First comes a shotgun, then a gun dog, and then life is never the same again

I don’t remember the make or model of the shotgun Steve loaned me on my first day duck hunting. But I remember the first one I purchased just a few weeks later.

The gun store had numerous used over/under models, and I picked up a toolbox of old 12-gauges. Each one felt heavy, fell open and slammed shut with a coarseness that suggested years of extensive use. The stocks were dull and scratched.

None of these would do, I thought. Steve assured me I would know when I picked up the right gun.

The owner of the shop brought out a brand-new, 20-gauge over/under he dubbed “a bit plain but affordable.” The slim and tight feel of the lighter gun, along with its new-gun smell and cinnamon shine, felt right. Steve said I had to shoot it within 24 hours, and we loaded up the canoe that night to hunt ducks in the morning. My first shot out of the gun — I only shot once — resulted in two bluebills.

That same year, Steve and I each got a 1-year-old chocolate Lab from the animal shelter, and we let them destroy our homes and vehicles as we succumbed to the duck hunter’s world of daily slogs to the duck blind to drink black coffee over decoys. Each day, I made peace with cold and mud with my CZ Redhead nestled into the crook of my arm and Steve’s dog, Gunner, at my side. When I had the opportunity, I would shoot — once.

I purchased a single-barrel Browning BT-99 and looked forward to the familiar smell from the hulls and shotguns each Sunday at the trap range. My skill at shooting single targets improved, but I never joined the select group that shot doubles.

As we walked back from the duck blind one night, I shot a goose from a mated pair. While we searched for the downed bird, its mate circled out of range. Its mournful honk and searching flight for its mate haunted me, and I didn’t sleep that night.

I called a waterfowl biologist friend the next morning. He consoled me. “The goose will mate again,” he said. “But, you might want to learn to shoot doubles.”

One of the other trapshooters had an old Browning Superposed I admired. When John Browning designed the first true over/under, it was with the thought that it was the last gun the government would take from the citizenry. In the history of firearms, the over/under shotgun stands alone, in that its design was not for military or law-enforcement purposes — it was conceived purely for the wingshooter.

The Superposed was my Stradivarius — an instrument of reputation and quality, and not something you would get when you’re still just learning. Instead, I purchased a 12-gauge I could afford — and find — that fell short of the one I wanted, and I learned to shoot doubles.

It was late in the evening at a fundraising banquet when the auctioneer, Loveable Larry, unveiled a 28-gauge Beretta over/under with a wood stock as beautiful as any I had ever seen. No one was bidding, and if no one met the reserve, the gun would go back in its custom Giugiaro case for another year. My winning bid started a series of events that would change my life.

As I approached Steve, standing at the back of the room, he said, “You know what this means?”

I did not.

“Now that you have a proper upland gun, we need a proper upland dog.”

Winchester arrived that spring as an 8-week-old black and white English setter pup from Havelock Setters in North Dakota. When I met him at the Ted Stevens Anchorage International Airport, his dark eyes peered at me from inside his kennel, and I knew I had just met a special animal.

He taught us everything we needed to know about hunting ptarmigan in the mountains. His bloodlines contained more information than I could ever learn from books, and his grace afield swept the mountain valleys in the big-running style of his breed. I shot the birds he pointed with my 28-gauge and laid them at his feet beside the open action of the gun.

My world might have stopped there. Except we got another English setter, Parker, and a few years later, she had a litter of setter puppies. We kept them all, naming each after the makers of fine shotguns.

By this time, I had more than a decade of practice and experience to appreciate the smooth swing, pointability, and clean release of a trigger — all of the innovative elements that are behind a smart gun. I still had fewer shotguns than setters when I added the Syren Elos Venti in 20 gauge because it was part of the first line of shotguns built for a woman’s frame. A few years later, I would carry another gun — the F16 Intuition by Blaser in 12 gauge — also made for women.

There is a saying that upland hunters wish that, in a lifetime, they could have many shotguns but one dog. I sure wish all of the dogs I love lived the length of my life. But life is not like that. Life is a constant learning experience that builds upon itself through time.

When you are new, you adapt to the gun. You do not know any better, and you improve. Your first dog holds a special place, as does your first love. I never had children and found my connection to life and death in sharing the sporting life with gun dogs. When you open any gun case, you are looking at stories. You are looking at time as told by guns.

When the smoke clears, you may think things are over. But you see there is another puppy or another gun. And that’s how I felt when I saw the old Browning Superposed that Steve gave me taken apart in its case. It was built the same year Steve was born and offered a future of stories together in the field.

Now, people ask me what I recommend for a first gun. That’s a good question with lots of answers. A good first gun is one that will work for your purposes and one you know is right for you.

Christine Cunningham is a lifelong Alaskan and avid shooter who lives in Kenai.