By Glen Wunderlich

Charter Member Professional Outdoor Media Association (POMA)

If a man does not make new acquaintances, as he advances through life, he will soon find himself alone; a man should keep his friendships in constant repair…Samuel Johnson 1709-1784

It’s always a comforting feeling to arrive at one’s vacation destination – this one being the Rifle River Recreation Area in Ogema County. Even with a detailed camping list and having checked all the boxes, suspicion that I had forgotten something crept in on the way north.  Sure enough, upon arrival, it was discovered that my large cooler full of hand-picked food was left behind.  After establishing camp, a trip into Rose City was necessitated to restock provisions.

Fortunately, the Family Fare market had the requisite necessities. However, a detour ensued, when I motored in the opposite direction from camp following the signs to Terry’s Gun Shop a mile west of Rose City.  The refrigerated items would be fine for a little while, thought I.

The sign at the side of the road indicated the shop opened at 1pm.  Dang!  I was too early.  As I began to turn around at the drive, an ol’ boy was mowing and alertly noticed my vehicle’s maneuver and promptly waved me in.  “Are you Terry?” I called out.  “I am he” was the response and he proceeded to open the shop’s door.

I told Terry that I was looking for a .410 gauge repeating shotgun for hunting, after which he asked what that meant to me.  Terry then removed a few firearms from his safe and carefully pulled out an old J.C Higgins bolt-action shotgun made for Sears Roebucks by Savage Arms in the 1950s.

It was a shining example of American craftsmanship and quality of days gone by.  Bluing was flawless and the straight-grain walnut stock was better than any modern-day synthetics.  The action was tight and slick.

“I’ll take it” involuntarily seemed to jump from my lips.

When asked how long he had been this location, Terry replied, “All my life.”  We then learned we had acquaintances in common – one from the area and one from Owosso – both having passed on.  We hit it off and began to talk guns – old guns – like the gem I had in my hands.

However, one hitch evolved:  Credit cards were not accepted and I didn’t have the cash in my pocket.  With the refrigerated food still in the truck outside, I decided to get to a fast-cash machine in town and then head back to camp for my first meal of the day.

Back to the gun shop, the previously vacant lot now had five vehicles in front belonging to five men sitting indoors with Terry behind the desk.  I felt like I was among friends and shared a few laughs with the local boys.  Returning to camp was one happy camper.  (Ugh!  I usually hate that reference, but not this time!)

Back home, the old scattergun was function tested and patterned at 25 yards with different loads and the results couldn’t have been better.

In summary, the fishing was more than slow, but gaining a friend made my northern visit worthwhile.