guns – handle with care – don’t look down the barrel

I remember a hunter (I should not call him a hunter, the poor man was more an idiot than a hunter), that shot a fox, walked up to it, the poor fox was still alive. The “hunter” did not want to waste another bullet, turned his shot-gun around and hit the fox on the head with the butt. The second barrel was also loaded. That was the last thing he did.

In the newspaper VG today was another “hunter”.  See clip. Man, count yourself very,  very lucky.!id=50916  there is a few second ad first, then some funny clips, but this one at the end, is not.

I used to know a few facts:  The waiters in New York says: “It is easier to tip a canoe, than to get a Canadian to tip” ” More Canadians die of being kicked by a moose, than drowning in a canoe accident”

A hunting friend was very proud that he finally killed his first moose. He shot, the moose kicked, walked a few steps and dropped dead. My friend put his gun up along the moose, got his camera, ready to take a picture of the kill, the moose decided to get up and walk away. Another mistake is to see the moose drop, put the gun aside, take the knife to bleed it, and the momentary stunned moose get up and kicks the hunter to death.

In the Norwegian Kings Guard we had rigorous gun training. I was a hunter prior to this, but still learned a lot of discipline needed around guns. One day, while target shooting, one fellow emptied his eight rounds early and got up, turned 90 degrees and fired his final bullet right over our heads, he had counted wrong, and got a few days in the cooler to learn how to count.

Also in the Guard, at night duty at the summer palace, a fellow guard saw something moving on the fields one foggy night, and yelled “Stop”, 3 times as he was instructed to. Then he fired a few shots. The old Garand army rifle had a clip of eight bullets, the first five blanc, just in case. That was good, because the cows became scared and ran back home to the barn, unharmed. He spent some time in the cooler too. I assume The King woke up.

A good friend of many of my friends, rich, successful accountant, with the nicest Jaguar I ever had a ride in, went hunting with a few buddies. At a hunting resort with guides, he tried to climb on to his horse with a loaded gun, that was the last thing he did. Good Bless you Kenneth ……. I hope the guides lost their licence to guide.

Living up north for a few years I learned how to live with guns all year.  A couple of families with their kids went for a Sunday hunt down Francois lake. A ten year old boy was eager, and climbed up the hill in front of the others. He was killed by one shot, of a family member, that thought saw a black bear climbing up the hill.

Leonard ……… , a native I would call a friend, I meet him often, gave him rides if he was on the road, he was a bright young man. One winter night, at an all night party he was shot in the back of the head with a 22. Next day he was found in the snow bank behind the house. He was clinically dead, but the ambulance took him the 3 – 4 hours drive to Pr. George anyway. Sometimes later he got up, with the bullet still in his brain. I met and talked with him many times after. He had no grudge to the fellow that shot him. He wore a hat not to show any scars. Reading in the paper, the RCMP needed the bullet as a proof to charge the shooter, the doctors did not dare to remove it. No see you for a long time Leonard, hope you are still around and well.

Hunting you are supposed to wear an orange hunting cap. A friend of mine thought me never to wear anything orange, he wanted to blend in the woods. His father was a big game outfitter, and not a nice man. We carried guns, but did not hunt, we scrambled through his fathers hunting territory, and scared all the game away, nobody did see us. Lots of excitement, and a good satisfied feeling when getting home after a long day.

Many years later, just hiking in the back woods with my border collie, a couple of pick-ups came by on a gravel road, way out in the bush. They must have seen something, and started firing  their guns. The dog and I dropped down behind some bushes, and lay dead quiet, only about 50 yards away. Still full daylight. With anything orange on they might have seen us. In their drunken state, they would shoot at anything. Both the dog and I were still shaking, when we finally made it back to my cabin.

In public school, and friend of mine, Bjarne …., opened a bunch of bullets to get the gunpowder. I did the same, with hammer and pliers. The powder made flares when ignited, we were trying to impress the girls. I was lucky. Bjarne lost a few fingers. I can not remember if the girls were impressed.

I wrote earlier about when I woke up, at a small lake, many hours hike from the nearest road, with a double barrel shotgun in my face, and my girlfriend in the sleeping bag, a small fire burning, coffee pot and a bottle of moonshine beside, fishing rods ready. I recognized the fellow, he was a crazy man from the neighbour community. After coffee and moonshine he left, and we could hear him starting his small scooter, thereby bypassing the gates on the logging road.

One morning he woke me up, in my room, standing by my bed, waving a large knife, threatening me for having danced with his “girlfriend” at the community hall. How he got into the house, and to my room, I have no idea. He passed away young at age, poor fellow,  may you rest in peace ……… Bredesen.

My friends smiled when I finally dared to tell this story. The man was crazy, everybody knew that, and nobody sold him any ammo. I do not know if his family had filed away the firing pin. It was not funny to me, or Anne-Lise …… , my sweethearth in my sleeping bag at the time.

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