What a store was doing out in the middle of nowhere I didn’t know, but there it was.
I should never have had that second green chili burrito. The gas in my stomach told me I had made a big mistake and it was getting worse by the minute. I had finished my sales calls in the morning and then stopped at a small Mexican restaurant for lunch. It was usually reliable, but this time I had gotten into something really nasty.
The day was unseasonably warm for early October and the heat, combined with my indigestion, made me feel pretty rocky. To top it off, I had taken a backroad towards home with the intent of trying to find a couple of new grouse coverts . I didn’t know the road or how close I might be to finding a place where I could stop and get something for my stomach.
It had been a string of bad years for grouse habitat. Almost every piece of land that I had ever hunted was now owned by somebody who wanted to fence me out for fear I might shoot a bird or two. Apparently, they thought only they were entitled to hunt the land and that ownership negated all others’ rights to the wild birds.
As I drove, however, I quietly admitted to myself that part of the problem was mine. I had spent most of my life hunting with a school friend, John Brech. He could outwork and out-walk anybody I ever knew, but he wasn’t able to beat cancer. Now I hunted alone, searching for new woodlots and covers and not finding them.
I reached down to the air-conditioner switch and turned it to high, but it didn’t seem to make much difference. It was so hot that it was hard to breathe and I knew I needed to find a place where I could get a pop, cool off and settle my stomach. There wasn’t much on the highway though, and it looked like I was going to have to go all the way home to get any relief. To top it off, the reports of grouse covers along the highway appeared to be totally in error.
I had just about resolved myself to a long uncomfortable trip home when I swept around a corner and found myself driving into a completely new landscape, a landscape of maple, ash and oak. Erupting with brilliant fall colors, the trees were a signal that there might be relief after all. As I approached the woodlots, the landscape looked better all the time. All I needed now was something for my stomach and then, up ahead, I saw a small country store.
What a store was doing out in the middle of nowhere I didn’t know, but there it was. It was 1920s, with white clapboards and a big bay window on each side of the door which was set back about five feet. There weren’t any cars out front and I wondered if it was even open. Still, I felt that I should stop on the chance I could get something to settle my stomach.
I swung over, parked my car on a slant and pulled myself out of the driver’s seat. I still couldn’t tell if the old store was open or not, as curtains cove red each of the bay windows and nothing was visible inside. Over the door, however, was a transom window and through that I could see a light shining clearly and brightly. “Must be somebody in there,” I said to myself as I headed up toward the door.
I mounted the steps, glanced at the store windows and froze in my tracks. The windows were stocked with a fall hunting display the likes of which I had never seen. Mason decoys, Premier canvasbacks and snaky-head Challenge grade mallards sat in the windows. Behind the decoys, Winchester fold-out store displays advertised Model 12s and 21s and a selection of shells for waterfowling and the uplands. Sprinkled among the displays were duck and goose calls, hunting coats and boots. It wasn’t a general store; it was an antique store! It was great!
I pushed on the door, it opened and I stepped inside. As my eyes adjusted to the light, I felt a coolness enfold me and I became aware that my stomach problems had subsided.
“Welcome, come in and join us! What can I do for you?” a voice from my left inquired. I looked to the sound and saw three men just kicking back and relaxing. One was rubbing oil into a gun stock, another appeared to be reading a magazine and the third, the one that had welcomed me, was just setting therewith his feet propped up on a chair.
“Quite a place you have here,” I remarked as I looked around. “It’s like the stores I remember from my childhood.” Fishing baits were hanging from wall racks, decoys lined the shelves, boxes of shells decorated the counters and along one wall rested a line of guns.
“You’ve done a good job recreating an old-time sporting goods store, but you must have a fortune invested in inventory. That pair of Mason canvasbacks in the front window has to be worth $3,500 alone. Don’t you worry about being out here in the middle of nowhere?”
“No, never had a problem. The people that find me out here are the good people who like to hunt and fish. The kind of people that you’re thinking of never come here,” he allowed.
I worked my way over to the gun rack and started to browse down the line. “Is that a Model 21 20-gauge? Can I take a look at it? A good friend of mine, John Brech, had one just like that and I really liked it. John died and the gun just sort of disappeared. Never did find out who got it.”
“No problem, take a look at it. Three-inch chambers and 28-inch barrels choked skeet and skeet. Almost presentation grade wood. A really nice piece of craftsmanship. Take it out back and try it out if you like.”
I couldn’t believe it. “You’re going to let me walk in here, a total stranger, and take a $3 ,000 gun to try out. Without even a question? What if I head out that back door, get in my car and take off with your 21?”
“Well,” he replied, “I just thought you might like to try the gun. As for taking off with it in your car, you can have the gun, but I’m afraid you won’t be using your car. In fact, they will be towing it away in a few minutes.”
“What are you talking about?” I headed for the door and pulled the shade back to look out. From the window, I could see two police cruisers and an ambulance parked by my car. As I watched, two officers pulled me from the front seat and laid me on a stretcher.
“You’re dead, you know,” the old man said. An acute vascular event, also known as a heart attack. An upset stomach is one of the classic signs. You passed away before your car even stopped.”
“Where am I?”
“A place specially picked for you. An opportunity to hunt again with your friends, to use the shotguns you want and experience the type of coverts that can only be described as heavenly. Take the 20 and try it. We have a good selection and you can bring it back and try something else later on. If you head out the back door and take a left, you will come to a stone wall. Follow that wall over the rise to the church-yard cover. John Brech was in here a little earlier and he said for me to show you the way when you stopped in.”
I picked up the 20, took a box of sixes and stepped through the door. As I descended the steps, the cool air reached my lungs and I felt a lightness. I met the stonewall and headed along it. In the distance I saw a familiar figure and, as I shouldered the 20, I knew that I had found the coverts that I had been looking for.
Truly a first in the world of outdoor publishing, Monsters, Mayhem and Miracles is a one-of-a-kind collection of unforgettable tales from the sporting world. Its 44 stories range from harrowing encounters with deadly predators to astonishing tales involving spirits, ghosts and even the devil himself. Buy Now
