When I was a small child in California, dove hunting was a serious business. There was some duck hunting also, but it was an even more serious business. My Grandfather had a 3,000 acre farm complete with a fancy duck club that had several hundred acres of flooded fields, blinds, decoys and a club house for the swells that came up from LA to hunt. The funny thing about this is that I never in my whole life got to hunt our own club because it was a money maker and all the blinds were reserved far in advance.
We hunted dove as a family with all the Uncles and Cousins. I didn't realize this until later, but a dove was never shot on our farm unless a blood relative pulled the trigger. I was only allowed to jump-shoot ducks off the tail ponds, but never anywhere near the duck lease.
My dad was a funny guy. At some point he purchased a Savage 311 20 gauge for my Mother, but started my Brother and I off on 28 gauges. I had what I think was an old 1100 that kicked like a mule. Eventually that was sold off for some generic 28 gauge pump which kicked slightly less. In-between guns I had to shoot my Mom's gun, (pretty humiliating at the time). I was on fire with that gun and could really dust the birds. I remember that when the shooting was really good, the gun would get so hot that it wouldn't shoot anymore until it cooled down. If my Grandmother drove me out to shoot, she limited my shells and I remember getting 8 dove with 12 shells when I was 12 and she was disappointed that I missed.
We lost the farm in 88 and Dad ended up in the Pen for some shady dealings. The family fell apart, but through it all I hung on to the old Savage. I even shot it a few times, but the magic was gone and I couldn't hit a thing with it. I finally traded it in for a BPS one year.
Years went by and the BPS served me well, when a close friend died. His Widow asked me over and told me he had something put aside for my Sons. She handed me two LC Smith 20 gauges, a 1907 Grade O and a 1909 2E. The 2E was broken in two at the wrist and through the help of Dennis Earl Smith I was in action.
That catalyst was my downfall. After I started learning about Smiths it was "Katie bar the door." I've been on a tear ever since. My own kids are indoctrinated to SxS with double triggers. I haven't looked back since. The kicker to this story and the last piece of the puzzle I haven't fitted is that my last name is Merkel. Through my entire life, my Father lusted after a fine Merkel shotgun, long before the wall came down. He has long passed, but I have yet to scratch the itch of putting a Merkel into the cabinet, I've never even held one. Someday that will have to remedied.
