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Note From Our Shooting Sports Manager

This June will mark my 17th anniversary here at North Cove Outfitters.  I have been thinking about how many new and exciting products have “hit the shelves” over the years here at NCO.   Some have become staple items that can always be relied on to perform.  Some that we thought might sell slowly have become  “a barn burners”, all time best sellers! Then we have the overstocks, things that never sell to our expectations. 

Occasionally we try, but then we fail.  Nobody’s perfect, but then that’s what tent sales are for!

But as I thought about all the products that help each of us to enjoy our hobbies and spend time in the outdoors, I also realized that it’s not all about the product.  Yes, that fancy new auto loading shotgun may allow you to shoot that double grouse flush, or that ultralite mountain rifle may help you to make the 400 yd shot on an elk across the canyon.  But what do you remember over the years?  Yes, the shotgun or rifle is still with you, still performing flawlessly.  But in your minds eye it is the memory.  The memory of the first grouse clearing the top of the huge brush pile left by the loggers, it’s the guns report, the feathers floating, the second flush, the grouse gaining speed by the second, ready to disappear behind the cedar tree.  The gun swings and fires, the bird is obscured by the cedar, but then, there, those feathers again, gently floating from around the backside of the cedar.  The dog is already on his second mark, and you stand there, watching, as he brings the other bird to your hand.

So what do I think this all boils down to?  It’s about selling quality equipment to loyal customers that trust us and that value our opinions.  It’s about being sought out to provide solid product knowledge and truthful information.  It’s about providing tips on where to go, or what you might expect once you get there.  It’s about all the people I have met and become friends with through North Cove Outfitters.  But most importantly it’s about making memories.

So as we quickly approach the start of a new fishing season, and look eagerly toward the time when the leaves will change color again;  Let me take this opportunity to thank each of you, for trusting all of us here at NCO, and for all of your support over the years.  Stop in and share some memories.  See you soon.                                        Brian
 

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Another Adventure With My Old Friend

It was O’dark thirty as I sat on the cot; mosquito netting pushed back, and pulled on my boots. Standing, I reached over and picked up the sweet tea that Caravan had left for me. I downed the dregs and reached for the Filson Travel Vest hanging from the center pole of the canvas tent. I lay the cover cloth vest on top of the sheets and did an inventory. The top left zip pocket held six .416 Rigby rounds in a leather case, to keep them from rattling, and four loose rounds; two that would be plunked into the tubes of the old side by and two to be held between the fingers of my left hand, when the time came. The eleven inside pockets held my passport, wallet, compass, whistle, maps, small first aid kit, journal, pen, matches, small camera and sunscreen. I picked up my Camelbak water bottle that the tracker had filled for me, and stuffed it into the left outside bellows pocket. The remainder of the twenty pockets of my old friend would be left empty, waiting for items picked up as we tracked the old dugga boys.
I snickered to myself as I recalled putting the live scorpion in the left zipper pocket while in South Africa last year and the look on Caravans face as I pulled it out and handed it to him at the fire that evening.
I slid the vest on and zipped it up. As an afterthought I cinched up the waist cord to keep the ticks at bay and popped up the padded collar. While walking through the dark camp on my way to the kitchen tent I thought of all of the places that vest had been with me; Africa, Canada, Mexico, Oregon, Washington, Wyoming and Colorado, Belize, Cat Island the Everglades and places that I now couldn’t recall. It had carried everything from camera equipment to, well, scorpions, and although the green color was faded it was still in one piece. It had always been there when I needed it and I was constantly amazed at what I could shove into the pockets. It would be there today when we caught up to M’Bogo.
The sun was high as I knelt in the hot sand behind the termite mound and reached into the pocket of my sweat soaked travel vest. I pulled out the two loose cartridges and slid them between the damp knuckles of my left hand and put the ivory bead on the muddy black shoulder of the Cape buffalo bull. The time had come.
 
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