My first shotgun, an old Ward's single-shot 12, looked something like this.

I was born a hunter, but I was not born into a hunting family. My first hunts were catching fish in an Illinois creek in the early 1960s. When I moved to Minnesota in 1963, I started trapping birds in the backyard with a box on a stick and a pull string. I was the terror of the local black bird population!

Eventually, I talked my mother into letting me buy my first weapon, a pump Daisy BB gun. I soon outgrew sparrows and blackbirds and purchased a pump pellet gun. By now, I was devouring every issue of Outdoor Life magazine and learned about “stop, look and listen.” I applied this tried and true technique to good effect in a wood near the Shell Rock River.

I sat still and quiet against a tree where I knew there were gray squirrels. Eventually, they thought I had passed and out some came. I nailed one and had my first real game animal in the bag. My greatest early hunting adventure came when I was again stalking squirrels using “stop, look, listen.” I had stopped and was looking around when, to my surprise, I spotted something I wasn’t even looking for: a cottontail rabbit sitting very still in the crotch of a three-trunked tree. I was not two feet from it! I slowly lifted my gun, popped it one and had my first bunny. I proudly cooked it up and ate it myself.

Now, forever hooked on the taste of locally grown, free-range, organic, sustainably raised, Earth-friendly protein, I took a hunter safety class and purchased my first real gun, a single-shot Remington .22 rifle. World, watch out! It wasn’t long before I purchased a Ward’s single shot 12 gauge shotgun. With a scattergun, I found my passion…..wingshooting.

I bagged my first game bird on a big southern Minnesota lake. I was wading the shallows in a sea of cattails when I came upon a small opening where a pair of mallards was hiding. I dropped the drake and found it without the help of a dog. I will never forget standing at the boat landing while hunters coming in from the open water congratulated me. I was so excited and proud.

My first goose was a battle royale. In the early 1970s, there were few giant Canada geese anywhere. Yet, a pair landed late on a wetland we were hunting. My buddy posted on end; me, the other. Then, we got up to spook them into flight, and sure enough, they came my way, low and honking loud. I only had a single-shot, but winged the beast, which ran hard toward the wetland when he dropped. Luckily, my buddy’s yellow lab, Duke, as gnarly a country farm dog as there ever was, caught the flapping giant and held him down. Folks from around the area came to see that goose, so rare was it to bag one in those days.

My first rooster came when a buddy and I were walking through a 10-foot high stand of giant ragweed at dusk. We knew the birds liked this spot, and sure enough up one came………and down he went just as quick!

What are you first gun and first bird memories?

The Nomad is written by Mark Herwig, Editor of the Pheasants Forever Journal and Quail Forever Journal. Email Mark at This e-mail address is being protected from spambots. You need JavaScript enabled to view it .