I'm a guy who finds 10 large to be about the upper limit for a good gun, not even a good down payment on a respectable "best" as it were. And, after weekends like the past, where I took several falls in flooded timber that had come back with a vengence of grass that gave the pheasants someplace to be after the corn was gone, I wondered about owning a best while I flicked the mud out of the checkering, after one of the dogs shook it off himself to put it there. The Tobin 16 gave three birds with three rounds, my hunting companions now call it "Thor's Hammer". Being in the right place at the right time plays a huge part in a day like that, but, I forgot to mention that to them at the time.
What is to be gained? All of my ragtag collection of guns sold today could only at the very most realize a similar ragtag collection in replacement, sans the faded, but golden memories. My first repeater was a Remington 17, that I got on September 17th, 1977, which was also Roxanne's 17th birthday. It was a time I will never forget. After I ran a five+five with that little gun (five grouse, five woodcock, five rounds of ammunition for each species limit) no-one could have told me there was something better. Roxanne, all legs, blond treses, green eyes and a perfect smile is long gone, but the gun sure isn't. Hard to believe, but there was something better than her down the line, too.
Were I ever invited to a proper driven shoot, I'm sure the Tobin (or Darne, but, international incidents aren't my style) would get some strange looks, no ejectors and no matched mate, but I've no doubt the Yank and his quaint trinket would be permitted. I'd leave the pumps at home so as not to give my hosts indigestion, but remember quietly to myself that it was 50 aging American lend lease destroyers that likely made England as we know it today, a possibility. Best is as best does, and fawning over hunting implementaria in a gun room full of cigar smoke has never been my bag. Good enough will have to do.
Best,
Ted
