Been thinking a lot about missing an opportunity to kill a 190-200in mulie with Doug at Skinner creek couple of years ago. The whole episode was surreal and I actually thought I was in the twilight zone. That old model 70 has been my main gun since 1980 and if it speaks--something dies. Killed a truckload of whitetails, a few nice mulies and an elk(in cold snowy weather)in the mountains of Colorado. As Doug said, I got on the mulie,(did we mention that he was HUGE), I had as steady and solid a rest as I've ever had in the field--150 yds(lasered), a chip shot, standing perfectly still, slightly quartering away, nothing between him and me was cold clear crisp air. I was thinking--this is too easy! Started the trigger squeeze like I've done a thousand times before- instinctively, I got to the point where it should have fired but nothing happened and I just continued to squeeze, crosshairs welded to his shoulder, all the way to the trigger stop--NOTHING! My mind was racing,what the hell is going on! Was my safety off? Yep-all the way forward. Rechamber--start the squeeze again--deer hasn't moved.Squeeze, squeeze squeeze--nothing.By this time Slim had come back from tying up the horses--he was saying CHUTEM,CHUTEM--I was saying I can't, My gun won't work. Chamber the third round-try again--nothing. Told Doug to watch the buck and give me distances. I started breaking down the bolt assembly,rubbing down the receiver with my index finger, looking in the trigger assembly as best I could--nothing obvious, Doug continued reading out the distances until he said those words which are forever etched into my mind--He's 350, he's 400, he's 415-- He's gone.I said Slim, how big was he--Doug said minimum 190,could be 200--we're talking inches here guys, not pounds. Best deer I'll ever see. We were just sitting there, both depressed and mostly quiet. I looked down at my gun and saw that the little knob at the rear of the bolt was extruding--indicating it was cocked. I told Doug, Slim, the damned thing is cocked, I just don't understand it. On a hunch, with the gun now empty, I pulled trigger back and took my thumb and gently pressed the knob-it released and I heard the familiar sound of a firing pin striking an empty chamber. DAMN! Slim I could have thumb-shot that sumbitch!It was a long, quiet ride back to the cabin. Here's my take on the situation. As soon as we knew I would probably be using the .270 instead of the muzzle-loader, I actually shot my rifle to recheck the zero--no problems. Slim carried my rifle in his scabbard and I carried the ml in mine. as is my habit, I always make sure there are bullets in the magazine and the bolt is closed on an empty chamber. Usually, I dry fire after closing the bolt for safety reasons as well as to take the load off the spring. I didn't do that this time, so for four or five days the rifle was cocked over an empty chamber.As Doug said, there was thirty years of oil build-up in the bolt assembly--absolutely no problem in Alabama. Anyhow,those days of cold, snowy, wet weather gummed up all that oil and held the firing pin in the cocked position causing the misfire. Once I thumb-shot it I couldn't get it to replicate the miss-fire again. I might mention also that that day was the only day that we didn't carry my muzzle-loader, so we had no back-up.So what are the odds of all those parts to a perfect storm coming together at precisely the same time the buck of a lifetime is right in front of me. BUT-- that's not all of it--you wait till you hear about the truly SPOOKY part of this story. (next post)

That sucks!
Of course it would happen on a big buck.
Damn the timing.
Zeke