "He made every mistake in the book and invented some new ones. He was terrible." As I spoke, Dave Mackey's face grew alarmed and I thought it was with horrified sympathy. It wasn't.
"Watch out!" Mackey exclaimed. "He's sick!"
Guff threw up on the carpet behind me, a slurry of awfulness that took an hour to clean. Clearly this was a dog beset by devils, a victim of black magic or a curse. The Red Gods were playing dodge-ball with my dog and me.
Guff looked at me with a sick apology and suddenly I felt sorry for the little guy and tried to consider the big picture. After all, for every bad day, he'd given me so many good ones. For every point he'd busted, he'd made a dozen good ones in the past.
I tried to correlate the day's experience in human terms and the television set helped me. The St. Louis Cardinals had just won their way into a tie with the San Francisco Giants behind shutout pitching by ace John Tudor. Tudor had pitched like a Little League dropout his previous game; couldn't do anything right.
Obviously, even the best have their off days.
So, I relented and petted the little dog and he sighed heavily and pouted off to a corner to lie atop Dave Mackey's hunting pants, which were draped over his box of ammo and gun cleaning gear.
We watched "The Equalizer," whose methods of correction (throw them through brick walls, etc.) were close to those what I'd considered all day long for Guff.
Dave picked his pants up the next morning and they were dripping with WD-40. Guff had laid on the nozzle of the full spray can and emptied it.

His bad day was complete...

_________________________________________________________


My thoughts..
I first encounted this great little story in 1988, in the September/October issue of Gundog magazine. It made a great impression on me, and I've often thought about it over the past 20+ years. Any person who cruises the glorious uplands with a dog must surely be able to relate to this story.. If not, you've had better luck than I , or just have not spent enough time with gundogs as of yet!
What also is obvious from the story is the great bond that existed between Guff (pictured above) and his partner, Mr. Vance.
Once again, I'd like to express my thanks to Mr. Joel M. Vance for his permission in allowing me to reprint "Guff's Bad Day" here.

Mr. Vance has many more books that should be of interest to readers here. On Conservation, and his lifelong love affair with the uplands and French Brits.

An odd turn

Due to the dearth of 16 gauge reloading supplies, I've taken a direction that I never thought I would take, and one that flies in the face of everything I thought I once knew about reloading shotshells. But, part of the mystique of the "Queen of the Uplands" is finding new solutions and exploring new avenues. The Sixteen makes it a near necessity.
Upon the recommendation of a couple of savvy reloaders who's opinions I trust without question, I picked up some Gualandi 2025 20 ga. wads from Precision Reloading for use in the Remington Game Load hulls that I've yet to empty.
I have heard about using 20 ga wads in 16 ga hulls for some time, and there is data to support it's use on the Low Pressure Reloading Group's site, but it just never sounded right to me.
But, I've since learned that the black RGL hull has a small internal diameter, and the Italian wads seem to have a relatively large skirt diameter.. Hence, not a bad fit in 16 ga. hulls like the black Remmie..
So, it's yet another 16 gauge adventure to explore while awaiting the somewhat tardy, and let me add maddening, arrival of the RBL-16..

BTW, stay tuned in the next couple of days for a little story that I think many will find amusing, and well worth the wait..

And, for some cool little video of some Red Dawgs workin' birds on the North Dakota prairies, pay a visit to our friends at A Piece of the Purest Challenge. Click the links and watch some stylish broke Red Setters in action.. Great stuff!

Enjoy the day!

And if you need more proof...

Well, here it is!
I've been harping on this subject of animal, and canine in particular, intelligence for a long time. And it appears that mainstream Science is starting to come around to my way of thinking, and giving the dog his just due for reasoning.
Now, I not only prefer spending time with my dogs on an emotional level, I also appreciate the intellectual stimulation..

Read all about it here, at Science Daily...

The banes of summer...

And another one has befallen us... Hotspots.
Sandy, our smallish English Setter, is currently suffering from them. She's been shaved in the problem areas, and currently looks like a patchwork quilt!
She previously had a minor spot on the ear. After a 4 day trip to the Adks, with free running and it's concommitment wetness and small skin lesions, many hotspots took hold in the matter of about a day.
An elevated temperature followed, so once again, it was off to the Vet's office for antibiotics and topical meds. She's looking a good bit better already, but she also needs another Lyme treatment also, so more antibiotics..
Summer never was my favorite time of year, but this just makes me despise it even more..
Next year, it's a complete shavedown for this little girl before the "dog days" strike!

What's new?

No, I'm not talking about the old Linda Ronstadt torch song, but a new blog devoted to the Field Gordon Setter by my old friends the Thomasons of Montana. I recently received an e-mail from Dan with the announcement.
The new blog is called Gordon Setter Crossing. It will be very informative because there are not many folks as well versed in the Field Gordon as Dan and Karen Thomason. Many will remember their great old Gordon Peat, who was written up in so many National magazines.
So, check the new blog out, and as is my custom, it will get top billing for a time in the blog roll...

Now, go listen to some old Linda Ronstadt!

Answer to an age old problem

Dogs have had fleas for, well, as long as there have been dogs. It's a problem that has dogged the dog, and it's human companions for millenia.
The latest crop of systemic topicals like Frontline and Advantix have virtually wiped out the scourge, and made living with pets in the home much more pleasant, but I've found that their powers against ticks less than spectacular.
All that may be changing, and dosing made a bit easier thanks to a new pill being studied. Once a month... Down the throat 'ya go! What's easier than that? and hopefully, with enhanced effectiveness to fight ticks, which would certainly be good news!
You can read all about it in Science Daily...
And thanks to our friends at A Piece of the Purest Challenge for bringing it to our attention.

An abuser's sentence ending

Michael Vick, the onetime football star and convicted animal abuser is soon to be released from prison. In my opinion, faaaaar too soon for the atrocities visited upon helpless animals by this sadist.
It's no secret that I have little use for anyone that could commit such acts, and my hope is that no NFL team will pick him up and once again the lavish lifestyle that the NFL can afford a person.
Any team considering picking him up will hear from me, and hopefully everyone who believes in giving animals the respect they deserve.

Rant over...

Enjoy your Monday.

Fancy wood, and its appropriate use

I'll be the first to admit it.. I'm a sucker for a fancy piece of walnut!
That said, pretty wood never grassed a bird, but I've yet to meet anyone that doesn't drool when they see it..
But, should wood be commensurate with the relative value of the gun it's applied to?
I think it should! In my opinion, a shotgun marketed to the serfs, like myself, looks a bit out of place wearing the highest grades of walnut. I often prefer a more subdued stick.. Something that looks like a working gun instead of a showpiece.
Can wood be too fancy? I think it can! A friend once had a Beretta ASE with fantastic wood. I shot that gun well the first, and only, time I picked up, and marveled at the figure in the buttstock. The figure was so pronounced and beautiful, that it almost did not look real... Like a piece of plastic!
Some of the wood that is today marketed as "high grade" also shows flaws that would have never passed muster in years past. Knots, and areas that were obviously the remnants of the start of branches. But, as full figured walnut becomes more and more scarce, and more in demand, second quality pieces will also get the nod on the guns of some folks.

So, I like nice wood. But I also like wood with pleasing figure, but an understated elegance..

We'll soon see what shows up on a new gun!

Another celebrity passes ..

And this one, also very famous!

This celebrity has touched many lives, and taught us about strength and stoicism..

Read about it here....

Confucius say...

“He who learns but does not think, is lost! He who thinks but does not learn is in great danger.”

From the great teacher... Think about it and enjoy the weekend!

What day do you bathe?

I study and follow some ancient Celtic traditions. I don't know if it helps in any way, but I figure it sure can't hurt!
I won't bore everyone here with my bathing practices, but I thought that some might find the old Celtic notions of some value.
This is taken from the website Celtic Callings..

Bathing Rituals:
Bathing is popular magick because it is a reunion with the element of water. Baths can be effective in helping the ill to recover. To purify the body, mind & soul add some salt or bath salts to the tub and soak. The salt neutralizes the negativity. Salt also aids in healing. Silver Coins placed in the bath insure money in the future. Collect the first snow of the Winter and add it to your bath. Helps to keep you healthy. Bathing Hours: Morning - increases beauty. Afternoon - luck and fortune. Night - enhances psychic awareness. Bathing Dates: Mondays - just prior to sleep - increases prophetic dreams Tuesdays - Increases passion. Wednesdays - strengthens intellect. Thursdays - brings money. Fridays - helps find love. Saturdays - brings patience. Sundays - brings strength and health. Winter Solstice or Beltane - bath with a penny wrapped in a washcloth -brings good fortune. Add herbs to the bath to help with medicinal or ritual purposes.

Give it a try for any mystical powers you'd like to enhance...

Boredom... And the clay target shooter

There's no question in my mind that clay target games, as with most games in general, are infinitely more fun when one is shooting well. If a person is not breaking many targets, interest can be lost pretty quickly... But, can interest and committment also be lost when one is breaking virtually every target?
Now, I'm certainly the last guy that can lay claim to breaking every target that's been thrown for me, or even close to it, but when I used to shoot lot's of skeet, I could run hundreds with sub-guage tube sets. I don't consider that feat enough to consider myself a gifted shotgunner, since I always opined that I could have a chimp shooting straights before a human given a goodly supply of bananas! Why?? The chimp wouldn't overthink his targets, and he'd be unafraid to miss. Hence, none of the "between the ears" foibles that we humans are often prone to.
So, is an easy game like Skeet still fun when you're breaking all your targets? Where is the incentive to improve? What is the next goal?
I've often marveled at dedicated Skeet shooters for their committment and dedication... pounding away at the same targets day after week, after agonizing year! I've pretty well documented how I suffered from "Skeet burnout," and how many years it took me to be able to shoot the occasional game again and get a little bit of satisfaction from it.
Maybe I'm easily bored, but I guess the answer for me is the ability to break enough targets to remain interested, and not too many to get bored. Thus far, Sporting has allowed me that, although even there, there is nothing new under the sun. But at least the presentations can be broken up a little..

My point?? Maybe I don't really have one, and I'm just offering food for thought on yet another rainy Wednesday....

Making a mark

How does an animal as commonplace as a dog leave it's mark on the fabric of the Universe? What could be done to possibly make a difference in the great scheme of things? How can one dog touch a life and leave an indelible impression? What could possibly be done for that one dog's pawprints to leave imprints on the ages?

Field Trial placements?? It could be one way, but they're soon superceded and forgotten, except for a handful of great ones, and even those are soon surpassed. No, I'm convinced that a dog make's it's mark on time by how much it is loved by it's human family. How much of a difference it has made to the lives of it's human companions. How much the gentle temperament of a dog has allowed it to integrate itself into a family, and how that dog has become an important part of a family..

Dogs don't last long. It's a cruel joke that God has played on man, giving the man seventy years or more, and the dog only ten.... If I made the rules, it would be the first thing I would change... So, we have to make the most of the time allotted.

Sandy came to us at about a year old. She was mishandled as a pup, and given away. She had already made a few stops in her young life. When we met, she was being kenneled and was profoundly unhappy. She'd eat enough to keep herself alive, and no more! Everyone could plainly see that something was wrong with this little 30 pound Setter, but no one could understand what it could be. All the other kennel dogs were happy and animated. I was asked if I could find a home for her... She would not make it as a FT performer because of her headstrong ways, but she had genes that folks would like to tap into, so the proviso was the right to breed her.
I thought and thought for a long time as to where she could be placed, and always came up blank. I soon realized it was because I wanted to help this sensitive little dog myself. So, Sandy had already touched me in a small way.

We took Sandy and never looked back! She won't do her birdwork the way I want her to do it! She does it her way! That doesn't always please me, but she atones in so many other ways.
When I call her into me, she comes with a look of total adoration in her eyes and a little wiggle! I know she would do anything for me, and I for her! She's touched my life in ways that are both strange and wonderful.. My life has been enriched by being afforded the opportunity to enrich hers.

So, to me it's quite simple... A dog make it's presence felt for all of time by how much it is loved, and how much that love is returned. And by those criteria, no champion could ever make a stronger statement than my little English Setter... Sandy.

Smarter than your average bear..

and that's pretty darned smart!

This story reminds me of my youth when we used to vacation in Long Lake, N.Y., and the Saturday night fun was going to the local dump to watch the antics of the resident black bears. They never failed to put on a great show, and it was better than sitting in a Drive In movie watching a somewhat boring flick!

Check out the Adirondack Explorer blog for the story of a highly intelligent black bear, and prepare to be amazed!

An Ancient Relationship

The relationship between Native Americans and wolves is one that has existed before recorded time, and has persisted and remained strong throught the millenia.
A wolf/dog hybrid was recently trapped on the Akwesasne Mohawk reservation near St. Regis in upstate New York, hard on the Canadian Border. The incident has caused some cultural differences to once again be felt.
I'm not a proponent of caging wild animals, even for educational purposes such as in zoos.. Were I one of these animals, I'd prefer euthanasia to a life caged..

Here's an audio clip from North Country Public Radio, an NPR outlet, that offers some insight into the complex relationship between Indians and the wolf..

Product Endorsement

The staff at "The Bombshell" is specifically prohibited from accepting gratuities, or perks of any kind for product endorsements, chiefly because we consider it inappropriate, and in reality, because no one has come forward and offered us anything. But, there are exceptions to every rule, and this will be one.
A plug for Canon, the folks that bring you great camera gear... I've got an old A-85 P&S from Canon... My first digital camera, and it's probably six years old. Just last week, in shooting mode, the screen displayed purple and green lines.. akin to static on a TV from the old days..
A quick look through google turned up the fact that this is not an uncommon problem with this series camera, and that Canon had an ongoing program to fix these cameras.
A call to Canon confirmed that the repair, and even shipping is free to install a new sensor. The technician explained that the camera was essentially going "blind," and that after the repair, it would, in all probability continue going strong for another six years..
Where can you get service like that today? They e-mailed a pre-paid shipping label the very next day. The only thing I need to do is box it up and drop it off at the local UPS Store..

Kudos to Canon for producing a great product, and for standing behind it!!

"To choke or not to choke.....

.... that is the question"

I guess it's safe to say that my one-time love affair with the now ubiquitous choke tube is over... and has been for some time.
I much prefer fixed chokes... for aesthetic reasons and due to the fact that fixed chokes can, and do deliver better patterns on target. While I have no empirical evidence to support my contention, it exists between the ears, and the key to successful shotgunning resides between the ears. So, if I believe it to be so, for me it is so!
I'm also of the opinion that modern ammunition does not require the degree of choke that was once necessary. I've proven to myself how far .008 of choke in the twelve ga. can reliably break a target, and it's much farther than most people would think..

Changing choke tubes is, to me at least, like changing dimensions on a adjustable stock... We can just get into too much trouble by doing it. It takes one's concentration off of the situation at hand, and becomes a distraction unto itself..

Sometimes when we're not shooting as well as we believe we should, we seek to make a change... and I guess that's OK. But, chokes and stock dimensions that worked before are, IMO not the place to go looking for answers..

Perhaps one of the motivational tapes placed under one's pillow at night... "You are great... You are great... You are great... You ar.....

Enjoy the weekend... and pray for some sun!

The Midnight Ramble

A little different take on things today, for we'll touch down a bit on the world of Music, and an opportunity for New Yorkers..
I don't know how many folks remember the great Levon Helm, of The Band, but Levon hasn't gone anywhere and is still masking great music. Some may remember Levon Helm as the character Jack Ridley, the flight engineer for Chuck Yeager in The Right Stuff..
Levon has gone on to many things musically, and still works with the loosely connected Levon Helm Band..
Well, Levon calls central New York home, and has a large timberframe home and recording studio in, where else, Woodstock, N.Y.. Here, he and his band and musical guests perform "Midnight Rambles".. kind of homey jam sessions. Anyone could possibly show up to jam with Levon and the band..
I've been wanting to get to one of these "Rambles" for some time, but like a lot of things I want to do, it's been put off. But, be aware that this trip is on the "bucket list' of things to do.

Check out Levon Helm's website, and don't forget to go to the audio/video area and click on some of the audio clips..

And, for those that may ever be in the area of the Catskill Mountains, shoot me an e-mail and possibly we can attend a Ramble together with the wives.. Seem's like it would be a helluva night!