Thompson/Center Dimension Hands-On Rifle Review

It's not often that I have the chance to shoot an unreleased, unannounced gun weeks before the general public knows about it, but that's exactly what happened to me in early December of 2011.

While on a deer hunt in Southwest Texas, I was given the opportunity to handle, fire, and hunt with the new Thompson/Center Dimension bolt action rifle in .308 caliber, introduced today at the 2012 SHOT Show in Las Vegas.  Sadly, I wasn't allowed to take any photos on my hunt, but my experience with this gun is recounted below.

Looks aren't everything, but this rifle will definitely attract attention.  There's really no other centerfire bolt action like it.  At a glance, the overall silhouette approximates T/C's venerable Encore, with a pronounced pistol grip and a rounded, almost arched, stock.  It has various shims and inserts that help you customize the Dimension's, well, dimensions -- affording the shooter an optimum length of pull.  And a good-fitting gun is usually an accurate shooting one.

Speaking of accuracy, the barrel is completely free-floated, and in fact, can be swapped out with different caliber barrels (depending on length of action) in a matter of minutes, using a special tool that's included with the gun.  Hell, you can even make it a right handed or left handed bolt.  It's this sort of interchangeability (see: Encore) that is a hallmark of Thompson/Center, and it's nice to see they're bringing the modular gun concept well into the 21st Century.

My gun came pre-sighted with Nikon glass, and before taking the Dimension hunting, I fed it a few rounds of 150 grain Hornady Superformance at the 100-yard range.  Ergonomically, the gun fit well and I was easily throwing inch-and-a-half groupings downrange.  I was told the trigger is user-adjustable, and the pull felt crisp and light (but not too light).  The action was smooth -- similar to the T/C Venture that rests in my gun case.

Back to the hunt.  The rut was just coming in, and I was wanting to take a buck using rattling horns -- something that's common in Texas, but somewhat a mystery to this Midwestern boy.  We walked many miles over my three day hunt, and I carried the Dimension all day long, and never once did it become heavy.  The detachable box magazine was a nice touch, too.

Thanks to the popularity of the AR-15 platform, the shooting public no longer considers a black, "plastic" gun as inherently inferior to a traditional walnut-stocked bolt action.  And in this sluggish economy, one gun with multiple barrel options is going to make a lot of sense to a lot of people.  Priced at about $650 (with extra barrels at $250), it's also a gun that's within reach of most any hunter or shooter.

I never did find the buck I was looking for, but it sure was fun rattling in smaller bucks and hunting with a top-secret rifle.  I give Thompson/Center a lot of credit for taking some chances and designing a rifle that is truly different than anything else on the market.  I hope to put a new Dimension in my gun safe soon.

note: I was not paid or otherwise compensated by Thompson/Center for this review.

A Goose, and a Tease

Jack and I tried our hand at shooting some Canadas yesterday.  Thanks to the ridiculously warm weather we've been having (it's topped 60 the past two days), the geese weren't moving much.  We were able to scratch a couple down nonetheless, and had a ton of fun in the process.

I'm on my way to Vegas for the SHOT Show for a week of fun (I say that in half jest).  Anyhow, I might have some actual newsworthy, cutting edge product review in conjunction with the show -- just the type of thing you loyal viewers have come to expect from the Scampwalker newsroom (I say that in full jest).

Bon voyage!

The Glass Pointer

As I wind down the 2011-2012 upland season, one sad fact is becoming more and more apparent, each and every time I hunt.

LuLu is injury prone.

First was her mishap with barbed wire up in Montana, on her first run since getting her from Nolan Huffman, my trainer.  That accident came perilously close to severing her Achilles tendon, and sidelined her for part of the trip.

Second was the opening weekend of pheasant and quail season here in Kansas.  She ran headlong over a cattle guard and fell in up to her chest at full speed.  Although she narrowly escaped breaking bone or ligament, she received a deep tissue bruise and subsequent cellulitis, which necessitated an extended rest on the sidelines.

Over the past month or so, she's developed a nagging tail injury, and it's usually minutes into a hunt before her haunches are spattered in blood.

And yesterday -- on what is likely my last upland hunt of the season -- she decided to tangle with a porcupine after pointing the damned thing.  All of my dogs have been stuck by these critters, but none as severely as LuLu.  Some of the barbs (typically an inch-and-a-half long) are buried more than an inch in her nose.  I was able to pull many of them, but the rest she's not letting me go near.  Presently, she's at the vet getting them extracted (along with my hard-earned cash).

Amazingly, none of these injuries slowed her down.  She's a gladiator-tough dog (even by bird dog standards) and I am happy and proud to hunt with her.  But dang.

Not quite two years old, I'm hoping that I can chalk this up to a young dog learning the ropes.  I can't afford a decade of this!

Update: Mrs. Scampwalker picked up Lu from the vet, and she is resting comfortably, sans 18 porcupine quills.  Apparently there were several inside her gum and palate.  I'd have never gotten them all on my own!

Tons of Water... Ducks Not So Much.

Ed note: I've been a bit absent from the blog lately... thankfully, much of that time has been spent hunting and enjoying family.  As a result, I've got a lot to talk about.  Here goes the first post of 2012!  Thanks to all of you for stopping by and paying attention to my little slice of the internet.

In mid-December, Jack and I met up with my dad for a duck hunting trips near Waldenburg, Arkansas.  As luck would have it, most of Arkansas was pummeled by eight inches of rain in the previous week.  That made for some tough hunting -- the birds were around, but standing water everywhere made for some tough hunting (not to mention that many of the best blinds were submerged.  So from that perspective, the trip wasn't much of a success.

Thankfully, hunting success in the 21st century hunting is seldom measured by the quantity of critters shot. As I mentioned previously, this was a trip about bringing together family and creating memories.  And on that accord, the trip did not disappoint.

We still managed to shoot a few birds.  We jumped about 8,000 snow geese on a reservoir -- a spectacle that is completely indescribable.  I'm not sure who's the proudest in this photo... Jack, his grandpa, or the guy taking the picture.

Aside from teaching Jack the finer points on waterfowl hunting, Gramps also exposed Jack to "Austrian cuisine," a staple of blind and boat back when I was a kid.  Vienna sausages.  The look on Jack's face pretty much tells you what he thought of this delicacy.

The guy who really organized this whole outing was Dan, a close hunting buddy that I met when I lived in Texas.  We literally met in the middle of nowhere on a quail lease some 15 years ago -- and we've been tight ever since.  He brought his dad and son as well.

Dan also brought his two labs, and we were thankful to have them. Primarily upland dogs, water work was foreign to them at the beginning of the trip, but by the end of it they were regularly making some outstanding retrieves for us.

It was the first three generation trip, but I suspect it won't be the last.

Road Photo Friday: Now THAT'S a Dog Trailer

I snapped this a few weeks ago at a DIY car wash in Del Rio, Texas.  In case you don't have the patience to count, that's a 32-hole rig, folks.

We were going to stop to chat them up, but they were just pulling out as I snapped this.  I don't know if they were hauling bird dogs or hounds (Del Rio isn't known as a quail mecca, especially this year).  The dually that was dragging this monstrosity had Idaho plates.  Judging from the looks of the driver and passenger, they were houndsmen (let the hate mail begin).

I Am A Duck Hunter.

This is Adam, my great grandfather.  He emigrated to the United States in the mid 1880s from a small town near Worms, Germany.  He and his burgeoning family moved to Nebraska in 1884, and after a lot of hardscrabble work, he became the first podiatrist in the Cornhusker State.  That's our family's claim to fame.  But everytime I see this photo, I see something different than a foot doctor.  I am reminded that this hunting thing isn't just a passing hobby of mine.  It is literally in my blood.

The photo was taken a century ago, when photos were a time consuming, expensive production.  Take a close look.  What did he wear?  His hunting coat, rubber waders, cap, and a badass moustache.  Hunting -- and family -- obviously defined this man.

This is Lee, Robert, Donald, Richard, Leopold, and Bill.  Robert was my grandfather - Gramps - and these were his brothers, the progeny of Adam (there were 13 in all).  It was taken in Nebraska at the height of World War Two, and this Band of Brothers, not yet called up for duty on the front lines, were busy shooting a meal for their families.  Somehow, I think it might be safer being a nazi facing triple-A than a mallard dodging the fusillade of gunfire from this battery of A5's and Winchester 1897's.

This is my dad, Reg, probably taken around 1947.  In this photo, I see myself (always been a dead-ringer for the 'ol man) and my son (mostly through the enthusiasm in which he's holding the gun and enjoying himself outdoors).

So there's no doubt I come by this avocation naturally.  But while my whole family slogged through the oxbows and sandbars of Nebraska's Platte River, I gravitated to upland pursuits.  Not sure how that happened.

It doesn't really matter.  Next week, my dad -- and my son -- will converge on Waldenburg, Arkansas for a duck hunt.  I am blessed with some awesome hunting opportunities every season, but I can't help but circle this one on the calendar as the most anticipated.

I was never lucky enough to hunt with my own Gramps -- I was in college on his last duck hunt, but was told he showed up in a traditional 1940s necktie and hunting coat.  No matter.  Those men, and other family members, will be close to us this next week, as we tell stories, uphold traditions, and indoctrinate the young ones. As it should be.

I am one fortunate man.  I suspect we all have a similar story.  Here's to the hunting man.

Kansas Upland 2011: Don't Bother

I've hunted the Midwest a lot of years.  I'm a prairie kid, and it's what I do.  Good years, bad years, they've all been more or less productive.  I've had a lot of dogs, and I relish hunting where you never quite know if you're going to jump a big squawking rooster or a covey of panicked quail.  If you've never been to Kansas, you really owe it to yourself to come sometime.

Just not this year.

You, like me, would be sorely disappointed.  I hunted opening weekend, followed by Thursday through Sunday of the following week, and the results were miserable.  Typically, you can find the mixed bag anywhere in the state.  This year though, the KDWP said the best concentration of birds would be in the northwestern quarter of the state.  That's where everyone went, in-state and out-of-state hunters, so there was more of the Orange Army than I'd ever seen.

And fewer birds.  Opening weekend, usually a shoe-in for a limit by noon, brought five hunters  just two -TWO- pheasants over the weekend.  I was undeterred, and had a buddy come up from Mississippi, who normally hunts quail (even more fried than Kansas this year) in Texas.  We had nine dogs who knew the drill, and we had four productive points in four days.  We didn't see a lot of hens, or birds flushing wild, or crafty grizzled birds giving our pointy dogs the slip.  Nope, we didn't see shit.

I have never had a less productive hunt.

KDWP's follow-up report is less rosy, but in a Department of Tourism sort of way (don't get me started).

And here I am, with two youngsters -- an eleven year old son looking to blast whatever flies -- and a young pointer who needs as many birds as possible to refine her.

Cold wet spring, add a hot dry summer, season it with bird-killing hail.  It all adds up to nothing.