Andy Garth
My brother and I spent Christmas afternoon excavating some family memories. Most were in the form of photos carefully stacked among the decades-old reams of letters, receipts, W-2s and tax filings, check stubs, titles and other papers buried in an old chest that had been in our parents’ home—stuff that would have no value to anyone with a different last name. Our mother apparently kept everything, a habit my older brother has continued for the 40 years the chest has been in his possession.
The most affecting item for me, however, was not part of the papers and photos that had been collecting in the antique, cedar-lined chest since Truman occupied the White House. It was a .50 caliber CVA MagBolt 150 in-line blackpowder rifle.
The gun had belonged to my nephew—my brother’s son, Andy Garth—who had died early the previous morning following a brief but brutal illness. He was 47.
The rifle was in a zippered case. My brother unzipped it and, owing to a habit instilled decades ago by our father, checked that the gun was unloaded before handing it to me. I also checked because the rule is: When you pick up a firearm—any firearm—you check to see if it is loaded. Each time. No exception. It’s like clockwork in our family.
I turned the gun over in my hands; opened, closed and re-opened the bolt; brought it to my shoulder; placed it on the bed; and then picked it up again, my mind a storm of emotions.
The MagBolt 150 is no longer made by CVA, but it’s a fine rifle, a “modern muzzleloader,” which means it has the look, feel and relative knock-down power (out to a couple of hundred yards) of a centerfire rifle, but it loads from the muzzle with a ramrod using blackpowder or a similar propellant. In-line rifles generally meet the legal definition of a muzzleloading firearm and thus are legal for the muzzleloader deer season offered by most states, including Kentucky (app.fw.ky.gov/seasondates). The MagBolt 150 came with a steel ramrod and uses a 209-primer ignition system, common along bolt-action muzzleloaders.
It’s a solid, no-frills deer gun.
The barrel was stamped “Made in Spain” and “Blackpowder only,” although blackpowder is rarely used with in-line style guns. Most modern muzzleloader shooters use a cleaner-burning substitute.
This rifle is fitted with a dark barrel and receiver, and a black synthetic stock. It has a 3 x 9 Bushnell scope with see-through scope mounts. The scope was probably included with the rifle. Andy may have ordered it from Cabela’s or Bass Pro Shops but more likely bought it from a local shop. My nephew was the type of guy who would want to handle a firearm before he bought it.
The scope was capped. The rifle was clean, oiled and looked out-of-the-box new. This didn’t surprise me. My nephew was a man who took care of his stuff.
But I knew the gun wasn’t new. Andy had hunted with it a few times. He once called me from his deer stand. This was several years ago. I don’t recall the details of our conversation, but I remember asking if he had downed a deer. He had not. I don’t know if he ever dropped a deer. I doubt he did. I’m pretty sure he would have called me if he had.
We’re a hunting family, but my nephew and I never hunted together, owing mainly to logistics, work schedules, family responsibilities and the fact that we lived in different states. Although we talked about it and decided that we should and would plan a hunt, it didn’t happen, an omission I deeply regret.
Our relationship was an odd one due to our age split. We were separated by only 15 years. When he introduced me, I was always presented as “uncle,” but it felt like a formality, and when we were alone together or with family or friends, it was always a first-name basis. I didn’t mind. And this may have gone back to an incident when he was 15 and I was 30. A poorly planned and ill-advised winter canoe trip ended with two overturned boats. I pulled the boy from the freezing river. A friend rescued my brother. My brother, nephew and I rarely spoke of this, but it was never far from our minds, either. Perhaps we secretly suspected we were each living on borrowed time.
I handed the gun to my brother.
“Why do you have it?”
He shook his head. He and his son lived a few blocks from one another.
“Andy brought it by one day several years ago and asked if I would keep it for him,” he said quietly. “I said yes, of course. He never came back for it. It’s been in the closet ever since. Until now.”
I picked it up and again worked the bolt. I liked the sound and feel of the smooth, well-machined exchange. A trucker by trade, my nephew had been a mechanically minded man.
My brother is an experienced hunter and shooter but not a blackpowder enthusiast.
“Have you ever shot a gun like this?” he asked.
I nodded. “A couple of times.”
“Maybe we can shoot this one sometime,” he said while re-zipping the case. “I’d like to do that.”
“I would, too. We will shoot it. Soon.”
Readers may contact Gary Garth at editor@kentuckymonthly.com