Providing Safety, Providing Safely
- Aubrey Johnson
- Feb 23
- 10 min read
October 17, 2021 - The sky was clear and blue. The temperature was unseasonably warm for Montana in the fall, getting up to 70°F. I still chose to wear a light jacket to shield me from mountain breezes. We were set up on private property in the foothills of the Absaroka Mountains. The headphones silenced the noise around me, but I could hear my heart beating. My arms stiffened as I held the gun out straight with both hands around the grip, bracing for the recoil. It felt foreign in my hands, weighty with the power to harm or protect based on the user’s intent. I was at the end of the line of those taking the gun safety class, with targets lined up in front of us about 15 yards away. My index fingers were angled up, off the trigger. After checking our stance and positions, the instructor behind us said we could count to three and then fire. I heard all four of the others shoot their weapons, but I was frozen. I counted to three in my head but didn’t move. The instructor came to give me a pep talk behind me. It had already been established that I didn’t have to, I wanted to.
She told me it’s normal for people not to pull the trigger on the first try. Okay, I thought, I can do this. She counted with me… one, two, three, pull! The gun pushed back, but not an unmanageable amount; the Glock wasn’t big. It still surprised me. The first time was the most challenging, not that the other nine times I fired at the target were “easy,” but I knew more of what to expect. While I can’t tell you exactly what kind of guns I shot (two different handguns), I can say I have a better appreciation for and understanding of those who choose to use guns for safety and defense.
I told myself I wanted to be more open to try new things. Signing up for a gun safety class, with field experience, was definitely something new for me. The class was organized for the young adult group at my church by our Sunday School leaders, Mike and Nicole (first shared about in “A Legacy of Provision”), and was given by Julie Hill of Montana Gun Gal. Julie is a highly trained, certified instructor, and I appreciated the fact that the class emphasized firearm laws and safety. I had (and have) no desire to get a concealed carry permit, an interest of others who took the class, nor did I want to transition from handgun experience to rifle experience and become a hunter. I did want to learn what those who do conceal and carry are expected to know. Montana and, let’s face it, more and more states these days are full of people who carry a handgun as part of their everyday attire. People have them for “safety reasons,” which to me, seems like they don’t trust the local law enforcement to do the job. Or, maybe the more accurate reality is that law enforcement may not always be present when they’re needed. It was reassuring to learn about gun safety laws and permits required in different states. Regardless of which side of the gun debate one falls on, more education is a good thing. And for me, that meant more education about gun safety, something that I hope all those who choose to use and handle firearms participate in as well. If I know nothing about something, it makes sense that that thing would bring fear or weariness. Regardless of the topic, education shines a light on what is foreign. Even though it’s not my chosen profession or hobby, I know guns, and those who use them appropriately, have their place in our society. I may have hesitated to fire the handgun, but I’m glad those in the military and law enforcement are well-trained and do, for the protection of others, what I cannot. (I don’t imagine many of them would want to teach middle schoolers!)
In addition to the above-mentioned roles, others expected to follow gun safety are hunters. As I previously shared in “Pride and Prejudice: How My Views of Hunting Changed,” I have a great deal of respect for hunters providing food for their families off the land while helping control wildlife populations. I have never fired a rifle, so I cannot speak to that feeling - the weight in my arms, the recoil, the power of taking a life for sustenance. Hunting for food is one of the earliest forms of family bonding - a father passing a skill on to his son. Sometimes it’s not just the skill passed down, but the rifle used for the skill. My friend Jordan, a fellow writer, but also a hunter, allowed me to share his story about such a rifle.
“The Provider Provides”
In the summer of 2016, I took my grandfather’s deer rifle to a regionally renowned gunsmith in Three Forks, MT. Grandpa David’s rifle needed some work. The previous hunting season, we’d tried using it, but the semi-automatic action didn’t cycle correctly. When fired, it would eject a cartridge, but not cycle the next round.
On a warm July morning, I loaded Grandpa’s rifle into my pickup and drove to Rocky’s Gun Works. When my GPS said “The destination is on your right,” I took a dubious turn onto a gravel driveway leading to a log mill. A massive yellow front loader carrying a half dozen timber logs drove across the gravel road in front of me. I stopped in the middle of the driveway and took in my surroundings. Around the mill yard were piles of logs, stacks of cut lumber, and a couple of guys running the mill. A series of metal buildings were scattered around the complex, all looking the same. “Is one of these a gun shop?” I wondered. Without any clear clues, I drove up to the first building, hoping someone inside could direct me. As I parked, I noticed a small sign next to the door, “Rocky’s Gun Works.” Found it.
I carried the rifle in and was greeted by a heavily mustached man. “Howdy, there, I’m Rocky,” the gentleman said, “What can we do you for?” I handed him the rifle. “Woah, a Remington 7400,” he said, “I haven’t seen one of these in a long time. What do you need done with it?” I explained how the action wasn’t cycling correctly, and Rocky said he would take care of it.
Grandpa David was a barrel-chested man, who, later in life, developed a double-barrelled-belly. He passed away when I was only a toddler, so I didn’t get to know him well. But as I grew up, I heard stories of the man. My impression of him was as something of a legend of our Northern Wisconsin hunting camp. I heard stories of how grandpa David would stay up all night into the early hours of the morning playing nickel poker with the crew, then stay out all day hunting on deer drives, a coordinated hunt where a group of ‘pushers’ will walk through a section of woods to push deer towards the ‘standers.’ He hunted with the 7400 for the better part of three decades. Over his life, he’d filled the freezer each year from different hunts in different places. The family had the opportunity to enjoy deer, antelope, elk, and even moose. The Provider was an apt moniker for the old 30-06.
I have two distinct memories of Grandpa David. Though, I’m not sure if the first one is a memory. Maybe it is just an idea formed over the years that I’ve started to think is a memory. In any case, in the memory, I’m a toddler in the old farmhouse. I’m in the entryway, and I look up the stairs that lead to the kitchen. I see Grandpa David at the top of the stairs sitting in a chair. He is wearing a blue flannel that somehow accentuates his big belly. There is an open beer on the table in front of him. There is a haze in the air, and I can’t tell if that was because Grandpa was smoking a cigar, or because the memory is hazy. He has a big smile that rolls into a hearty laugh.
We’ll get to the second memory later. Back to the rifle.
My father picked up the Provider from Rocky a few weeks later. The action cycled beautifully. To complete the restoration, I took off the old scope, the original from when the gun was first bought, making it at least sixty years old. I put on a new Vortex scope and sighted in the rifle, making it ready for the upcoming season.
In November, at 6:00 one Sunday morning, I drove out to go hunting, feeling confident that if I could spot a deer, I would be able to close the distance for a good shot. I had a good feeling, and with 30 minutes of driving, I had plenty of time to consider, “Why do I feel confident?” The vast majority of days out afield don’t end with more meat for the freezer. In a good year, I have a daily success rate of less than 10%. Nonetheless, on this day, I felt good.
I parked the car in the pitch dark and started hiking into a long draw, an area I’ve scouted on several occasions. After walking for a while, morning light began to warm the sky to the East. Shooting light began shortly thereafter. I continued my walk, stalking slowly, strategically, quietly along a series of open draws. Within an hour, I spotted a deer a few hundred yards away on a ridge. I watched the deer, a doe, and waited for her to walk beyond a terrain feature and out of sight, which would allow me to move around to get closer. Once the deer was out of view, I started hiking in that direction. I worked my way to the crest of a hill, above where I expected the deer to be, and spotted the doe across a draw. With her was another doe and a spike buck. While I was much closer now, 150 yards away, they hadn’t seen me. In order to get in position for a steady shot, I took off my backpack and slid it in front of me while I crawled forward on my belly to where I had an open line of sight.
I painstakingly slowly slung the Provider off my shoulder and laid it across the backpack in front of me, which I used as a rest. I still had to rack a round into the chamber. As a safety rule, I never walk out in the field with a loaded weapon. Working the action has to be done quietly. Even at 150 yards, on a still morning, the doe could very well hear the metallic action of the rifle. I slowly pulled back the action, keeping my leather glove on and over the action throughout the process. I pulled the receiver back and ‘tink,’ a sharp sound of metal on metal as the cartridge released from the magazine and floated freely in the open action. I pushed the receiver forward until it locked closed with one final, muffled sound. I settled in, waiting for the feeding doe to turn broadside, to present an unobstructed opportunity at the vitals, which allows for the cleanest shot placement and doesn’t affect any of the meat. After all, that’s the real prize here.
While I waited, I reveled at the rifle lying before me. It had been used to put meat in the freezer by my father and grandfather. Depending on what happens next, this rifle will have provided sustenance for my family for three generations. Interrupting my reverie, the doe took a few steps to her left, opening up broadside. At 150 yards, I went through my shooting process… Calm. Watch your heart rate. Line up sight and let it rest on the target. Breathe in, out, hold your breath out, steady squeeze on the trigger, and wait for the flash. Boom! No matter how much I practice, the recoil of a rifle always surprises me. The doe dropped immediately. The shot went through and through, lungs and heart. The second doe and spike took off. They bounded over a hill and out of sight. I clicked the safety on, ejected the detachable magazine, and reloaded another cartridge.
The second recollection of my grandfather is, in truth, not a memory. It is a picture. In the picture, Grandpa, dressed in all blaze orange, is sitting on top of a red 1980 Honda four-wheeler. There is a big eight-point buck lashed to the back. The combined weight of Grandpa and the big deer made the ATV sink toward the ground. He’s just pulled up to the old hunting cabin with his big Grandpa David smile.
I didn’t have the opportunity to know my grandfather well. However, when I walked up on the doe, I smiled, because once again, The Provider had provided. The freezer would be full, providing not only nourishment but a connection to the land, as well as a connection to my family heritage.
Firearms are not a hobby for me. I haven’t touched a gun again since the Montana Gun Gal course, not a handgun for further practice or a rifle to try hunting. I am a firm believer in education, though. And broadening education about something can only give a person a deeper appreciation for the world in which we live. I may choose to not use firearms myself, but I am grateful that there are safety rules and regulations for those that do. As someone who enjoys good food, I am also grateful for the meat provided by animals and the hunters that harvest them. Last weekend I enjoyed elk and deer burgers with meat harvested by a friend. And Ken has a recipe in The Harvest Baker for Eggplant, Tomato, and Sausage Pie that would be great with deer or elk sausage. I made it for Pi Day 2021 a few months before my Gun Gal experience.
Another recipe featured in his cookbook, sans meat but with the previously mentioned eggplant, is Spiced Eggplant and Lentil Turnovers. Meat could easily be subbed for the lentils.
While I cannot share those two recipes, I can direct you to two recipes from Ken’s website, The Pie Academy, that would be great with harvested game meat - Meat and Potato Pot Pies and Natchitoches Meat Pies (unpictured). Whether it’s in the kitchen or at a gun range, I hope you say “yes” and try something new. Let me know what you learn!
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