This last week, we lost one of the GOOD people. Wendell Simpson of Idleyld Park, Oregon, was an old-timey gunsmith 'til he passed on about 7 days ago.

Wendell began his gunsmithing in a tent/shack/leanto on the upper reaches of the North Umpqua River in the 1960's. As he made a go of it, he built the first permanent structure on his land in the midst of the Umpqua National forest...a purpose-built shop. It was only years later he finally completed an actual house on the property.

Wendell had little in the way of equipment...a small belt operated lathe constituted most of the equipment which wasn't hand powered. But Wendell made up for lack of fancy equipment with hand tools, patience, skill, almost genius level mechanical insight, a strong work ethic, and complete honesty with both himself, his work, and his customers.

Most of all, he treated all his customers with respect and a kindly grin, ALWAYS. In the 17 years I had the honour of knowing him, I NEVER saw him frown, not even when they removed his entire "voice box" area and left a gaping hole in his lower neck for him to breath through, thanks to cancer. And he continued to work, gunsmithing, cutting, hauling and splitting his own winter's wood each year, and so on. He also continued using his own one rifle that he hunted everything with...from squirrels to elk, a .460 Weatherby.

Over the years he progressed to where if you wanted him to work on an obscure European trigger, make you a clone of a 50-110 M '86, or build you a benchrest rifle capable of winning matches, he could do it and do it well.

One of the other members here has a signature which says that it is every man's duty to love his country and to hate his government. Wendell lived that. He loved his fellow man and detested government, seeing it as the distilled essence of greed, corruption, and rampant egos. He steadfastly refused to ever even stock 4473's, let alone make his customers fill them out. I used to take my own to his shop so that at least my end of any deal complied with ATF requirements. I suspect he used them to light his morning fires with.

Wendell had his own views about what is right, and what is wrong. He would not sell a gun for any price to any man he thought shouldn't have it. On the other hand, if he felt a man did deserve a particular arm, he would not burden the process with bureaucratic B.S. And he charged less than the going rates for most of his work...way less if he knew the buyer was a man who worked with his hands for wages and had a family.

They may not have broken the mould after Wendell was born, but it is getting damned hard these days to find those poured from the same form.

Guess I'll go post this elsewhere too...

AC,

When I was kid there was a guy that lived down the road from me named Mr. Potter. His place was an old farmhouse in the middle of a vineyard out in the West Valley near Los Gatos Almaden Rd. Reminds me of your friend. And did he have a bunch of guns and stuff and tales that he was more than happy to share with us youngsters!

He's long gone now, along with the vineyards, orchards and all the other things that once were there.

He left behind memories, knowledge and good times, and I am greatfull for the time he shared with me.

Thanks for this post, Alberta Canuck-

Hard as it may be to acknowledge, our necrology is more important than any riflesmithing, safari, or reloading detail.

I begin my 6th decade today, so you'll forgive me a remembrance?

Perhaps you remember the early '70's SI story that claimed that when fishing the North Umpqua, one had to hide behind a tree when tying on one's fly?

LOL.

Hyperbole?

Perhaps.

Little matter.

The North Umpqua is as nice a piece of water as one is likely to fish in this lifetime--and I'd wasted a good part of my youth floating chicken feathers on Hot Creek, which feeds the Owens, just below Mammoth Lakes--so I enlisted my girlfriend at the time, outdoorsy if a little bossy (perhaps I should have married her?)--packed up the Alfa GTV--am I the only one ever to drive an Alfa Romeo on a camping trip?--and off we went to Steamboat.

I may have had an Alfa--and come close to killing both of us on that windy riverside road!!!--but we tent camped, avoiding the lodge.

Except for the dinners.

Susan kept herself busy casting dry flies for trout, and... managed to dig up enough crayfish for a couple of excellent meals.

I felt a little abashed about being a Californian--an adamant Californian--in Oregon, and tried a whole new kind of fishing.

We don't have that kind of water down here, and I'd never used waders, let alone caulks.

The boys did their best to put me on fish--and they did--but nothing could seduce those North Umpqua steelhead into hitting my streamer.

I never did master the double haul, but fishing the Umpqua with a bossy girl is a memory I'll never forget.

flaco

The first deer I ever killed was cut up and put into an icechest...which was put in the back seat of my Alfa GTV. Had to slam on the brakes to avoid someone who ran a stop sign and everything went forward in the car, including the bloody icewater that used to be in the chest. Never did totally get that smell out of the carpet, and never really cared, either.

I also drove it through cutovers deer hunting and trapping.

Ironically, one of my brushes with death was in that car.

It's tragic to lose persons of his stature , as they are never replaced !. Sorely missed hopefully not forgotten .

In this day and age one of the things I miss most is a " Real Gun Shop " and the person behind it , which ever name you put to them .

Here in Commyfornia Southern portion least wise is the Vast Waste land of Super Nothing stores !.
People as intelligent as air temp. in relation to IQ . One prays for triple digits just to deal with them !.

I miss setting on a rainy day and conversing with people like Wendell Simpson , Mr. Potter. and the list goes on .

Flaco -

There is a reason the North Umpqua was Zane Grey's favorite trout stream. It's the same reason that when I retired 17 years ago I came back here to live within 200 yards of it. I am very pleased to learn you have experienced these waters. It is always nice to meet someone with whom, if you were round a campfire, you could cut up old touches, and revel in savored and shared memories.

Talk about steelhead, there was a time in my life when I was a devotee of that religion. In Sept, 1967 thru Aug, 1968, I fished for steelhead or other trout 48 weekends, plus Christmas and New Year's days. Went hunting the other four weekends. Best day of my life was in that year...January 7, 1968 to be exact.

Took a newspaper photog/reporter (his dad owned the newspaper) fishing, as he was in his early 20's and had never caught a steelhead. I told him I'd try to show him how. Got lucky. Found a hole which was precisely what my read said should hold fish. Unfortunately there were 6 other fishermen already there. I asked if they minded if we fished through the hole.

They all said. "Sure, go ahead - ain't no fish here anyway. We been here all morning and ain't even had a bite." Of course, they were "Plunkers", fishing a big wad of eggs off a leader perhaps 18" from the bottom, on about 20-pound line and about 2 oz.of lead on the end.

Anyway, I was using a "yarny" fly fished "wet". My first pass through the hole I got a solid strike and reeled in about a 6-1/2 pound hen so bright and hard she was still covered with sea lice. To cut the story short, I hooked and landed 31 more steelhead out of that same hole in the next 4 or 5 hours. Naturally I gave each of the fisherman who had been there first one fish apiece, gave the reporter one, kept one for myself, and put all the others back in the water alive and well. Average weight was about 8 pounds. Good thing they weren't much bigger, as I had only tied (the flies) on 4 lb. leaders. The reporter took pictures the whole day and gave me 8 x 10" copies of them, which are currently still on display at the barbershop downtown.

Funny coincidence that you and Marc both drove A/Rs...I had three rigs at that time...a an old hard used Datsun Patrol, a Mercedes 190-SL for my wife, and an A/R Gieuletta (SP?) Veloce for me.

Have you ever been to Salt Creek Falls just north of here about 60 miles, on the highway from Eugene over the pass to Bend? Salt Creek Falls is one sheer 180-foot drop that the upper Willamette river goes over, and is one beautiful place. Mein frau und I used to go "snow-camping" and hunting there each fall in the middle-'60s for mule deer (our winter's meat). Damn this is gorgeous country...or was until all the Kalifornicators moved in.... (Most of them are pretty good people, just too danged many of them.)

Cheers, AC

Seems funny when others complain of Kalifornicators moving in to Their States !.

I submit all of us Commyfornians and fornicator types wouldn't of had to move , if it hadn't been for all those Dam foreigners and out of Staters moving here !.

Well there goes the neighborhood !.

Shoot Straight Know Your Target . ...

Been thinking about this post a lot since I first read it. When I was growing up, the WW II generation were the main folks very active wit guns and hunting that I knew. Many of them are gone now, with most of the remainder being in a physical state that makes it difficult for them to work. Sure is sad to see them go, but I sure am glad they around to teach me things and put up with all of my questions.

I've read this post several times, just remembering those oldtimers I was privileged to sit and watch.
Some of them had big names, some were local heroes. The JM Pyne stories say it well, they were a thinly-disguised collection of HM Pope anecdotes.

Pyne takes in a young apprentice, and at the end the young man had built a barrel for a customer while Pyne had the flu. Pyne test fires the rifle when the customer arrives, and he leaves with it. Pyne compliments the young man, and the kid says something like "...but I still don't know the secret of Pyne barrels...". Pyne looks at him and says "...there is no secret. You just have to know how to build quality, and be willing to do it...every time.".

This sounds like another one of those people. Had a passion for guns, the knowledge to build them, and the discipline to do that...each and every time.

We are diminished...God speed.

Rich
DRSS

quote:

packed up the Alfa GTV--am I the only one ever to drive an Alfa Romeo on a camping trip?

I'd say you were in the mainstream, reading this post. I had an Alfa Giulietta (not a Veloce) spider, and used it to haul camping gear about 38 years ago. You used what you had. Mine was a '60, kept it for 20 years, and it was 9 years old when I bought it.

I'm sorry to hear of the loss of your friend AC . Must have been the sort I could relate to.

Now there are four !! I had a '70 1750 ALFA Berlina.Even had that while I was in gunsmithing school ,CST.I did go hunting and camping with it .The only "excitement " was hitting a pigeon at 85 mph in NE ! It left a 4" wide red stripe of blood the length of the left front fender ,a great contrast to the white car. Fortunately not a center hit which could have done some damage !!Years of pleasurable driving. ..But to the original post - the fine craftsmen and honest businessmen always are remembered . I still laugh at the memory of a man being given a check, tearing it up, giving back the pieces saying if "your word is not good neither is your check" !!

quote:

Originally posted by SDH:
As I recall, Steamboat Creek was closed to angling allowing my sweetheart Katy and me privacy to camp and skinny-dip in a deep pool with summer steelhead. (and a tributary of the Willamette and the Siuslaw!)

I live in Eugene for 17 years ('78-95) and was all over the Willamette side of those mts. hunting blacktail, grouse, quail and bandtail pigeons.

The road from Eugene to Bend goes up the McKenzie over Santiam Pass. Up the Willamette, through North Bend, was where I hunted. Don't remember Salt Creek Falls, I'll have to find a map.

Have vague recollections of rumors of the gunsmith you refer to.
I clearly remember Katy in the sunshine!

Memory plays tricks on us sometimes. But I believe we are referring to different Steamboat Creeks. The one which flows into the North Umpqua does not flow into either the Willamette or the Siuslaw. It is about 20-30 miles downhill from Crater Lake toward Roseburg, and I would guess somewhat farther than that from Roseburg...maybe about 40 miles pretty much due east of that burg. The Steamboat Inn is just off Highway 138 if you look for it on a map.

Actually, there are three highways that go over the Cascades from the Eugene/Springfield area to Bend. The northern-most one is Oregon 20, the one which goes from I-5 about 25 miles North of Eugene/Springfield, through the Santiam Pass then through Sisters, and on to Bend which actually is somewhat east-southeast from the Santiam.


The Santiam pass and Highway 20 are at least 40 miles north of Highway 58, which runs from Eugene/Springfield up through Oakridge to hit highway 97, about 25-35 miles south of Bend. There is also highway 126, the McKenzie Highway, in between and roughly parallel to Hgws 20 & 58 which runs through the lava beds (very crooked, very steep road, some curves which cannot be taken by any normal car at over 15 MPH, closed by snow much of the year) and also into the Sisters area, thence east-southeast to Bend.

Anyway, the falls are just off the southside of Highway 58, a few miles east from Oakridge. A heavily timbered area where at night, if you don't know the area, it is plenty dangerous to walk around.

The first time we were up there, we camped in an empty "no-services" campground about 50 feet from the river, in a pup-tent with one large down bag for the two of us (of course!). We arrived after dark and it was misting snow, so we set up the tent PDQ and hit the hay.

In the middle of the night her little Schipperke wanted out to go to the bathroom, so I got up and took it out on a leash so it wouldn't get lost. We walked along the river, me leading, which was full of rapids, flowing very fast and very noisily, on a snow-covered grassy flat. After a ways, the dog lifted its leg, did its thing, and we headed back to the tent.

In the morning, I got up after daylight to take the dog out again....and found I had walked within about 15' of the sheer drop of the falls....which I hadn't even known was there!! Had the dog not stopped then, enabling us to head back for the tent, I would have walked right off the edge!!

quote:

Originally posted by Dr.K:
Seems funny when others complain of Kalifornicators moving in to Their States !.

I submit all of us Commyfornians and fornicator types wouldn't of had to move , if it hadn't been for all those Dam foreigners and out of Staters moving here !.

Mebbe so, but they aren't moving there from Oregon!!