SGW Gunsmith
Well-Known Fanatic
Christmas, 1960. For the past whole year, my school buddy and I have been bugging Mom & Dad about the Remington Model 66 .22 rifle that Tom Frye shot over 100,000 hand thrown 2½ inch square blocks using several of those rifles to put one bullet hole into. How GREAT it would be to get one of those rifles.
When I came downstairs and saw that longish box under the "real" Christmas tree, I almost burst into tears. There it was, my wishful hope of a Remington Nylon 66 Mohawk, all mine! I couldn't wait to call David on the phone to see how he did that morning. He was so elated he could hardly talk about how long it took to open that dog gone box that his older sister wrapped with a hundred sheets of paper. He got a Nylon 66 also.
That winter, at least until the end of January, when bunny season ended, we had tallied up 88 cottontail rabbits. His parents and mine got to be very tired of "hasenpfeffer stew" and wanted us to get something else for the pot instead of rabbits.
All small game seasons end with the last day of January, so we duct taped flashlights to the forearm of our rifles and headed to the 'open pit' dump toward dusk with a shared brick of Mohawk .22 rimfire ammunition with the intent of decimating the rat population that only prowled when evening came:
Those two 15-shot, fed from the tube going into the butt stock rifles, took out a bazillion rats along with a few skunks and raccoons that dared venture toward the LIGHT.
When I came downstairs and saw that longish box under the "real" Christmas tree, I almost burst into tears. There it was, my wishful hope of a Remington Nylon 66 Mohawk, all mine! I couldn't wait to call David on the phone to see how he did that morning. He was so elated he could hardly talk about how long it took to open that dog gone box that his older sister wrapped with a hundred sheets of paper. He got a Nylon 66 also.
That winter, at least until the end of January, when bunny season ended, we had tallied up 88 cottontail rabbits. His parents and mine got to be very tired of "hasenpfeffer stew" and wanted us to get something else for the pot instead of rabbits.
All small game seasons end with the last day of January, so we duct taped flashlights to the forearm of our rifles and headed to the 'open pit' dump toward dusk with a shared brick of Mohawk .22 rimfire ammunition with the intent of decimating the rat population that only prowled when evening came:
Those two 15-shot, fed from the tube going into the butt stock rifles, took out a bazillion rats along with a few skunks and raccoons that dared venture toward the LIGHT.