My first centerfire that I hunted was my dad's 8mm M98. He'd put a Lyman 48 on the stern and a Bishop under the steel; not sure about the bow accoutrements, but I could hold 2" groups at 100 paces. That is before going into the woods. I'm thinking I'd had to have a passel of luck to whack anything smaller than a moose at over 100 yards while hunting and returning home? Well, let's just say me targets were lucky indeed. I hadn't made five feet tall yet and hovered--when fully clothed and a bit wet--right at 100 pounds. But I hunted just about every day in spite of all the jokes--use your imagination, please--and now and again something fell down in front of me that either died from laughter or somehow... **** thing was soooooooooo heavy; gained weight exponentially every time I liberated it, trigger pull seemed about my weight and the safety, well, while it always worked was really awkward for me at the time. However, the worst part of Peter and Paul's genius was that the bolt bound nearly every time it was yanked rearwards. Otherwise I just loved that rifle. The next adventure was with my girlfriends dad's Husqvarna lightweight 30-06. Another animal altogether. The rifle was a beauty though--a tamed 98.
As a sophomore in High School it finally happened. New girlfriend; out with the old. That was 1961 and the gal's name was Winchester, Model 70 270 Winchester. True love 'dat--still be and I took on the sisters too all 270s and one 375. And while I might change a few other things that happened along the way I'll just leave my Winchester experience the way it was, the way it is. There's two Model 12s in there too--and a 52D, but...