I first heard of Vermont’s hidden Gem, Dan Morgan, twelve years ago at Dave Tilden’s venue when the beavertail forend on my Philadelphia Fox BE suddenly became loose.
A gunner finds many opportunities to hunt and shoot in Vermont. Waterfowlers gun both sides of the state. In the western part, the marshes and streams along the shorelines of Lake Champlain and the lake itself create opportunities to decoy or jump duck and geese; in the east, the Connecticut River and its tributaries provide waterfowl action. Between these boundaries are numerous creeks, ponds, and swamps, all inhabited by native duck. Local knowledge is key; ducks lurk behind hidden curves and muddy banks. Geese fly from lakes into hidden corn fields – the famous Vermont back forty – to feed.
Ruffed grouse populate the highlands and the deserted farm apple orchards punctuated with cellar holes. Woodcock inhabit the edges of wetlands and low pastures; and when the ‘cock migration is on, the shooting can be fast and furious. But again, local knowledge is key. Scouting, a rare invitation from another hunter, topographical maps, endless driving, hiking and glassing in the off season provide fresh opportunities as the older coverts mature and become less productive.
“You need to take this problem to Dan Morgan,” Dave told me.
Preparation is all; and when that bird rises or decoys in front of a gunner, he’d better be ready. And getting ready is one of the delights of the off season. Clay targets fly and are turned into dust. We use our shotguns and dream of shots made. And some of us dream of double shotguns, British or Spanish or Italian or Classic American ones with a mystique and history that rise above the more modern autoloaders and pumps. The guns that dreams are made of.
Vermont’s hidden Gem, Dan Morgan, supplies, restores, and repairs these superb shotguns. He specializes in doubles. He specializes in dreams.
I first heard of Dan twelve years ago. I was shooting five-stand at Dave Tilden’s venue when the beavertail forend on my Philadelphia Fox BE suddenly became so loose that the gun was not shootable. Dave and I looked at the shotgun and discovered that a 100 year old screw had broken in two.
“You need to take this problem to Dan Morgan,” Dave told me. “He is the only gunsmith in the area I trust with my double guns.” Dave owned several “English Best” shotguns, was a former exhibition shooter and representative for Ruger, and knew everyone in the fine shotgun business. This was quite a recommendation. “Dan is the most knowledgeable double gun dealer and smith in Vermont. He is the hidden gem of the fine gun trade. He doesn’t advertise, but word about him has spread throughout New England. He is one of the best gunsmiths in America. And he specializes in and loves double guns.”
“C’mon in.”
Later that week I paid my first visit to Dan Morgan’s gun shop. It was a pleasant drive to Woodstock, Vermont. Dan’s shop was in the hills and forested countryside some miles outside Woodstock. As I pulled up his driveway and drove across a wooden bridge, a ruffed grouse flushed out of the streambed and flew to the right of a building into a fringe of trees. A wide- open shot, the type you only see out of season. Dan met me outside his shop, laughing. “That’s one of my house ruffies, I don’t hunt them on the property. Judging by the number of birds I’m seeing this is shaping up to be a good year.” So Dan was another ruffed grouse hunter; that explained, in part, his love of lightweight, quick pointing doubles, the shotguns he, I later learned, loved to handle, shoot, talk about, repair and sell. “C’mon in.”
I carried the cased Fox into Dan’s ground floor shop. We walked past piles of gun-sized shipping boxes and shotgun cases. A rack ran against the left-hand wall, a rack full of double shotguns mostly side by side with an occasional over/under lurking in the crowd. A cluttered workbench was against another wall under windows. Natural light poured in across the tools spread out on the bench. A trigger assembly and several tiny screws sat on an oily cloth under an additional bright goose-necked lamp. The air smelled of fine wood, linseed, and gun-oil. A dog appeared and gave me a sniff, tail wagging. “If you are carrying a gun, my dog loves you,” Dan said with a grin. “Let’s take a look.” I handed him the shotgun.
“This isn’t the original forend,” Dan stated.
Dan took the Fox carefully out of its case, picked up the forend and the broken pieces of screw. “This isn’t the original forend,” he stated.
“No,” I said, “I’ve got the original splinter forend in the Jeep if you want it.”
“Which one do you want on the gun?”
“The beavertail.”
“Then I don’t need the splinter forend.”
Dan placed the beavertail on his cloth covered bench and inspected it carefully. Then he picked up the two pieces of broken screw and put them together. “I think that I have just the thing.” Dan reached up to a shelf and found a mason jar full of threadless metal screw blanks.
He rummaged a bit with his fingers and brought out three blanks. He compared them to the broken pieces and picked one. Then, right before my eyes, he picked up a tool and in ten careful minutes hand carved threads onto the blank screw. I watched quietly, just amazed, as he shaved the soft iron. I had never seen or heard of such a thing.
“That oughta do it,” Dan said and picked up the forend’s separate wood and metal parts. He proceeded to screw the forend back together and then put the Fox back together. The pieces fit perfectly. “No charge. It’s a pleasure to get the old girl back in shooting shape. You want to see what’s in the shop?”
“Dan walked me over to the long gun rack and began to hand me shotguns. Beautiful shotguns. Superb shotguns.”
I did. And Dan walked me over to the long gun rack and began to hand me shotguns. Beautiful shotguns. Superb shotguns. I looked at the wood, the engraving, felt their weight in my hands, swung them up to my shoulder. American, Belgian, Spanish, English, Scottish, side-by sides, over/unders, sidelocks, boxlocks, bar-in-wood, antique and modern, fluid steel and Damascus barrels, hammer guns and hammerless ones. Some of the heavier doubles proofed for steel or bismuth shot and ready for waterfowl. Light guns for the uplands. A London-made matched pair. Working guns from 10 to 110 years old. Treasures of the gunmaker’s art. Vermont’s hidden gem, indeed.
I asked questions: about highly figured wood, length of pull, engraving, choke, trigger pull, barrel quality, shot loads; about the famous companies that made the guns, their craftsmen, shooting grounds, history. If Dan didn’t have the answer, he simply said, “I don’t know.” Mostly he knew, and when he explained, it made sense. Two hours flew past.
“Time to leave,” I told Dan. “Thank you so very much for the tour. I’ll be back.”
“Come anytime you have a problem or just want to talk guns.”
Dan smiled, “I know you will be; come anytime you have a problem or just want to talk guns.”
And I have returned many times. To be measured and fit for gunstocks. To have guns repaired or refurbished. To sell or to buy fine shotguns. For advice or just to talk.
One marvelous year I went to Scotland to shoot driven red grouse, pheasant and Spanish partridge. Dan was one of the experienced shooters who talked to me about what to expect — about driven birds, loaders, estate shooting, dress and customs. He also got my shotguns ready for the four-day shoot, making certain that all was in proper order and that the timing of the ejectors – something I had not considered – was ready for a loader. I fired hundreds of shells in those glorious four days. All the missed birds were my mistakes. I never had to worry about my guns. Dan had seen to that. All I had to do was move, mount, shoot and hit the bird.
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