For Whom The Bell Tolls Jim Mize
tinkles as you enter, like the bell in the movie “It’s a Wonderful Life.” Only in this shop, it’s not an angel that gets its wings, but shooters looking for some- thing that will let them take something with wings. Or legs. It’s a mixed crowd. For me, the bell works like the one
Inside the door of my favorite
Pavlov used on his dog. I start to drool when I hear it, knowing that this store holds all things good. I may enter for reloading supplies, but the bell awak- ens so many possibilities. Once inside, I fall into a routine
that has me traveling the store like a wolf marking his territory. Though I’ve usually had plenty of coffee, I do nothing to lay claim to my turf or risk being tossed out. The first stop in my shopping
route is usually the sale bin with the hope that something good found its way in. Maybe even by mistake. Hunt- ers are trained to trust their luck. The bin may be nothing more
than a cardboard box but the contents take on the feel of an estate auction, one where a crazy uncle may have slipped in some heirloom jewelry to avenge a past grievance. Usually, it’s full of odd-lot gadgets, something that may have been popular three seasons ago but now collects dust. Or it might be an item that got dropped and failed to bounce. I fi nd a bipod that used to have three legs and a gun cleaning kit missing a few patches and the solvent. Some of my findings leave me
chuckling. There’s a T-shirt that reads, “When a man tires of women, politics and booze, he can always shoot var- mints.” Unfortunately, it’s two sizes too small.
Digging deeper, I surface with a
pair of shooting glasses that look like something Clint Eastwood wore in his Dirty Harry movies. They’ve been marked down four times and are now in my price range. For my next stop, I work my way
around to the wall where the shoot- ing clothes hang. This is dangerous
Page 176 Winter 2012 gun shop hangs a small bell. It
territory as I could be ambushed by something I like but don’t need. Steel- ing my resolve not to buy anything, I wade on in. I look over the new vests of the season, try on a coat that I know is warmer than mine, and even test a pair of shooting gloves. I make a mental note to remind
someone when my birthday comes up, or Father’s Day, or Groundhog Day, as these are all gift-giving occasions in a varmint hunter’s house. These dates are well distributed throughout the year, so usually I can muster enough patience to make it until one of these days arrives. The shooting gloves would be a perfect gift for Groundhog Day. Eventually, I make it back to
the reloading supplies and fi nd what I came for. With my mission accom- plished, I loiter a bit, like my next move is toward an illicit meeting and I don’t want any witnesses. Glancing over my shoulder, I saunter as casually as pos- sible to the gun rack. The rifl es are leaning back and
reclining at a slight uphill tilt as if sun- bathing. I stop and engage a few at the low end of the price range, pretending interest as if making small talk. The barrels glisten with oil as if tanning. I may pick up one gingerly,
remark upon its graceful curves, yet knowing all along each of these is some- how fl awed. Some seem to be dancing just out of step and dressing them up with any scope could not make them perfect in my grasp. At least, not as perfect as the one I’ve come to meet. I adjust my cap as if tipping it to
the rifl es before me. Even among these near-beauties, I can pick out from a distance that special rifl e. I move on down the rack to
pick it up and it’s weightless in my knowing touch. In my mind, it’s the most attractive rifl e I’ve ever seen, the grain running delicately. The balance is graceful to the point that I hardly notice the weight as I bring it close to my shoulder. It fi ts my embrace as if we were made for one another. I can imagine waltzing across
open fi elds, the two of us, dropping to a shooting stance with my elbows braced to remain steady. My breath would come as if I were panting, until I steadied myself to aim. A twinge of guilt hits as I linger,
unable to part. It’s not as if I need an- other. Surely, the rifl es I have at home are suitable, even loyal in their perfor- mance. And we’ve had our days afi eld. I know we have. Still, this rifl e and I have a special
bond. It doesn’t matter that socially I’m beneath such a gun. You can just look at us both and tell. Better yet, you could check the price tag on it and be assured. But it doesn’t matter, I tell myself.
If I owned such a rifl e, I’d never dis- grace it with factory loads or a cheap scope. It would be fi rst-class all the way, right down to the case I dressed it in when I took it out to the fi eld. I’d parade it in front of my jealous hunting buddies, allowing them to look on and wish they were in my place. I would prove myself worthy of
such a rifl e and her to me. Unnoticed as if I’ve eased into
a trance, the owner of the shop had slipped up behind me and startled me by saying, “You know, you’ve fondled that rifl e so much when you come in, you’ve worn your thumb print into the stock. I’ll knock fi fty bucks off if you’ll take it today.”
That, I knew, was fate speaking. So as I left the gun shop, the rifl e
wrapped up in my embrace, the door eased shut behind me and I heard the bell tinkle softly, partially muffl ed by the closing door. Finally, at that mo- ment, I knew the answer to the ques- tion, “… for whom the bell tolls?” Today, it tolls for me.
Jim Mize has collected the best of his
outdoor humor in an award-winning book titled, The Winter of Our Discount Tent. Copies are available for $18.95 plus shipping and handling by calling 1-800-768-2500 or going to
www.sc.edu/uscpress/
Page 1 |
Page 2 |
Page 3 |
Page 4 |
Page 5 |
Page 6 |
Page 7 |
Page 8 |
Page 9 |
Page 10 |
Page 11 |
Page 12 |
Page 13 |
Page 14 |
Page 15 |
Page 16 |
Page 17 |
Page 18 |
Page 19 |
Page 20 |
Page 21 |
Page 22 |
Page 23 |
Page 24 |
Page 25 |
Page 26 |
Page 27 |
Page 28 |
Page 29 |
Page 30 |
Page 31 |
Page 32 |
Page 33 |
Page 34 |
Page 35 |
Page 36 |
Page 37 |
Page 38 |
Page 39 |
Page 40 |
Page 41 |
Page 42 |
Page 43 |
Page 44 |
Page 45 |
Page 46 |
Page 47 |
Page 48 |
Page 49 |
Page 50 |
Page 51 |
Page 52 |
Page 53 |
Page 54 |
Page 55 |
Page 56 |
Page 57 |
Page 58 |
Page 59 |
Page 60 |
Page 61 |
Page 62 |
Page 63 |
Page 64 |
Page 65 |
Page 66 |
Page 67 |
Page 68 |
Page 69 |
Page 70 |
Page 71 |
Page 72 |
Page 73 |
Page 74 |
Page 75 |
Page 76 |
Page 77 |
Page 78 |
Page 79 |
Page 80 |
Page 81 |
Page 82 |
Page 83 |
Page 84 |
Page 85 |
Page 86 |
Page 87 |
Page 88 |
Page 89 |
Page 90 |
Page 91 |
Page 92 |
Page 93 |
Page 94 |
Page 95 |
Page 96 |
Page 97 |
Page 98 |
Page 99 |
Page 100 |
Page 101 |
Page 102 |
Page 103 |
Page 104 |
Page 105 |
Page 106 |
Page 107 |
Page 108 |
Page 109 |
Page 110 |
Page 111 |
Page 112 |
Page 113 |
Page 114 |
Page 115 |
Page 116 |
Page 117 |
Page 118 |
Page 119 |
Page 120 |
Page 121 |
Page 122 |
Page 123 |
Page 124 |
Page 125 |
Page 126 |
Page 127 |
Page 128 |
Page 129 |
Page 130 |
Page 131 |
Page 132 |
Page 133 |
Page 134 |
Page 135 |
Page 136 |
Page 137 |
Page 138 |
Page 139 |
Page 140 |
Page 141 |
Page 142 |
Page 143 |
Page 144 |
Page 145 |
Page 146 |
Page 147 |
Page 148 |
Page 149 |
Page 150 |
Page 151 |
Page 152 |
Page 153 |
Page 154 |
Page 155 |
Page 156 |
Page 157 |
Page 158 |
Page 159 |
Page 160 |
Page 161 |
Page 162 |
Page 163 |
Page 164 |
Page 165 |
Page 166 |
Page 167 |
Page 168 |
Page 169 |
Page 170 |
Page 171 |
Page 172 |
Page 173 |
Page 174 |
Page 175 |
Page 176 |
Page 177 |
Page 178 |
Page 179 |
Page 180 |
Page 181 |
Page 182 |
Page 183 |
Page 184 |
Page 185 |
Page 186 |
Page 187 |
Page 188 |
Page 189 |
Page 190 |
Page 191 |
Page 192 |
Page 193 |
Page 194 |
Page 195 |
Page 196 |
Page 197 |
Page 198 |
Page 199 |
Page 200 |
Page 201 |
Page 202 |
Page 203 |
Page 204 |
Page 205 |
Page 206 |
Page 207 |
Page 208 |
Page 209 |
Page 210 |
Page 211 |
Page 212