My choice is the rifle that has been with me the longest. I moved to Pa 10 years ago after retiring from the service and the first thing I did was to find and join an archery club. There I met a guy who had just taken ownership of a brand new custom BP rifle. I asked about the maker and learned he lived and worked a few miles from my home. I called, made an appt and when I showed up to his shop, behind his house in a log cabin, I stepped back into time where old methods and genuine talent met. Brad Emig actually worked in the Williamsburg Gunsmith shop making period correct Flintlocks, with correct methods. I asked Brad to make me a Virginia rifle and took home an English Fowler while I waited for the rifle to come to life in his shop. The next hunting season, I used that rifle in early season, regular and late season, taking my first PA buck with it, several other deer and my largest Buck I have ever taken, with this rifle. Over the years I have added to the accessories for this rifle, a range loading stick, a forged wrench and pliers combo tool, an antler handled forged blade in sheath, neck knife, Rapin bullet mold, forged rod tools, melting dipper, fire starter, possibles bag, powder horn, priming pan horn, clothing, moccasins, hunting capes and caps. The rifle rests on the two largest racks I have taken with it and calls to me when I enter the room. I listen and pull it off the wall, running a polishing cloth over the cherry stock, oiling the brown Colleran swamped barrel that cirlces the .54 caliber void at the muzzle. Its german silver blade very visible in the brown furniture of the rear sight. The lock is perfectly timed and I have not experienced a misfire in 9 years. The silver compass rose on the butt stock is patterned off of a similar rifle made some 240 years ago. On the cherry tang is sliver crest with my intials on it. On the off side of the butt stock is a carved wooden patch box. I bring the rifle to my shoulder and the sights align to my aging eyes, the front sight 54 inches away, clear as can be. The wood is alive in my hands, but steady at point and follow through. The heft and balance of the rifle perfect in my hands. At the range, a group always gathers as clover leaf hole patterns appear in the pie plates some 100 yards away. There 55 grains of powder are used if I'm just plinking away. When hunting, the 110 grains of ffg, under two wads and a .530 ball in a patch, propel the ball down range with amazing accuracy. No ball has been stopped in its passage through game. The longest shot of just under 100 yards passed through the young buck and continued into the woods beyond. I recall that shot as I look at the rug of the buck on the wall of "my room". My favorite season of the hunting year opens soon, when the hordes of hunters from general season disappear from the game lands, leaving the later BP season to Cold winds from the north, and white blankets of snow. This is when I slip into the woods upon quiet moccasins, and period dress, possibles and rifle at my side. When the ancient in me pushes clear from my mind the modern and the pressures of day to day. This rifle calls to my very soul. We make camp in a rock outcrop, where the small fire heats the walls of rock and stone. Years ago I built a lean to wall from fallen limbs placed against this very rock. It is just perfect to overlook the creek bottom and to shelter from the icy wind at night. Yep, this is the favorite rifle. Its calling again and I relpy, soon... soon.
I feel awful. 
