Friday, October 15, 2010

Sporting Classics Presents: A Million to One - H&N English Shotguns

© 2010 Albert A Rasch and
The Rasch Outdoor Chronicles
$g&m f9bd 45kd q!?5.

The Rasch Outdoor Chronicles, in association with Bernard and Associates and High Adventure Company, proudly presents Sporting Classics. Widely recognized as the premier outdoor magazine, with award-winning graphics and the country's top writers, Sporting Classics focuses on the best hunting and fishing throughout the world and finest outdoor fiction. Whether it is wingshooting grouse on the Scottish Highlands, stopping Cape Buffalo on the plains of Tanzania, or landing delicate Rainbow Trout on a 2 weight bamboo fly rod, Sporting Classics and its stable of renowned authors covers it with class and finesse.

The Rasch Outdoor Chronicles has been chosen as one of the few Outdoor Bloggers to share content from the most respected and best known magazine in the outdoor community!

Please enjoy the following advance publication. I would like to thank the Bernard and Associates team, High Adventure Company, and Sporting Classics for choosing The Rasch Outdoor Chronicles  as a partner in their endeavours!

*** ** ***
A Million to One

The city of London is big. Really big. Over seven million residents. Nearly 12,000 folks per square mile. Like New York City, it’s wide-open, sizzling, rocking and rolling around-the-clock. On the other hand, Kathy and I are not big-city types. Got a stoplight and a Wal-Mart? That’s big enough city for us.

After a couple of days visiting midtown gunshops, watching The Queen’s Cavalry, staring at Buckingham Palace, shopping at Harrod’s and dodging vehicles driving on the wrong side of the road (I was hit by a bicycle and was called several names), we were ready for some fresh scenery. So when Andrew Harvison, owner of Holloway & Naughton and Premier English Shotguns Ltd., invited us out to the English countryside for the day, we were happy to oblige.

Tuesday morning, after a quick bite at the Cartref House Bed and Breakfast in London, we grabbed a cab to Marylebone Station to catch the train out to High Wycombe about 30 miles northwest of the city. Along the way we watched the landscape change from urban sprawl to quaint hamlets, rolling pastures, forests, hedgerows and classic English-style farmhouses. This was more our cup of tea.

When the train stopped at High Wycombe station, our host greeted us warmly before driving us out to West Wycombe Park where his gun-finishing work is done.

Well-dressed, well-spoken and well-mannered, Andrew Harvison is the classic English gentleman, but with an even more relaxed demeanor. That’s attributable to his preference for the country life as opposed to the fast pace of “The Square Mile.” In fact, no portion of the Holloway and Naughton operation is located in London, but every gun is 100-percent English made. That was one of Harvison’s goals when he rekindled the firm’s trademark.



“We made up our mind to design our own products and then take them to the market,” he said as we rode through the countryside toward West Wycombe,” rather than jumping on the bandwagon of copying someone else’s design, or indeed, using somebody else’s components.

“We employ twelve people total,” Harvison added. “Our engineering base is in Leicestershire, where we employ four craftsmen who design and build components. The parts are then sent to outworkers. Barrels are put together with actions at one place, then on to stockers and engravers.


“The outworkers then send the components back to us, and after all the bearing surfaces and other fine details are inspected, the guns are assembled and we add the finishing touches. The entire process can take up to two years per gun, though we are seeking ways to shorten that time-frame.”

One of Andrew’s favorite workshops is the one tucked away at West Wycombe Park.


“You’ll enjoy this,” he told us as we traveled the paved drive that climbs up toward the estate. From that vantage point we could take in the main manor house overlooking a serene lake and acres of verdant pasture.

“This is very, very famous,” Harvison said. “It’s Westwood Hall, the home of Sir Edward Dashwood. It’s been in the family since the fifteenth century. These people made a fortune out of tea and the old empire. This whole estate is just absolutely incredible.”

Pointing to the lake, Harvison explained that big parties held there during the 19th century became wild affairs.

“Attendees such as baronets and chancellors built small pirate ships, which they sailed around the lake,” he said. “But sailing was just part of the fun. They had live cannons and would actually fire cannonballs at one another . . . they held sea battles.”

Quartered in an 18th century church building a short walk from the main house is Harvison’s finishing shop.
Inside, the small building was crowded with tools, blueprints and work tables. The walls were decorated with various European mounts from the estate, including roebuck and the muntjac, a smallish deer with short, spiked horns and two-inch fangs.


As we watched a gunsmith at work, Harvison pointed out that the firm produced 12 guns last year – a fairly lofty number for such a small operation. “We’re different,” he said, “because we do everything in a modular sense. Unlike the others, we start with a clean bit of paper on every design. From the beginning, we sat down and designed a gun, then we designed another one and another one and so on. No one has done it that way since before the Second World War.”

The Holloway and Naughton name precedes Harvison’s ownership by more than a century. In fact, the name has been highly regarded in British gunmaking since the early 19th century. Thomas Naughton started building guns in Birmingham in the mid-1800s and by 1888 he was working for James Carr on St. Mary’s Row. At that time, George Holloway, a purveyor of fine guns, was also interested in gunmaking and saw Naughton as the ideal craftsman.

In 1909 the name Holloway & Naughton was born. Prior to World War II about 90,000 Holloway & Naughton branded firearms were made, with many sold in the U.S., India, Australia as well as Britain.

During the war, production ceased as the workforce was called to war. The factory was annihilated in a bombing raid on Birmingham, and all plans, blueprints, machinery and records were lost. During the following 40 years only a few boxlock guns were made.

In the early 1990s Harvison resurrected not only the brand, but also the high standards set by the early Holloway & Naughton craftsmen. Today, with his unwavering attention to every detail, be it a shotgun or rifle, Andrew Harvison is being taken very seriously in the gun world.

Harvison developed a love of shooting at an early age and by 1967, he was the owner of his own shooting ground. Over the next 17 years he developed two of the foremost commercial shooting centers in the UK, which hosted many regional and national events. Harvison represented his country for nearly 20 years at sporting clays, skeet and trap competitions. He captained the England skeet team and collected a host of shooting honors, including the British Open Sporting Championship and English Skeet titles on two consecutive occasions.

After visiting West Wycombe, we drove out to the E.J. Churchill shooting ground. Just in time for lunch, we enjoyed a delicious meal of prawn baguettes served in the dining room. Afterward Harvison led us through the Churchill shop to a 12-gauge Holloway & Naughton Britannia displayed on the wall.

“Would you care to shoot some sporting clays with the Britannia?” he asked. I thought about it for roughly one-thousandth of a second before answering in the affirmative. Andrew broke the sidelock over-and-under, looked down the glistening barrels, then passed it to me. I studied the $65,000 shotgun in my hands before gently draping it over my arm. The stock and forearm were cut from the finest Turkish walnut. Smooth, handsome and shaped for shooting, they complemented the English scrolled action and top-grade barrels.

Soon, Harvison, Max Jellicoe, one of Churchill’s many shooting instructors, Kathy and I were walking along lush green pathways to the course to give the Britannia a try. Jellicoe and Harvison had previously run several rounds through the gun, and had no doubts about its performance. They wanted to see how this American, who swore he was only an average shooter, would handle it.


The first thing I noticed was the Britannia’s balance and how it mounted perfectly to my shoulder and eye. With a few tips from the two instructors nearby, my shooting was, well, simply smashing! If I could borrow the Britannia, or pay for it in itsy-bitsy installments, I could finally be a hotshot back in the New World. But no deal.


Later, in the clubhouse, Harvison explained that the firm also produces the Britannia Field Model, which is similarly well-balanced and fast-handling with its slim stock and fore-end, light barrels and fine rib. The gun is engraved with traditional English style scroll.


Driving back to the station for our return to London, I asked Harvison what he considered his greatest achievement at Holloway & Naughton.

“To have designed every single part, every single component,” he replied . . . “to make something as beautiful as this from scratch, has been a monstrous achievement. To have accomplished this as an independent gunmaker is just a million to one.”

To find out more about Holloway & Naughton, visit http://www.hollowaynaughton.co.uk/.


*** ** ***
I hope that you have enjoyed this installment of Sporting Classics!
Best Regards,
Albert A Rasch
Member:Kandahar Tent Club
The Hunt Continues...

Though he spends most of his time writing and keeping the world safe for democracy, Albert was actually a student of biology. Really. But after a stint as a lab tech performing repetitious and mind-numbing processes that a trained capuchin monkey could do better, he never returned to the field. Rather he became a bartender. As he once said, "Hell, I was feeding mice all sorts of concoctions. At the club I did the same thing; except I got paid a lot better, and the rats where bigger." He has followed the science of QDM for many years, and fancies himself an aficionado. If you have any questions, or just want to get more information, reach him via TheRaschOutdoorChronicles(at)MSN(dot)com.




Tuesday, October 12, 2010

Whitetail Woods: Shot Placement, A Yearly Reminder

© 2010 Albert A Rasch and
The Rasch Outdoor Chronicles
$g&m f9bd 45kd q!?5.

Rick at Whitetail Woods has a great reminder for all of us deer hunters.

Whitetail Woods: Shot Placement, A Yearly Reminder

Stop by and say hello! Great pictures too I might add!

Best Regards,
Albert A Rasch
Member: Kandahar Tent Club
Member: Hunting Sportsmen of the United States HSUS (Let 'em sue me.)
The Hunt Continues...


The Rasch Outdoor Chronicles



Florida Matters: News from the FWC

Albert A Rasch and
The Rasch Outdoor Chronicles
$g&m f9bd 45kd q!?5.

Florida Fish and Wildlife Conservation Commission,
Helping Vets Fish

Hello Folks!

I have a press releases that I would like to share with you! The Florida Fish and Wildlife Conservation Commission continues in its efforts to provide Florida Veterans with opportunities to fish and hunt!

The Florida Fish and Wildlife Conservation Commission (FWC) has teamed up once again with the "Wounded Warrior Project" to recognize the service of our nation's injured war veterans. The Wounded Warrior Project (WWP) is taking U.S. war veterans on fishing trips on Lake Okeechobee Monday and Tuesday.

FWC Chairman Rodney Barreto presented two war veterans with three-day fishing licenses donated by FWC staff and promotional packages containing items donated by the freshwater fishing industry.

"The FWC wishes to thank our service men and women for the contributions they have made to our freedom," Barreto said. "By partnering with the WWP, we are helping these vets experience some of the best bass fishing in the world."

The FWC's Division of Freshwater Fisheries Management (DFFM) provided the promotional packages, which include tackle samples, fishing publications and discount coupons. Additionally, the veterans received a free "Get Outdoors Florida!" t-shirt. "Get Outdoors Florida!" is an ongoing campaign highlighting the health and social benefits of fishing and other types of nature-based recreation.

Not only are the fishing trips fun, they're also successful. In June, a pair of Iraqi war veterans, guided by a professional bass angler, caught more than 60 bass during their fishing expedition on Lake Okeechobee.

The trips are sponsored by SMI Cold Therapy of Butler, Pa., a manufacturer of cold-therapy products and services for post-operative patient care in hospitals and surgery centers, and Bassonline.com, Florida's largest freshwater guide service and outfitter for bass fishing on Florida lakes, canals and rivers.

Photo Credit FWC
Iraq war veteran Brian Whitaker, professional fishing guide Mark Shepard, FWC Chairman Rodney Barreto

Iraq war veteran Brian Whitaker (left), professional fishing guide Mark Shepard and FWC Chairman Rodney Barreto on Lake Okeechobee Monday morning. The FWC has teamed up once again with the "Wounded Warrior Project" to honor our injured war veterans and introduce them to some of Florida's finest freshwater fishing.

Photo Credit FWC
Professional fishing guide Mark Shepard, FWC Chairman Rodney Barreto, Iraq war veteran Specialist Edward Carliell.

(L-R) Professional fishing guide Mark Shepard, FWC Chairman Rodney Barreto and Iraq war veteran Specialist Edward Carliell, take a break from bass fishing on Lake Okeechobee.
(FWC photo)


Contact: Gabriella B. Ferraro (FWC), 772-215-9459; Coleen Curran (SMI Cold Therapy), 704-900-7275

Best Regards,
Albert A Rasch
Member: Kandahar Tent Club
Member: Hunting Sportsmen of the United States HSUS (Let 'em sue me.)
The Hunt Continues...


The Rasch Outdoor Chronicles




Saturday, October 9, 2010

Yo-Yo's for Troops: The Big Give Away!

© 2010 Albert A Rasch and
The Rasch Outdoor Chronicles
$g&m f9bd 45kd q!?5.

Finally!

After weeks of diligent work, almost daily rocket attacks, and assorted and sundry trials and tribulations, we are excited and ready to give some of your Yo-Yo's away to the Troops!

The USO on Kandahar Airfield has kindly allowed us to take our not insubstantial number of yo-yo's and distribute them to the hard fighting fellows taking a well deserved break there. We have scheduled two Sundays, a month apart, as I still receive at least a box a week with Yo-Yos and assorted sundries for the troops.

It's not commonly known, but many commanders (McChrystal ahem...) feel that 2 or 3 days in Bagram Airfield or Kandahar Airfield is a wonderful and sufficient respite from being shot at, rocketed, or blown up, out in the field. Of course they (McCrystal...Ahem!) closed many of the overpriced emporiums on the bases that the soldiers flocked to. The commanders (McCrystal...Ahem!) felt that the soldiers would get soft from two or three days of living the high life in the cosmopolitan and notoriously decadent Airfields.

Imagine the merriment when the USO finally opened up on KAF almost three weeks ago! (After what... almost nine years? I mean seriously, we slammed the Taliban here on Dec 7 2001...)

But I digress. The USO is a beautifully executed space, built inside of a huge clamshell tent. They spared no expense in making it comfortable and useful to the troops. Phone banks, reading areas, video gaming area, cushions, chairs, couches, you name it! Even a coffee room where you can brew your own.

As you already know, Uncle Roy (He is real!) of Uncle Roy's Toys has donated 200 hundred hand crafted hardwood yo-yo's for us to distribute. And dozens of people have sent yo-yo's that bring the total to over three hundred! That's a lot of Yo-Yo's for Troops!

One of the NCOs that I work with has graciously volunteered to assist with the distribution.

I have secured some help with the photos we will be taking, and I hope to have them up and on line within a couple of days of giving them out.

Again, I want to thank everyone that has been able to donate Yo-Yo's and other stuff for the troops. Wait until you see the pictures, and then you'll get an idea of how important this is to the fellows!

Best Regards,
Albert A Rasch
Member: Kandahar Tent Club
Member: Hunting Sportsmen of the United States HSUS (Let 'em sue me.)
The Hunt Continues...


The Rasch Outdoor Chronicles

Friday, October 8, 2010

Sporting Classics Presents: First Light

© 2010 Albert A Rasch and
The Rasch Outdoor Chronicles
$g&m f9bd 45kd q!?5.

The Rasch Outdoor Chronicles, in association with Bernard and Associates and High Adventure Company, proudly presents Sporting Classics. Widely recognized as the premier outdoor magazine, with award-winning graphics and the country's top writers, Sporting Classics focuses on the best hunting and fishing throughout the world and finest outdoor fiction. Whether it is wingshooting grouse on the Scottish Highlands, stopping Cape Buffalo on the plains of Tanzania, or landing delicate Rainbow Trout on a 2 weight bamboo fly rod, Sporting Classics and its stable of renowned authors covers it with class and finesse.

The Rasch Outdoor Chronicles has been chosen as one of the few Outdoor Bloggers to share content from the most respected and best known magazine in the outdoor community!

Please enjoy the following advance publication. I would like to thank the Bernard and Associates team, High Adventure Company, and Sporting Classics for choosing The Rasch Outdoor Chronicles  as a partner in their endeavours!
*** ** ***
I don't usually comment on any of the stories presented here, but in this case I'll make an exception.

I'm getting close to that mid century mark, and this beautiful story hits home in its honest appraisal of what life is, or better said, isn't. My time here in Afghanistan has really pressed home the need for love and sincerity in one's life, the terrible randomness with which lives, guilty or innocent, are extinguished, and the importance of enjoying fully each and every thing, small or large, that brings you joy. So the next time you see a baby smiling, a young man excitedly reeling in a fish, or a bee landing on a flower, savor that moment as if it was the last time you will ever have that opportunity.

Your friend,
Albert A Rasch

*** ** ***

First Light

“One minute we smile. In another, we cry. We live our lives between a laugh and a tear.”
By Mike Gaddis


A man can’t afford to live but so long. The price gets too heavy.

I suppose it’s the toll we pay for the gift . . . and the curse . . . of conscience. The ability to perceive tomorrow, and to remember yesterday. The perception of present and past. The cognizance of joy and melancholy. The fragility of life, and the certainty of death. The velocity of time and the weight of eternity.

Being human may not be all the blessing we’re born believing it to be. Along with the intellect comes a fearful load. It grows with the years and can never be unshouldered.

A man can escape a lot of things, but never himself.

Truth is, in the ecological world at large, a man can pretend arrogance only with his own kind. Nobody else cares. Sooner or later, a man is left to find he must suffer on his own. Unless he is totally insensitive to life and living, the cost of love and loss carries ultimately beyond his pretenses and layers heavily upon his heart.

The older I get, and the more time I’ve spent wild, the more I’m brought to believe that maybe it’s the rest of the creatures in the kingdom that God loved best. So that He didn’t saddle them with too much memory, or curse them more than temporarily with the sense of loss, or see fit to constantly remind them with a chronograph or a calendar on the wall, of how much of life they have left to live.

Rather, He left them to fare within the moment, to worry only of the perils of the present, to accept and appreciate living as a spontaneity of unordained incidents. The sun rises and the sun sets, slumber is unblemished by nightmares, and tomorrow, and the tomorrow after, is unburdened by anything beyond what’s ultimately important . . . the necessity of survival.

Ironically, within an existence of such unencumbered simplicity, the “lower” species have come to epitomize almost every value we hold of greatest esteem: heart, courage, resourcefulness, tenacity, fearlessness, devotion, fidelity.

Yes, their lives are often abbreviated, and they spend their entire existence in the tiny corner of the world they were born in. But the life they live is free of sorrow, and without the baggage of tortured emotion.
Would I trade? Give up the joys of anticipation, sacrifice all the beautiful memories, all the pictures of the past a happy heart takes? Would I barter away the adventures of imagination, bargain away the ability to conjure a dream?

Comes square down to it, I guess not. But I’m not so damn cocksure and proud about it as maybe once I was.

The one thing I do know is that I don’t want to live forever. There’s not enough of me, I’ll be just about spent. Ready to go.

With everything and everybody I’ve lost, I’ve buried a bit of me. Each time, I’m a little less than I started with. There’s another increment of sorrow to laden any given moment of joy.

Old folks, on the days they were down, not long before they would go, back when I was young and careless and would ask them why . . . would look off across the green meadows for a time and say, “I’m old, Boy, old and tired.”

I always thought physically, cause they were stooped and wrinkled. Couldn’t do the things once they could. But that wasn’t the most of it. Now that I’m old, and a mite wrinkly too, I know better.

I’ve been a spite out of sorts with myself lately, and I’ve tried hard to figure out just why. Cause all my life I’ve been a more-than-willing man.

It’s just that, more now, some days aren’t as happy as others. It’s taken me 67 years, but now I think I’ve come to a thing I wish I hadn’t.

Happiness is of the moment, and sadness accrues. Sadness is like the moss that grows on the north side of an evergreen. It thickens through the years, latches on and grows, until one day the tree isn’t so green anymore.

If that looms the secret of life, I’m almighty glad I didn’t discover it any sooner.

The bouts of sadness stage closer now it seems.

Too many folks, too many dogs, too many things that are the same as heart and home, are gone. Each layered another little chasm of loneliness, that nothing or nobody else can fill. Each kept a part of me I can never have back again.

I look down the narrowing road, and can see too many more to come.




In the greening beauty of each new spring I can find again an Old Granpa Graybeard in a white ash tree, but I can’t have back the softness of my mother’s eyes, when I was seven years old, and first she gave him to me. I have a Christmas tree each December, but I can’t have back my father’s pride, the year I found the Winchester 20 gauge under the one Mama decorated, when I was 13 and Daddy let me know I was coming a man.

I’ve killed a book whitetail, and I’ve killed a brown bear, a Cape buffalo and a kudu, but I can’t recover the exact same feeling I had with the Old Man who took me under wing when I was 16, showed me how, and stood silently beside me as I beamed over my first forkhorn. Or the completion we shared when he stood again in the shadow of an oak tree, when of my own, I weighed in my first ten-pound largemouth on the old Chantilly cradle scales behind the boathouse of City Lake #4.

I’ve had dogs since, and I’ll have dogs more, and it’s all been good . . . and if I was a-mind to, I could whelp another litter of pups in a lot better digs than once we did. But I can never have again the absolute joy and exhilaration of that first litter of setters we whelped, Loretta and I, in that two-by-twice, little, two-bitty shed in the backyard 40 years ago. Nor can I ever rein up my horse again at the gap of the finish at Rappahannock, no matter how many dogs I field, and feel the same exultation I did as I watched one of those same pups, in her prime – the greatest field trial dog of my life – top the far distant hill, two valleys over, carrying on and away.

She’s pointed Up There, somewhere. I know. Waiting for me to come move her birds. I want someday sooner, now, to do so.

I’ve still got a few good friends, Thank God, but I can’t have back again the ones I shared many a rod or gun with, whose handshake would turn into an embrace come end of the day . . . who as Stonewall Jackson said, “have crossed the river, to rest in the shade of the trees on the other side.”

I try to be a boy again. Go squirrel hunting with the same little rifle I grew up on. But I can’t have back the man who helped steady it against my shoulder when I was six, the same one who told me in his 70s, while he was dying of Parkinson’s disease and a host of other ills, just before he willed his way on to join my Aunt . . . not a thing on God’s earth I could do to stop it . . . “Bout everything I had is gone, Jughead, and I ain’t never gonna have enough else. I’ve fished my last creek and treed my last squirrel.”

The bill of burden weighs on. Sum of it is, I can’t have back the lot of myself that was me. I can’t have back all the full-of-myself days when I was younger, and stronger, and quicker, and could do the things better that I can’t anymore. I can’t have back yesterday, and there’s a hell less assurance on tomorrow.

As painful as it is to admit it, I’m a lot older, and a little bit tired.

I’m not broke yet. I’ve still got some hope in my poke. And I’ll spend it both foolishly and wisely – like I always have – long as I can go the way.

But the circle goes unbroken. Things keep spinning back. My grandmother, when one day as a little man, I cried, when some small something happened and I tried so hard not too. She pulled me to her side, dabbed away the tears with her apron hem, said,

“One minute we smile. In another, we cry. We live our lives between a laugh and a tear.”

I think, now, it was out of kindness . . . she didn’t tell me, also . . . how small would become the margin that lies between.

*** ** ***

Editor’s Note: Lanford Monroe’s painting is among 130 works in the acclaimed book, Homefields. Sporting Classics still has a few Deluxe edition copies of Homefields, each signed by the author, at the reduced price of $100. Call 800-849-1004.

*** ** ***

Best Regards,
Albert A Rasch
Member:Kandahar Tent Club

The Hunt Continues...


Though he spends most of his time writing and keeping the world safe for democracy, Albert was actually a student of biology. Really. But after a stint as a lab tech performing repetitious and mind-numbing processes that a trained capuchin monkey could do better, he never returned to the field. Rather he became a bartender. As he once said, "Hell, I was feeding mice all sorts of concoctions. At the club I did the same thing; except I got paid a lot better, and the rats where bigger." He has followed the science of QDM for many years, and fancies himself an aficionado. If you have any questions, or just want to get more information, reach him via TheRaschOutdoorChronicles(at)MSN(dot)com.