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A Special Ruger Single Six
My abiding interest and admiration for single action sixguns is burned down deep within my soul. It started with a long ago Ruger Single Six that my dad owned. To this day I can’t explain what drew my eyes, and eventually my hands, to it. It was far from the only gun in my dad’s collection; but it is the only one that I can remember. It hung on a peg in the gun cabinet, snugly fit into a worn leather holster on a wide leather belt with shiny .22 mags tucked into the cartridge loops. It was a deep, beautiful blue and smelled of Hoppe’s No. 9. There were occasions as a very young boy that I got up the nerve, and took it out of the cabinet. I would open the loading gate and spin the cylinder just to listen to it sing. Then back with the hammer, let it fall and quickly put it away before my dad found out what I was up to. It may be a little recognized fact nowadays, but a belt was once a more widely used method of keeping a kid in line. My dad was no different than a lot of dads of that era. They believed firmly in belt use. He was a master in getting his point across with it. However, when it came to the sheer allure and satisfaction of handling that Ruger, even that was not enough to dissuade me! I sometimes wondered how he knew that I had once again been in his collection, but he did and I paid the price accordingly. Those early years passed quickly, and when I was about eight, my dad decided that it was about time to acquaint me formally with the ins and outs of proper sixgun handling and cleaning. He declared that the latter was my job from now on, a job that I would take very seriously from that point on. The first time that I witnessed the power of the Ruger was on a squirrel hunt, we were walking across the hay field towards the woods on the farm when a lone starling flew overhead. In one smooth motion; my dad had the gun out and the hammer cocked. That Starling dropped from the sky forthwith. My brother and I were carrying our BB guns. We had mastered the exercise of shooting cans. When we weren’t doing that, we were stalking the white and yellow butterflies that populated the area. My brother was not known, then or now, for his deft shooting eye. However, somehow he managed to stun a chipmunk with a shot from his BB gun. We both then proceeded to pump a few more into this unlucky creature. It was obvious though that we did not have enough power to finish the job. My dad withdrew the Ruger from its holster, and I watched bright eyed as he pulled the hammer back, aimed at the chipmunk’s head and pulled the trigger. The roar of the .22 magnum echoed through the woods and the chipmunk’s days came to an end. To my chagrin, as I got older, our hunting trips got fewer. My dad’s job as an over-the-road truck driver took him away from home more frequently. The old Ruger was always there, however. And now that I had been officially schooled in its use, I felt entitled to sneak it out, handle it as before and even pop off a few rounds occasionally... not enough that he would notice I hoped. At the same time, I can assure the reader that the supply of .22 mags was dwindling steadily… Age 16 and my driver’s license was soon upon me. This opened up a whole new world of hunting opportunities. I would drive into town, buy my own ammo, and spend the rest of the day shooting. I soon found that I could pick pigeons off the barn roof from 75 yards or better. Rarely would I leave the woods without my limit of squirrels. In addition, I had fox and raccoon pelts scattered all over the house. Even the occasional pheasant made its way to the pot on my stove. Surely, that Single Six was my constant companion. Then the day came to grow up and make my way in the world. The United States Army seemed right for me in this regard. I promptly completed my Infantry and Airborne training at Fort Benning GA and was shipped off to Germany for 2 years. This began a four-year sixgun drought. However, Germany was fun without a doubt. I was able to experience some of the US Government’s finest training programs and get a taste of the rest of the world.. Then it was back to Fort Benning. I was at the range doing some M60 drills one day when I noticed several people gathered at the pistol range. I strolled over to see what they were shooting and struck up a conversation with one of the participants. He offered to let me try his Beretta 9mm with which I promptly tore the 10 ring out of the human silhouette target. Before I left the range that day, I was a member of the Fort Benning Pistol Team. Trust me, this was a sweet hang by any and all measure - traveling to other bases and basically being paid to shoot. Unfortunately it coincided with a certain Arab tough guy's decision to bully his neighbor: Sadam's invasion of Kuwait attracted the full attention of a US Military that was itching for a fight. So off I was to Saudi Arabia for a year of fun in the sand and sun (sarcasm intended). I learned a lot about myself during that year, some good and some bad. With our job done to the satisfaction of our Government, it was back to the States to complete my exit of the US Army. Once back home to Wisconsin, it was time to start my Ruger collection. I went and purchased a 7 ½" Super Blackhawk, a 5 ½" Single Six and 4 5/8" Blackhawk .45 Colt. The steady feeding of the big bores was getting to my wallet so I began to reload. The child-like joy and exhilaration of shooting these single actions is still with me today. One day I happened to find www.sixgunner.com. Now here was a bunch of guys I could relate to! It offered a source of information not before available to me. It did end up hitting me in the old pocketbook however. Off went a new 4 5/8" Super Blackhawk to David Clements to turn into my version of a hunting/back packing/fishing/all around everyday sidearm. As I write this, I am still waiting for the phone to ring and David to tell me the gun is done. That’s anticipation at the highest degree. Interestingly, my dad was called to the service of the Lord while I was doing my time in the Army. He completed his seminary work about the time I completed my tour, and he is now the Pastor of a dual parish in west central Wisconsin. Things have now gone full circle: My dad was now admiring my Super Blackhawk and a few months later he showed up with one of his own. He had made a nice set of grips for it and had begun reloading himself. I look forward to going to the range together and catching up on the time that we had drifted apart. The sixgun that made me feel close to my dad when he was away has now brought us together closer than we have been in a lot of years. It’s only one of the things I can thank it for in a lifetime of enjoyment. |
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