Anatomy of a gun trade...

It all started with a fly reel. An older USA-made Sage 3200 that I coveted and which should have by-gawd belonged to me in the first place. But no, my father inexplicably gave it to my little brother. My brother, who thinks flyfishing is mainly for wussies who can't operate a baitcaster...

Sibling jealousy simmered until I had an opportunity to shamelessly steal it from him. When he found out, he first demanded it back. I said,"OK, I'll bring it next time I come down." This, of course, was code for "there's no way in hell." He knew that as well as I did, so he countered with "why don't you just trade me your old 1100 for it. You don't use it any more anyway."

He was right. It was an old seventies-vintage Remington 1100 12 gauge that I had shot much when I was younger but had largely abandoned to the gun cabinet when I got into two-barreled guns. In fact, I had let my brother borrow it for a pheasant hunt the year before and he still hadn't returned it.

"You're out of your freakin' mind. I love that gun and I still use it all the time. I'm not trading it for a damn reel! Well, let me think about it." This, of course, was code for "I'm keeping the reel, and I'm stealing my gun back next time I come down."

"OK," he replied, which, of course, was code for "I know you'll try to steal that gun back next time you come down. Good luck finding it."

This uneasy truce lasted several months, until one day my brother called and said "Hey, there's an old 870 20 gauge in the pawn shop down here. I think I can get it for $140 bucks (he went to high school with the store manager and therefore got a considerable discount...). You want it?"

A quick description of the gun combined with a serial number search revealed that it wasn't just any old 870, but a first-year production ADL model in completely original, just-rolled-off-the-line condition with matching barrel and receiver numbers and a relatively rare matte unribbed barrel. And with the exception of a few faint rust freckles, this old 870, which was born in December of 1950, was also essentially unused. It had apparently been leaning in some closet for the past 60 years.

"Get it, and we'll work something out."

My mind churned. I wanted that gun. Lately I had been getting interested in early American pump guns, and although there are 10 million 870s floating around out there, you just don't stumble across first-year guns in this condition very often. So I called my brother back.

"Hey, tell you what I'll do. Man, you're getting to me, but I'll trade you straight across, the 1100 for that 870."

"But what about the Sage? I thought you were going to trade the 1100 for it?"

"You know that first-generation Shimano Curado of mine you've been wanting?"

"Yeah."

"I'll trade you that Shimano and a brand-new BPS Extreme baitcaster for the Sage. That way you get the reel and shotgun you want, I get the reel and the shotgun I want, and we don't have to keep stealing things from each other." This, of course, was code for "I'm going to steal that Curado back the first chance I get."

"OK, that sounds fair." This, of course, was code for "you're screwing my eyeballs out here and the next time I come up I'm stealing something to make up for it."

So we both went away more or less satisfied, but wary, and biding time for the first opportunity to start stealing back what we had just traded away. Such is life for brothers...