Pennsylvania Game News - April 2022 - 62

the metal wraps.
George examined the soldered rib joining
the two barrels. Thankfully, he found
them unfractured. He likewise inspected
the bores of both barrels and pronounced
them safe for use with " low-compression
loads, " also known as blackpowder loads.
Then he looked at me after testing the
hammers and lock.
" If you're serious about shooting this,
come back to my farm on Saturday and
maybe we can scare up a few pheasants
to learn how that old gun works, " he said.
I returned, learning to load 80 grains
of 2Fg blackpowder, an over-powder
pasteboard card, a cushion wad, an equal
volume of lead No. 6 shot, and an overshot
card that tightly held everything
together at the breech so that it wouldn't
bump loose as we walked the cornfields.
When Irish setter Molly went on a solid
point near a bent-over cornstalk, George
nodded to me to flush the bird. I moved
in, waited the heartbeat-long moment
shared between hunter and hunted until
the bird flew, raised the shotgun and pulled
the trigger.
The gun didn't fire.
The fault was mine. For more than a
decade I'd hunted with a more modern
Ithaca 12-gauge - a hammerless model -
that was always was ready to fire when I
closed the breech.
Here, now, in the heat of the moment,
with a cackling ringneck launching skyward,
I'd forgotten to pull back the hammers.
It was a lesson learned.
Molly's next point revealed not one,
but two, cockbirds. George gave me a
chance to redeem myself. I did, but only
sort of.
This time, I set both hammers, placed
my fingers on the two triggers - as one
62
should never do - and both barrels went
off simultaneously. The result was a huge
explosion of feathers and one awe-struck
hunter who painfully learned another
lesson, about double-barreled hammer
guns.
Fortunately, the gun stayed intact.
Now fast forward about 50 years.
Armed with knowledge of ballistics,
blackpowder chemistry and the many
nuances of Damascus-barreled shotguns,
and having enjoyed success in the field
with rabbits and pheasants, I was ready to
take on the challenge of bagging a turkey
with my gifted gun.
May 1, opening day of the 2021 spring
gobbler season, found me set up along a
stone wall with mature hardwoods on one
side and a pasture on the other. I sat with
the sun on my face to ward off a chilly
morning, even if streaming shafts of sunlight
made it tough to see movement on
the forest floor.
The morning brought only calling and
waiting. But after more than 2½ hours,
two jakes came off the hilltop on my left,
spotted the two hens and jake decoy I'd
set up in the field, and began working their
way down.
About 15 minutes later, a loud gobble
boomed behind the indecisive jakes. In
less time than it took to inhale, they scattered
and a mature tom rushed down the
hill to the stone wall. He jumped on top,
then back down to approach the decoys.
Using the stone wall between us to
cover my hand movement, I set both
hammers to full cock and was ready when
the gobbler lost interest in the decoys and
came through an opening in that wall.
I picked a spot between trees and
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