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America’s Greatest Gun Writers by Jim Casada

This list offers an introduction to the great gun gurus throughout American history. After all, “There’s no nut like a gun nut.”

If you join a gathering of firearm enthusiasts at a hunting camp, shooting range or gun club, rest assured that, if the topic turns to great gun writers, you’ll find opinions as plentiful as scratches in a briar thicket. Everyone has a favorite and will defend that individual with breathless passion and persuasiveness against all comers. You’ll not need to listen long to realize the truth inherent in what a good friend of mine who writes about guns and ammunition once said: “There’s no nut like a gun nut.”

Consider that an acknowledgment that I’m fully aware this list won’t be met with universal approval. All I can offer is that, while I’m no expert on firearms, I’ve done a great deal of reading and study on the subject. That exposure has, over time, given me considerable familiarity with the literature of the field. So, if nothing else, this list offers an introduction to the great gun gurus. However, note that I’ve included only deceased writers, as I don’t need a verbal shooting match with any living expert, self-ordained or otherwise (there are plenty of both). Likewise, for no reason other than the United States has produced most of the finest gun writers, all those listed are Americans.

Jack O’Connor

Other writers have had greater technical knowledge, hunted more, and helped develop new calibers and loads, but, when it comes to writing for the average shooter, O’Connor ranks first. Literate, a masterful storyteller, and unabashedly independent (he never sold his soul to any gunmaker or ammunition company, though he had his favorites), he remains immensely enjoyable. The Rifle Book is the place to start, followed by The Shotgun Book. You can find a full bibliography of his writings in The Lost Classics of Jack O’Connor, which I edited.

 

 

Elmer Keith

Keith both despised and was the antithesis of O’Connor. He liked guns that had punch and produced lots of noise and recoil. While only marginally literate, he told gripping tales; shot a lot; and, with the help of excellent editors, garnered a huge following. The title of his autobiography, Hell, I Was There!, offers a window into his personality, while Sixguns and Big Game Rifles and Cartridges also merit attention. The little man in the big cowboy hat could be obstinate and ornery, but there’s no denying that he could entertain.

 

 

Warren Page

Likeable in print and the ultimate curmudgeon in person (the latter is by no means unique to Page among gun writers), he served as the shooting editor for Field & Stream for a quarter of a century, beginning in 1947, and helped develop the .243 Winchester. His two key books, One Man’s Wilderness and The Accurate Rifle, should be more widely read than they are today.

 

 

 

 

Townsend Whelen

If you asked me which of the old-time gun writers I’d most like to have spent time with, “Townie” Whelen would win, hands down. He was the master of practicality, and every avid outdoorsman should read his On Your Own in The Wilderness (with Bradford Angier) and Mister Rifleman, an autobiographical work that Angier also helped complete. Whelen’s other books of note include The American Rifle, Big Game Hunting, Why Not Load Your Own!, The Best of Colonel Townsend Whelen, The Ultimate in Rifle Precision, and Amateur Gunsmithing. Perhaps no quotation by a gun writer has been repeated more frequently than his suggestion that “only accurate rifles are interesting.”

 

 

Paul Curtis

This name will likely be unfamiliar to many sportsmen, but, in the golden era of gun and hunting writers, Curtis was one of the best. For two decades, from the end of World War I until he committed suicide (an all-too-common occurrence among gun writers), Curtis was a major presence in national magazines. He wrote five books, but Guns and Gunning and Sporting Firearms of Today in Use are of the greatest interest.

 

 

Charles Askins, Jr.

Since Charles Askins, Sr. was a gun writer, as well, the two Askins are easily and often confused. However, the younger was more prolific than his father, though the latter wrote a first-rate book about shotguns. The best place to start with Askins, Jr. is Unrepentant Sinner, his autobiography. By all accounts he was a highly temperamental man, involved in shenanigans that would result in hard time today, but there’s no doubting his expertise in works such as The Art of Handgun Shooting, The Gunfighters, and The African Hunt.

William H. “Bill” Jordan

Jordan was nowhere as prolific as the other writers on this list, but his first-hand experiences were in a class of their own; there may never have been a man faster with a handgun. His book, No Second Place Winner, has become a must-read for police-handgun enthusiasts, but you’ll need to dig up his magazine writings to really gain an appreciation for him. Someone could do his legacy and the shooting world a favor by anthologizing these pieces.

 

 

Michael McIntosh

McIntosh is the only writer listed here whom I knew personally, as we were both longtime columnists for Sporting Classics. McIntosh wrote with grace and a distinctive style, and he really knew shotguns. Mind you, his interests and knowledge ranged widely, but posterity will likely remember him, first and foremost, as a shotgun writer. His major works include Best Guns, Shotguns & Shooting, Shotgun Technicana, A. H. Fox: The Finest Gun in the World, The Big-Bore Rifle, and Gamefield Classics.

 

I can already hear readers muttering, Where are George Nonte, Skeeter Skelton, Jim Carmichael, David Petzal, Sam Fadala, Bryce Towsley, “Pondoro” Taylor, Jeff Cooper, Terry Wieland, Wayne Van Zwoll and countless others? These writers are all of note but many are still living, while others are just not at the top of my preferences.

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Well I thought it was neat!

A TIME TO KILL WRITTEN BY WILL DABBS, MD

At 44 inches from stem to stern, this was a good-sized water moccasin.

Yeah, I know I’ve seen that title someplace before. Anyway, it was an interesting day yesterday. We live way out in the sticks and have a modest lake for a backyard. It was a great place to raise kids. Now that our children are grown and gone, my wife beats me at a game of some sort every afternoon I’m home. Every now and again, I’ll pull one out, but that’s rare. She always was the smart one. Yesterday, she was busy smoking me at cards when I glanced out the window and saw him — a ginormous water moccasin cruising leisurely across the lake like he owned the place, which he kind of did.

This thing looked like some kind of sea monster, cutting a wake like a heavily laden oil tanker as he plied his way from where he was to where he wanted to be. Without regard for my personal safety, I leapt into action, prepared in an instant to defend my bride from venomous peril. It was also a handy excuse not to lose at least one card game.

Now, many modern sensitive folk will take umbrage with my unfettered genocide of the Agkistrodon piscivorus. Some feel that water moccasins are like big, slithery hamsters and that we should welcome their fanged presence in our living spaces in the spirit of peaceful coexistence. Screw that. I’m a doctor. I have seen what happens when a person gets bitten by one of these monsters. This is a little-known fact, but water moccasins were the reason God first made firearms.

Around the world, some 5.4 million people are bitten by snakes every year. Those bites result in between 1.8 and 2.7 million envenomings. Roughly 100,000 people die from snake bites per annum. About three times that number lose limbs. While most of those casualties are indeed found in Africa, Asia and Latin America, I still like to feel like I am doing my part. I religiously avoid harming non-venomous snakes, but I kill every water moccasin I can find on sight.

Tools Of The Trade

I have tried lots of tools. Shotguns of various sorts are great … at appropriate ranges. I have splattered half a dozen of the toothy monsters from across the lake to no practical effect. In one case, I am fairly certain when next I saw that big gentleman gliding across the lake, he was rocking an eye patch. I have found the ideal counter-snake tool to be a TacSol sound-suppressed .22 rifle.

My example was spendy, but it shoots like a laser and is completely ear-safe. Unlike many .22 rifles, it is also exceptionally reliable. I love this thing. Together, my TacSol and I have accounted for dozens of moccasins over the years.

This is yours truly in his chillaxing clothes, having just smoked
an enormous water moccasin. This example was shockingly heavy.

All In A Day’s Work

In this particular case, I tore downstairs, grabbed my rifle, slapped in a magazine, jacked the bolt, and ran outside only to find that the scope was frosted darker than Chuck Schumer’s soul. I live in rural Mississippi. It is a literal jungle down here. In the summertime, the humidity is so high you can tear off a chunk of air and gnaw on it. When you take a cool piece of glass and put it in a really hot, wet place, moisture condenses on the lens. As a result, I keep a blow dryer by the back door. A quick five-second blast front and back solves the fogging problem. It’s the price we pay to live in God’s country.

By the time I finally got to the water’s edge, he was at a slant range of about 20 meters, his massive triangular head perched jauntily above the surface. I drew a careful bead, attended to my breathing, and popped him through the nugget. Then I shot him 24 more times, just to be sure. I really, really hate poisonous snakes.

I climbed into the canoe and paddled out to retrieve my prize. This one was a real gentleman, measuring a full 44 inches from tail to beak. When I hefted him up with my paddle, he was shockingly heavy. He also reeked of rotten fish, as do they all.

I often skin these things, particularly the big ones. I wouldn’t eat a water moccasin for love or money, but they do have pretty hides. You nail the head to a tree, ring the neck, and tease the skin back, flaying it free with a 10-blade scalpel. Then, drop the skin in a mason jar filled half-and-half with rubbing alcohol and glycerin. Let the skin soak for a month or two before stretching it out on a board. The end result is both durable and gorgeous. However, if you store the hides in your workshop, the mice will eat them. Ask me how I know this.

Anyway, some lunatic shot this lovely specimen full of holes, so I just snapped a few pictures and then tossed him back in the lake. The hungry turtles looked grateful. This was the 62nd moccasin I have culled from my backyard in the 20 years we have been here. I keep count. At the end of the day, however, the world is now down one massive water moccasin. It has indeed been a lovely afternoon.

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