The following is an actual account of the three men, Ed Keney, Tom Grant, and Gordon Byrd who set out from Pittsburg, Pa., in an eighteen-foot canoe and paddled 525 miles in 15 days, to the Walter Cline Range at Friendship, Ind.
Camp Fire Memories - A Max Vickery Archive
Written by Max Vickery
A friend from home, Phil Hiatt who used to camp with us in the 50's came down with me to fish the creek, listen to some tunes, eat well and reminise a little.
He put on a Coco Taylor tape of the Blues Machine, and Said, 'How do you like that for dinner music? "Wonderful, but it'll change what we're going to have to eat." He came back with, "How's that and what's cookin?" Well it's going to be hot tamales, Louisiana greens and Jalapeno ice cream so I can match dinner to the music."
The tapes spun on as the memories bubbled up with 49 years of smiles. It took us back to Jim and Dorothy Coon's camp, Jane and John Van Way, their father , Morris and Herman Fox who pulled this place up out of the hay field, along with the help of Jo and Helen Evans, Trotter, who planted the pines along highway 62, Bill Reese, Merrel Deer, B. Leroy Compton, our editor and publisher when we headquartered out of Portsmouth, Ohio and others I never met. Lots of tents in those days, maybe one or two trailers, and every camp had its little fire.
The three main camps with the community fires were Morris Van Ways, Bill Mooses Last Chance Hotel, and Jim and Dottie Coons with 50 people gathered around laughing, talking with old friends and making new ones in conversaton. The younger crowd of the camp would be in a close by tent spinning L.P.'s and listening to Stan Kentons Lonesome Road and others.
Turner Kirkland of Dixie Gun Works, Rupert Alexander of Ram Rod Gun Shop, Lou Briggs of no mentionable fame at all at the time, and myself with four ram-rods, gently touching, dancing abba,dabba,dabba around in circles as she stood in the ring between us. The sweet and gentle girl and as afflition remotely related to geese.
There was a great deal of laughter in the camps in those days. Oh, some were more quite with talk of gunsmithing, scores shot that day, and the beautiful grain in the Freeze Maple.
The sound of fox horns came often through the night air followed by "Hear lead, Hear lead." blended with the one-two, beat of Walt Muthing's Tom-Tom.
Dorothy Coon was fixing fox squirrel, groundhog and pork steaks in mustard sauce over an open grill while the ladies of the Luthern Church of Farmers Retreat set tables of food fit for a thrashing ring in what is now the kitchen in the club house. I watched three generations of these ladies perform this service to send their children on to college 'till the old got fired and the young found other interests.
We had a character named Shorty Shelton who lived in an old sheep hearders trailer. He was comical with his 10-gallon hat, a pair of 7 1/2 inch Colt single actions in a double-rigged buscadero which damn near drug ground. The low slug pistols was due to Shorty's height, he was only four foot 13 inches high.
Commercial Row was tarps and blankets spread on the ground, and Henry Thurman was chief range officer with Riley as his assistant while old Red Ferris scored targets in the loft of the Club House and wrote a squib for Muzzle Blasts titled, "Red's Ramblings."
The offhand line was dominated by Joe Evans, Jesse Woods, Merrel Deer, Earl Black, Don Schurman, Jim Henderson, Al Leaf and bumped accasionally by this author. Bench guns were of .45, .48 and .50 caliber with very few under-strikers. Claud Turner won most of the flint-bench. Pop Boltz always placed in the squirrel-rifle bench, and Ralph and Mandy Dunn was always on station 50 on the east end of the 50-yd. line wth a green painted bench and stool, the same color as their house.
There were improvements coming and some extra money was needed to swing the projects. Morris Van Way got us the 16-acres which is now the trap range and the hills behind it. Ladow Johnston made the motion to have a dollar gate few for spectators which got us $2,000 the first time it was tried. Trudy Bagby, first co-owner of Golden Age Arms, suggested a one week pre-camping fee for those who came early and got the best spots, and registered shooters left their cars free in the Ernie Laker's parking lot. Re-entry targets went from 50 cents to a dollar, the Seneca Run was invented and we started into our change.
Time was when everyone knew everyone else as we were smaller then, but we were family and the different segments of our sport talked more with each other.Charlett Roberts saw this change and sponcered the program of "Howdy Neighbor" so that each camp introduced itself to those on the other side. We could be in better shape if that attitude could return. The change has been noticed again, and it's very pleasant to hear our president, Chuck Hearn refer to us now as "family" for it is greatly needed.
This takes our older members back aways, and lets the new ones see how it used to be in hopes that they remember their good times as I remember mine, and as always, thanks for reading.
Back Trail | Max Vickery, February 1986 | Muzzle Blasts Archives
If it wasn't for memories I don't know just how I'd get through Feb ruary. It's a cold, dead month for me with the seasons gone and 30 to 45 days of waiting until you can get the van in on a local range without getting stuck. All guns have been cleaned, some of them twice, you've run the corn and feed out to three different snow-drifted, squirrel woods, and are happy with the snowshoes you got for Christmas.
Back Trail | Max Vickery, March 1986 | Muzzle Blasts Archives
This article was originally published in the February 1986 Issue of Muzzle Blasts Magazine. Max Vickery’s writing is some of our memberships’ all-time favorite, we thought it appropriate to share during the COVID-19 situation.
I sometimes wonder where the core, the nucleus of this Association lays. In 37 years of watching I know it hasn't been some of us. I also know that some, the living cement, that help make our common bond, go unnoticed. A president comes from the rank of board-member hopefully with credits of good ideas he has put forth before the body of fellow members. He is looked at, weighed, and 29 others, either for or against, say, "Yes, we"ll trust him with thechair."
This man is then honored and has to perform. He may answer the same question four times in an af ternoon, his shooting goes down hill, his time is not his own, for heis no longer himself, he is "ours." To the four of us who ask, our question is primary. The president may not consider our questions high in the order of priorities, but he leaves his hurried lunch to give us the answer. Yet, I don't think this man, who ever he may be, is the blood-core of this Association. The Board of Directors is certainly an honored position. And having watched it through nine administrations, I have seen it filled with the most worthy and a few, a very few, who just came aboard . If, first we shoot , then we camp, and then we Commercial Row, and by God, in that order. Then, a safety minded, attentive range officer must be considered as a "donor" to the efforts of this Association. Whoever thought up our "Range Officers School" so our overworked officers could be relieved by properly trained and competent people is certainly to becommended.Having always felt that there are but four basics to a rifle match; targets sold, targets scored, a range officer, and a restroom. Anything beyond this is a fringe benefit, be it dining hall, drinking water, or electric hook up. This then brings the target desk clerks, the scoring room personnel, and cap tains of the head to a more appre ciated postition. We have come a long, long way from those four basics in the years of our being. Look at your maga zine, the office, maternally watched over for years by our Dorm-Mother assisted by a nearly adopted daugh ter, now manager, surrounded by caring sisters. I don't think the you and I who hunt alone with the guns that need a ramrod are the blood-core until we help another whose interest is the same as ours. I think you haveto helpsome one before you can enter the flow that feeds the lifeline of this Association. It is not the champions who take the medals and not their turn at the duty. It was not the non-contributing critics that made this Association the greatest of its kind. It was the "givers" and God bless you all. Look if you will at a national spi der web of muzzleloading. Look at pages 61-62 of your January Blasts and see how far the baselines of the web now run. Know also, that these "little-shoots" are run by a handful of people who baked a ham at home and brought it for the kitchen, made two candle-lanterns and gave them as prizes, came out yesterday and mowed the grass, and after we shooters leave, will clean up the grounds and lock the farmer's gate so we can meet a month from now.
The quiet people, the blood-core, the giving members, from far out on the edge of the web, they who spill their pint that flows into the base line troughs going to the center of this Association, those who work so others can shoot - the "givers.''
You who give are truly wonderful - you have made us what we are today!
Max Vickery
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