“Ode to the Old-Timer”
The grand old .30-06 sat tall on the rack,
With a walnut grin and a steel-blue back.
It puffed its chest with a seasoned sigh,
As a herd of new cartridges wandered by.
First came WSM and cousin WSSM,
Both short as a sneeze,
Bragging, “I’m fast! I’m modern! I do as I please!”
But the ’06 chuckled, “Son, don’t be rash—
I was flattening elk before you hatched.”
Then strutted RSAUM, all shiny and trim,
Flexing its shoulders, looking quite prim.
“Look at my efficiency!” it said with flair.
The old ’06 shrugged, “Kid, I’ve been efficient everywhere.”
Then rolled in RCM, smooth as a cat,
Boasting, “I’m cutting-edge! Imagine that!”
But the ancient round winked, “Sure, you’re a charmer—
Check back in a century, if you’ve got the armor.”
Then in swept Creedmoor, with tactical flair,
Sporting tight groups and a man-bun of hair.
“I’m the darling of shooters! The new golden child!”
But the .30-06 snorted, “Boy, I’ve seen fads run wild”
“You punch paper pretty, I’ll grant you that—
But try packing moose where the wild things are at.
Come back when your hype has survived a few wars— Till then, you’re just yoga pants in gun-store drawers.
So the youngsters posed with their factory gleam,
Chasing velocity, pressure, and dream.
But the .30-06 just rocked in its chair,
Saying, “Longevity, boys—beat that if you dare.”
And hunters all know,
when the bragging is done,
Trends fade fast in the light of the sun.
But the old ’06? Still cool as can be—
A legend with wrinkles, and deadly as thee.
- ChatGPT. Even artificial intelligence knows where it’s at.