Way back in 1975, I was a brand-new Second Lieutenant assigned to an artillery battalion at Wertheim am Main. It was a Germanic fairyland small town at the confluence of the Main and Tauber rivers in the foothills of the Spessart Mountains. In South Louisiana, where I grew up, I had hunted deer with buckshot over hounds but never with a rifle. Within a few months, I was diligently studying to obtain my German Jagdschein (hunting license). That meant that I also needed a rifle. For whatever reason, the Ruger No. 1 fascinated me, and I was able to get a No. 1 B in .270 through the local Rod & Gun. We soon became close companions, and over the next several years it accounted for three or four red stag and half a dozen hinds; a huge boar and probably a dozen for the grill; and perhaps three or four dozen roe deer.
Like all No. 1 rifles, it had a rather severe appearance out of the box. In the fall of 1979, I had orders to return to the States. I had become good friends with a master gun maker in Kempton, and several others in our hunting community. One day my gunmaker friend asked if he could borrow the rifle for a couple of weeks. Roe deer season was over, and any hunts that I had planned were drive hunts for which I had a drilling, so I had nothing to hunt with a rifle. I gave it to him however puzzled. A month later, and perhaps two weeks before departure, that group of German friends invited me out to dinner. I was surprised with a going away party which included the gifting of my own rifle.
A young protégé of my gunmaker friend was finishing school in Ferlach and had needed a project to submit for his engraving mastership. He put my best red stag and roe deer on either side of the action. He also created a pistol grip cap with my initials. Needless to say, until I married Mrs. Red Leg, it was the finest gift I had ever received.
I used the rifle on whitetail from time to time over the next decade, but it slowly made its way to the back of the gun safe and then the gunroom.
A year or so ago, I was handling it, and reflecting on the unattractive mix of styles it represented. On the one hand, it had lovely engraving showcased by its French gray receiver. At the same time, it had the plain lines of a Ruger No. 1 B with its large unbalanced forend.
I had heard of the work of R. J. Renner, and finally one day only six weeks ago, I gave him a call. I told him the story of the rifle, and we agreed that the proper thing to do was to finish the transition to a Germanic stalking rifle. He slimmed, shortened and recheckerd the forend while adding a German schnabel. He then matched the coloring of the buttstock perfectly. He added open sights and a barrel band swivel. He accomplished all of it all in less than four weeks.
I could not be happier with the final product. Truly a rebirth.
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