Walnut Hill
Deadly, Dependable and Elegant
other By: Terry Wieland | November, 25
Most people have never had the opportunity to handle and shoot a really fine double rifle, so a certain skepticism and disdain are understandable. “No rifle,” they say, “is worth that much money.” (We’re talking tens of thousands and up.)
You could say the same of cars or, for that matter, pickup trucks. One acquaintance of mine who is loud in his condemnation of spending thousands for a double rifle happily tools around in an oversized black pickup that set him back almost a hundred grand. Does he need a pickup? Is he hauling hay on a regular basis? Supplying cement to a construction site? None of the above. He’s a mid-level executive of a mid-level company who shoots a Browning over/under and is equally quick to mock anyone who spends more than a couple of grand for a sporting-clays gun.
For a long time, I tried to explain to such people why a double rifle by, say, Holland & Holland (H&H), costs more than a hundred thousand dollars and why it’s genuinely worth the money. I’ve given up. Trying to discuss music with someone who is tone deaf, or describing a J.M.W. Turner sunset to a man who’s color-blind, is absolutely pointless.
From about age sixteen, I longed for a double rifle above almost all things. It began with reading John “Pondoro” Taylor’s Big Game and Big Game Rifles, was stoked by a piece by Elmer Keith in the 1967 Gun Digest describing his collection of doubles and showing a couple by Westley Richards. Both were graceful, deadly, and seductive beyond reason. This nascent infatuation was cemented by a photograph of my literary hero, Robert Ruark, at his world-weary best, cradling a 470 double. “Use enough gun,” he said, and it stuck. From that point on, to me, only a double was enough.
It was almost thirty years before I got the chance to really learn about double rifles. I had just assumed my post as shooting editor of Gray’s Sporting Journal, and Holland & Holland invited me to London for a couple of weeks of seeing the factory, shop and shooting grounds, and shooting anything and everything. Holland had recently been acquired by Chanel. The parfumier’s largesse was flowing, and I was one of the grateful, if somewhat bemused, beneficiaries.
One afternoon, at the shooting ground in Northwood, I fired a number of double rifles either nearing completion or ready for delivery and in need of test-firing. Among them were a 500/465, 500 Nitro Express, and the then-new 700 H&H (also known as 700 NE). This was done under the expert eye of Russell Wilkin, Holland’s technical director, and Steve Cranston, barrel regulator and finisher.
This episode marked the first step in a long journey of discovery. It also made clear to me, in spite of all my reading, just how much I did not know. A lasting impression, though, was the feel of those rifles. I had shot a lot of double shotguns by that time, but the feel of those Holland & Holland rifles was a revelation. It was as if they were alive, anticipating what I intended - open, close, safety on, safety off - and had it half-accomplished before my conscious mind gave the order.
I have since learned that this eagerness, like a horse that knows what you want and is completely in tune with you, is the hallmark of a good gun of any kind. None more so than a “best” London double. Then as now, I could not afford one, new or otherwise, and over the next decade, the world of side-by-side doubles, both rifles and shotguns, spiraled into the stratosphere.
In 2004, at the Safari Club convention, Russell Wilkin told me a potential client had asked where he could find a good double in a dangerous-game caliber for under twenty thousand dollars, nothing fancy, just a good hunting rifle. Russell replied that, if he found one, to let him know because he wanted to buy them for stock. It was totally insane.
How insane? In 2010, at Puglisi’s Gun Emporium in Duluth, they had a century-old H&H Dominion Grade in 577 NE. The Dominion Grade used a back-action sidelock and is generally less desirable than a “Royal.” These were built as working rifles for professionals, ivory hunters, game wardens and such, not as showpieces or ego builders. Asking price: $180,000. I later learned they got it.
Fifteen years on, the bloom is off that particular rose, and prices have descended into something resembling sanity. The finest double rifle I’ve ever seen, a W.J. Jeffery 450/400 NE (3 inch) dating from the 1930s, sold at Rock Island two years ago for $41,125. I’m not saying it was better than one of those new Holland doubles I shot in 1993, but expert opinion held that it was at least as good.
For a while, I owned a 500 NE double by a company that had been a great London name (and now is once again) and in Tanzania, after climbing down a cliff in the rain and shooting from a ledge, used it to kill a Cape buffalo. It was rather hairy. The rifle did the job quite handily. I no longer have it, and frankly, I no longer have a burning desire for a modern big-caliber double by a glittering-name company.
What I would still like to have, though, is such a double rifle in 303 British. This longing goes right back to that teenage boy I mentioned earlier. It seems to me the 303 is the perfect cartridge for a double rifle for medium game. I’m old-fashioned, believing a double (and most single-shots, for that matter) should use a rimmed cartridge. They’ve perfected extractors for rimless cartridges, but I have a nagging mistrust of tiny spring-powered detents.
Just as I was reflecting on this lingering desire, along came the Rock Island catalog for their premium auction in August. What should I find? Not one but three double rifles in 303 British: one by James Purdey, another by George Gibbs and the third an H&H hammer rifle.
Twenty years ago, you would not have gotten your hands on any for less than twenty grand, more like forty for the Purdey. Rock Island estimates all should go in the seven to eleven thousand range. By the time you read this, the auction will be over, but that’s not my point.
George Gibbs, father of the massive 505 Gibbs cartridge, was on the short list of great British riflemakers, along with Holland & Holland, Rigby, Jeffery and Westley Richards. Any of them is eminently desirable.
Out of nowhere, here’s a chance to own yet another rifle I’ve coveted for many years. At least I might visit the showroom, fondle the rifles, register to bid, probably a gesture at best, and watch as they are sent off to their new homes, even if that home is not mine.
Harking back to those influential pieces of literature that sparked my interest in double rifles, one could argue that John Taylor was biased. He was British, a veteran of the elephant wars in East Africa, and had seen too many “cheap Continental magazine rifles” fail at the crucial moment. For Robert Ruark, the double in that photo was as much a symbol of belonging - a badge of honor - as it was a tool for hunting.
Elmer Keith, however, was a man devoid, as far as I can tell, of romantic bent, and he was certainly not an Anglophile. He was devoted to rifles, pistols and shotguns that worked every time and did the job. With his habitual cigar and ten-gallon hat, he was not to everyone’s taste, including mine at that time. But when he said something worked, you could believe it. The title of one of his articles was “Deadly, Dependable Doubles,” which pretty much says it all.