Mustangs Rule
Well-known member
- Joined
- Feb 4, 2021
- Messages
- 1,005
Since his eyes did not work well anymore, he stopped hunting.
Over the stone fireplace in a home his grandfather built out of hand made adobe bricks, there was a Savage 99 in.300 Savage. His grandfathers rifle. The factory iron sights were a blur to him.
On one of my visits, I brought my rifle along and offered him the use of it.
It was a Safari Grade Belgium Browning Bolt action in 30-06.
He looked through the fixed 4x scope. Not good. I adjusted it and he could see much better, not great but more than well enough to go deer hunting.
He was amazed.
We walked away from his house, my rifle in his arms, as it had to be. This was tribal land. I could join him but could not actually hunt myself.
We walked past an old adobe horse barn that was returning to the earth.
Down the hill there was a group of huge rocks that looked like a natural fort.
This was once his people's village site. They had lived in these mountains for 10,000 years.
We got to a canyon overlook. A small stream was still running strong.
He sat holding my rifle in his lap and told me stories, stories told to him, by people who heard them, from other people who,,,,and on and on.
In the distance a golden eagle riding a thermal screamed loudly. He could not see it, but hearing the screeching, he suddenly put his hands to his mouth and screeched back. This caught me by surprise, then the golden eagle screeched back and kept circling us. The old man and the huge bird kept telling stories to each other.
They both sounded exactly alike. I could not tell them apart.
My friend laughed so loud and said he had not done that in a long, long time.
MR
Over the stone fireplace in a home his grandfather built out of hand made adobe bricks, there was a Savage 99 in.300 Savage. His grandfathers rifle. The factory iron sights were a blur to him.
On one of my visits, I brought my rifle along and offered him the use of it.
It was a Safari Grade Belgium Browning Bolt action in 30-06.
He looked through the fixed 4x scope. Not good. I adjusted it and he could see much better, not great but more than well enough to go deer hunting.
He was amazed.
We walked away from his house, my rifle in his arms, as it had to be. This was tribal land. I could join him but could not actually hunt myself.
We walked past an old adobe horse barn that was returning to the earth.
Down the hill there was a group of huge rocks that looked like a natural fort.
This was once his people's village site. They had lived in these mountains for 10,000 years.
We got to a canyon overlook. A small stream was still running strong.
He sat holding my rifle in his lap and told me stories, stories told to him, by people who heard them, from other people who,,,,and on and on.
In the distance a golden eagle riding a thermal screamed loudly. He could not see it, but hearing the screeching, he suddenly put his hands to his mouth and screeched back. This caught me by surprise, then the golden eagle screeched back and kept circling us. The old man and the huge bird kept telling stories to each other.
They both sounded exactly alike. I could not tell them apart.
My friend laughed so loud and said he had not done that in a long, long time.
MR
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