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Brent’s got a story this week that could’ve been a catalyst against the things we all hold near and dear. Why it didn’t, is a story in and of itself; one so good he wants to share it with you now. So, like he suggests weekly, drag up a chair and get easy. It’s time for MeatEater’s “This Country Life” podcast.

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When the Aiuppa Buck burst onto the scene in the spring of 2024, the story seemed too good to pass up.

In November of 1991, a pheasant hunter in Illinois named Sam Auippa shot a massive typical whitetail, almost by chance, following an impromptu tree stand hunt. He stashed the enormous rack in his basement for 32 years until it was discovered by a friend and, eventually, sold to an antler collector.

That antler collector submitted it to Boone & Crockett, which announced last month that the rack had been verified as the #2 typical whitetail in the world—and the largest ever harvested in the United States. The rack grossed 233 7/8, and after deductions, the final score clocked in at 207 7/8 inches.

But one crucial piece of information was noticeably absent from Boone & Crockett’s announcement of this historic news: the kill date.

On the official entry for the Aiuppa Buck, Boone & Crockett lists the date of Auippa’s hunt as November 1, 1991. However, elsewhere on its website, the record-keeping organization indicates that the hunt occurred in “late November 1991.” When the news of this buck first emerged in hunting media, Aiuppa told several outlets that he killed the buck on November 28.

That's a strange discrepency, but there's an even bigger issue—the buck could not have been legally harvested in Illinois on November 28 or November 1, 1991.

We reached out to the Illinois DNR for clarification, and the Conservation Police launched an investigation. Now, that investigation has concluded—and it raises troubling questions about the veracity of Aiuppa’s story and whether it deserves a spot among legally harvested record-breakers.

The 36-page report obtained by MeatEater raises three possible hunting violations during Sam Aiuppa’s now-famous hunt.

First, the Illinois Conservation Police confirmed that the only dates someone could legally harvest a deer in November of 1991 were the 15th, 16th, and 17th. If he shot the animal on November 1st or November 28th, the two dates that have been reported, he shot the deer out of season.

Second, while Aiuppa produced a hunting and fishing license from 1991, records indicate that he did not have the required permit to harvest a deer. He obtained that permit in 1988 and 1989, but he did not have one in 1991.

Finally, in his interview with police, Aiuppa admits to cutting the head off the deer and leaving the meat.

“When asked what he did with the meat Aiuppa said, ‘Left it.’ When asked if he remembers tagging it with a tag and Aiuppa said he doesn’t remember. When asked if he remembers going to a check station, he said he doesn’t remember that,” the report reads.

Police also interviewed a friend of Aiuppa’s who was with him the day he shot the animal. That friend confirmed that the pair cut off the head and left the meat, which, according to the report, could violate the state’s wanton waste laws.

The report concludes, “Although the investigation identified significant discrepancies concerning the reported harvest date, deer permit, and post-harvest handling, the actual date and year of harvest could not be established. The investigation could not establish that the deer was lawfully harvested under the applicable Illinois deer hunting regulations.”

Part of the reason the date of the hunt cannot be established is that Aiuppa claims not to remember it. According to the report, this was the first thing he said to the officer who knocked on his door.

“When Aiuppa opened the door, I explained who I was and that I would like to speak with him about the deer he shot. He said let me explain something to you. I am 87 years old and this happened 34 years ago. He continued saying the dates could have been screwed up. He doesn’t know,” the report reads.

This lack of clarity was never made public, but Boone & Crockett knew about Aiuppa’s faulty memory before allowing the deer into the record books.

They told the Illinois Conservation Police that the date of November 1st was assigned to the hunt as an administrative placeholder because Aiuppa couldn’t recall the exact date.

“The original score chart and Hunter, Guide, and Hunt Information Sheet listed the kill date as November 28, 1991. After Aiuppa subsequently stated that he could no longer recall the exact day in November, B&C revised the electronic record,” the report states.

James Martin, the antler collector who bought the rack from Aiuppa for $30,000, confirmed that the 86-year-old can’t remember the date—or even the year—of the harvest.

“To be honest, it can’t be confirmed it was in 1991, so it’s just a guess,” he said via email.

Deer permit records aren’t available for 1990, so it’s possible Aiuppa shot it that year and—wanton waste laws aside—harvested it legally.

However, if it was harvested illegally, it would be disqualified from entry into Boone & Crockett record books. The organization requires that all hunter-taken trophies be taken in “fair chase,” which it defines as “the ethical, sportsmanlike, and lawful pursuit and taking of any free-ranging, wild big game animal.”

Boone & Crockett maintains that Aiuppa’s buck went through the same entry process as any other.

“The Boone and Crockett Club follows a standard process when reviewing any entry into the record book, including receiving the required signed affidavit by the hunter that an animal was hunted legally and ethically,” the organization said in a statement to MeatEater.

The Illinois Conservation Police report says that B&C tried to find a record of Aiuppa’s hunting license from 1991 but was incorrectly told that Aiuppa's electronic license purchase history extended only to 2006. B&C was not informed that records of deer permits went back to 1991 or that Aiuppa did not possess one during that year.

Record deer are sometimes removed from B&C books if they are found to be taken illegally, but the organization would not say whether they planned to do so with the Aiuppa Buck.

“We received the report from the Illinois Department of Natural Resources Conservation Police yesterday evening and are following our procedures to review information contained within that report,” B&C said in a statement.

We reached out to Sam Aiuppa, Jr., who asked us to sign a nondisclosure agreement to speak to his father. We declined, and multiple requests for comment have since gone unanswered.

Several sources we spoke to argued that someone on the wrong side of 85 shouldn’t be expected to know the date he killed a deer 30 years ago. One explanation for why he hung the rack in his basement is that he just didn’t care that much. He describes himself as a bird hunter who sometimes hunts deer–not the other way around.

“Aiuppa said, ‘I want to make this clear. We got the deer but I am not a deer hunter. We hunt pheasant and quail. It was a fluke. I didn’t know what I had. If I did it would have been on the news that year,’” Aiuppa said, according to the report.

Still, in Aiuppa’s telling of it, he had an inkling that the deer was special.

“He was talking about all the deer he’d shot, and I told him, ‘Have I got something to show you,’” Aiuppa told The Rack of a conversation he had with his friend.

This friend had to persuade Aiuppa to get the antlers measured, but Aiuppa took enough pride in the rack to show it off to a buddy. According to the report, Aiuppa also asked the Conservation Police officer if the buck would still be in the Illinois record books.

The statute of limitations for Aiuppa’s alleged hunting violations has long expired. But it remains to be seen whether it will remain atop the US record books, or be taken down as unanswered questions continue to swirl.

Feature image via Boone & Crockett Club YouTube.

Kenneth Wayne “KW” Adair had set three alarms on his phone. He was determined to be in his treestand before the shooting light. He’d had a massive buck on his mind since he’d seen it on a trail camera during rifle season last year. But after a hectic Friday kept him from getting into bed until around 1:30 a.m., he never heard a single one. When Adair, a 24-year-old construction worker from Caddo, Oklahoma, opened his eyes, daylight was already coming through the blinds. It was 7:15.

“The first thing I did was grab my phone and check my trail camera,” Adair told MeatEater. “Sure enough, that buck was standing in front of my feeder at 7:11. I was beating myself up over it.”

Adair had been thinking about that unusual buck since the previous season when it showed up on a midnight trail camera. The photo showed a buck with a mess of kickers and extra points around the base. His cousin saw it the last week of the rifle season but was hunting with a bow, and the buck was out of range. Adair spent the offseason hoping the buck made it through. In early September, he got an answer.

“Just a couple of days later, I had him on camera in the daylight. I just couldn’t believe it. That really lit the fire and got it going,” Adair said.

But other obligations kept Adair out of the deer woods on the opening day of archery season. His former high school basketball coach called him up and asked him to referee a few games. Adair agreed without checking the dates. When the coach asked if he’d still be at the first game on Thursday, Adair realized he had a conflict with opening day.

“I couldn’t cancel on him and leave him hanging,” Adair said. So he spent the evening of the opener in a high school gym. As soon as the game was over, he pulled out his phone to check his trail camera.

“Sure enough, that evening that deer was under my feeder,” Adair said. “That made me want him even more, knowing he was there and I wasn’t.”

The buck had been showing up regularly at the feeder in the mornings. Worried that slipping into the area before daylight might bust the buck, Adair decided to hunt evenings instead. He didn't see the buck that first weekend, but the trail camera kept catching it around the same time each morning throughout the following week.

By Friday, Adair had decided he’d have better luck hunting in the morning. His plan was to slip in quiet well before daylight to get set up well ahead of the buck’s regular breakfast schedule. Then he slept through three alarms.

With plans to try again Sunday morning, Adair barely slept Saturday night. He grabbed his bow and headed out in the pitch dark. Adair snuck in, climbed a tree overlooking the feeder, and settled in at 5:55, well before daylight.

A couple of does came in right at shooting light. A few more followed, along with some small bucks. He even had a seven-pointer walk right under his stand. None of them seemed to suspect he was there.

“It was getting pretty daylight when it dawned on me that he would have to be the next deer to walk out because every deer I’d seen on my trail camera was standing right in front of me,” Adair said.

Then he heard footsteps coming from behind him. “I was cool, calm, and collected up until that point. When I heard those footsteps coming, my heart started thumping,” Adair said. “I don’t know how the deer didn’t hear it.”

When the deer finally worked around to the edge of his field of vision, Adair realized it was another doe. “My heart about fell out the bottom of my boots.”

He took a few deep breaths and tried to gather himself. If a doe could get him this worked up, he figured he’d have a hard time keeping it together if the buck with all the kickers showed up. He watched the doe walk toward the feeder, then caught movement behind her.

“I saw a bush move and then saw his horns come out from behind it. My heart went right back to thumping just as hard as it was before,” Adair said.

The buck stopped about 15 yards from the feeder and stomped his foot once. Every deer on the feeder eased off to get out of his way. Adair figured this was good for him because fewer eyes would be watching when it came time to draw his bow. But when the buck settled in at the feeder, it was facing right at him.

After about three minutes, which felt like an absolute eternity to Adair, the buck took a few steps and turned broadside. Adair slowly raised the Mathews Z7 he got in a trade for a deer blind he’d built, and clipped on his release. When he moved his shoulder to draw, the buck threw his head up and looked right at him.

“I thought I just blew it,” Adair said. But then he turned and walked back the other direction, offering another broadside shot.

“There was a limb that was good camouflage for me, where he couldn’t see me too well. I pulled my arm up and drew back. I put my pin on him and picked out a rib that I liked, and I let it fly.”

Adair’s arrow was tipped with a random Muzzy fixed four-blade broadhead that he had for the past five years.

“A few weeks before the season, I was at a bow shop, and I was looking at all the broadheads they had hanging on the wall there because I was thinking about it,” Adair said. “They were like $75 a piece. I didn’t think I could make myself drop that much on a broadhead, so I passed on them and went with the one I had at the house.”

That broadhead did its job. When it hit, the buck jumped a couple of times, then stumbled forward and scrambled into the brush on its knees. “It sounded like a herd of elephants crashing around in there,” he said. “Then it just went dead quiet.”

Adair says he’d managed to hold it together until that moment. Once the woods went quiet, he started shaking like crazy. He sat in the treestand and FaceTimed his friend Zach Deal, who made fun of him because the shaking made it impossible to see.

After making one more phone call to his dad, Adair waited another 30 minutes before climbing down. He found his arrow, broken in two, about 10 yards from where the buck had been standing when he shot. Then he followed a solid blood trail for about sixty yards. The first thing he saw was one side of the rack sticking way up above the deer’s body.

“Putting my hands on him was indescribable. I leaned down in front of him and picked his head up, and I was just speechless. It was a surreal moment. It hadn’t quite sunk in yet, and I don’t know if it still has,” Adair said.

Trail camera photos had given Adair a sense of the buck's size, but it wasn’t until he saw the rack up close that he really understood everything the buck had to offer. The rack was loaded with extra points and kickers around the bases that the camera angles never really did justice to.

After counting them up, the buck had 20 scorable points. Adair and Deal measured the rack that day and estimated a gross score of 202 6/8 inches. On Tuesday, a wildlife department employee taped it at 190 6/8 inches net as a nontypical. That score is unofficial, and the rack will be measured again after a 60-day drying period.

Adair is understandably proud of that buck. He’s also proud that he didn’t need any fancy or expensive gear to get it. When asked if he had any advice for new or young hunters, he said, “Don’t feel pressured like you have to have the latest and greatest equipment. You can get by with just about anything. Be proud of what you’ve got. Just get out in the woods and have a good time.”

Photos via Kenneth Wayne Adair.

Steven Rinella and the MeatEater Crew Discuss: an Appalachian Ginseng poaching bust; Nantucket will pay you to kill (and donate) deer; Trump copied our Land Access Initiative concept (just kiddin’); Turns out green decoys are real; New Mexico is gonna change who gets elk tags and who don’t; and more!

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This week on the show I'm joined by Dan Infalt, one of the most renowned DIY whitetail bowhunters of the modern era, to discuss how his hunting approach shifts on a week by week basis from late October through the end of November.

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On the opening weekend of Wisconsin's 2004 deer season, a confrontation over a tree stand erupted into one of the deadliest hunting-related shootings in American history. Six hunters were killed, two more were wounded, and the man responsible disappeared into the forest. But what drove Chai Soua Vang to open fire? Was it a case of self-defense gone horribly wrong, or a calculated act of murder? Through firsthand accounts from survivors, investigators, and others close to the case, we revisit a tragedy that exposed deep divisions over race, hunting, and justice in rural America.

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I was sitting in a ladder stand on opening day of the North Carolina archery season. I had a fantastic view of my favorite oak flat, and I felt that familiar, warm gratitude as the rising sun turned the woods into gold. Everything felt right. Only, this year, I’m carrying a crossbow instead of the compound bow I’d hunted with for the past 15 years.

A few minutes after sunrise, two does appeared. They seemed to float across the flat, feeding at 50 yards, just beyond my comfortable shooting range. I watched their ears flick away the mosquitoes and held my breath, hoping they’d move closer. I might have been holding a different bow in that treestand, but the feeling of seeing deer was exactly the same.

If you had told me last season that I’d be carrying a crossbow into the woods, I would have looked at you like you were crazy. Then a bad fall on a martial arts mat left me with a dislocated shoulder. I didn’t realize it for two days. I just thought I was badly bruised.

When it finally popped back into place (thank you, Dr. Williams), the surrounding tendons and ligaments were stretched and pretty angry at me. It’s the kind of thing I would have bounced back from easily in my younger years. But this time, healing came slow. For months, I could barely raise my arm above shoulder level. Applying deodorant was almost impossible, let alone drawing my bow.

I’d regained most of my mobility by the end of summer, but I was far from ready for archery season. I hadn’t shot my bow in months. I’d lost strength in my back and shoulder, and I was holding a lot of anxiety about the possibility of reinjuring my still-tender shoulder. I wasn’t willing to risk reinjuring my shoulder just to preserve my draw weight, so I grabbed a crossbow.

I admit it felt like a concession, like I was quietly giving up an identity I’d spent 15 years building. But I knew it was one way to still get into the woods and, hopefully, put some meat in the freezer.

There’s a bit of a stigma about crossbow hunters in the archery world. I’d be lying if I said it didn’t bother me. I’d also be lying if I said I’d never scoffed at crossbow hunters myself. I’d spent a good portion of my adult life identifying as a bowhunter. To me, that category was limited to anyone shooting a vertical bow.

I loved my compound bow. The repetition of practicing draw, anchor, settle, release felt almost like meditation. I liked the challenge and maybe even a little of the badass reputation that comes with mastering a difficult weapon. (Okay, maybe a lot). In my mind, a crossbow didn’t carry the same aura. I realize I was judging myself way harder than any other hunter probably would have. But I also wasn’t ready to give up a season just to protect my pride.

I got my hands on a new Excalibur Hybrid X a few weeks before archery season. The model would be easy to cock with a crank system that was kind to my shoulder. But my first experience on the range didn’t feel much like shooting a bow. The thing is heavy. All decked out, it weighs over 10 pounds. My compound tipped the scales just over four.

The scope, trigger, and balance reminded me more of a rifle than anything I’d ever shot bowhunting. But there was an advantage to that. It took a single afternoon to feel competent shooting it. That surprised me. I expected a steeper learning curve. And it was stupid accurate once I got the scope zeroed. I was throwing one-inch groups at 40 yards from a bench in under an hour.

That afternoon, I started thinking less about what I was giving up and more about what a crossbow could do for me. I could cock and shoot it without shoulder pain, and I felt comfortable making accurate shots out to at least 40 yards. With my compound, 20 to 25 yards had always been my sweet spot. I was getting excited for bow season.

There’s a lot more to deer hunting than just putting arrows on target. I wouldn’t realize the full extent of some of the trade-offs of my conversion until I was actually in the woods. That 10-pound rig felt heavy on the practice range, but it felt like hauling lead in the field. If I’m hunting close to the truck, the pounds don’t matter much. But I can feel every ounce on a long hike, especially when there are hills and rocks to contend with. Add a deer drag to the equation, and carrying that crossbow feels like hauling a boat anchor.

Still, the weight is a trade-off I’m willing to make. Once I'm settled into my stand, I don't have to draw the bow or hold at full draw while I wait for a deer to offer a good shot. That makes my shoulder happy.

That doesn’t mean there aren’t challenges, though. Holding steady and on target still isn’t easy. It just requires different muscles. Shooting offhand has its challenges, but a solid rest or a good set of shooting sticks can help.

For all the adjustments and ego bruises that came with converting to a crossbow, deer are still deer. A crossbow didn’t magically make me a better hunter, even if I can shoot it more consistently than I can currently shoot my compound. No piece of gear can replace solid woodsmanship. I still have to understand how deer move, play the wind, and be stealthy. None of that has changed. I haven’t changed as a bowhunter, either. I still need to judge the distance to my target and wait for a good angle or clear path to vitals. That is the most reassuring part of this whole transition. The crossbow hasn’t changed the kind of hunter I am.

I would be lying if I said I didn’t miss my compound bow. I miss the familiar rhythm of practice, the challenge, and, honestly, the identity I gave myself when I hunted with a compound bow. I like being a badass, and a crossbow just doesn’t carry the same reputation for me.

But I’m starting to believe the gear I carry into the woods might not define me as much as I thought it did. Maybe I’ll go back to my compound bow next year. Maybe I’ll keep the crossbow in the rotation. I haven’t decided yet. Either way, I’ll probably ease up on the crossbow shade I’ve thrown in the past. At least a little.

In this series, we look at the classic, discontinued, or longstanding guns that hunters still use in the field today (hence the name). Whether they’re out of production or not, you can still find them at gun shops and hunting camps all across the states.

G.O.A.T. status only comes with longevity. It's the “all time” part of that acronym that says it all. For semiauto shotguns, there may be another greatest of all time waiting in the wings. For now, though, the title undoubtedly goes to the Browning Auto 5. It maintained its relevance in the face of competitors for a clean 100 years—the entire 20th century—which is one of many reasons it’s hard to beat.

The Auto 5 is also one of the world's most recognizable shotguns with its humpback profile and chunky steel receiver. Even though it was produced by several different companies, Browning’s straightforward, recoil-operated shotgun became a staple in duck blinds, pheasant fields, grouse covers, and anywhere else you might need a shotgun—including some pretty hostile warzones. Like all of John Browning’s guns, the Auto 5 just worked, and for many hunters, it’s still working today.

The heaviest of heavy hitters in American gun making came up with the Auto 5 in 1898. John M. Browning was fresh off of two years of missionary work in Georgia for the Mormon church when he got down to business making a patent for a recoil operated firearm (along with 20 other patents). That gun would become the Browning Auto 5.

At the time, Browning was working with Winchester to build his gun designs. He designed three self-loading shotguns to present to the company, with the last being the Auto 5. T.G. Bennett of Winchester would make the final call, and he felt the public wasn’t ready for a semiauto. Browning tried to strike a deal with the company that would give him royalties for every Auto 5 sold. Winchester said no way, and Browning walked. He actually sailed, on a steamship, all the way to Belgium, where he presented Fabrique Nationale (FN) with the new shotgun. The Belgians were intrigued and they decided to go with Browning’s royalty deal. In 1903, they started producing Auto 5s and shipping them back to the U.S.

To say Browning was taking a risk with the Auto 5 would be an understatement. The Auto 5 wasn’t just a new shotgun to market. It was essentially a new category of shotgun. Hunters were familiar with pumps and side-by-sides, but they had no concept of an autoloader. To up the ante, Browning personally financed the first run of 10,000 Auto 5s to be shipped to the States. His gamble paid off, though, and all of the first run Auto 5s were sold in under a year. As sales continued to rise, other companies started work on their own semi-auto shotguns to keep up. It would take 54 years before any competitor could touch the Auto 5.

Remington licensed and took up production of the Auto 5 in 1905 calling it the Model 11. Through the years, production of the gun bounced back and forth between FN, Remington, Savage, and finally Miroku in Japan. Copies of the gun were made by Franchi and Breda, too. An exact figure for how many Auto 5s were built is hard to come by, but the number is in the millions, with estimates between 3 and 4 million. Production ceased in the late 1990s with a tribute run of 1000 limited edition guns made at the Miroku factory in Japan.

Shotguns aren’t like rifles because they need to shoot a wider variety of loads at different pressures. It’s in this concept that Browning's genius with the Auto 5 is most evident. Shotgun shells have always been complicated, but in the late 1800s, they were especially so as shell manufacturers were making the switch from black powder to smokeless powder. Browning knew his autoloader needed to shoot any kind of shell if the public was going to accept it, so he needed to come up with a design that would cycle no matter what.

Most semi-automatic rifles cycle by harnessing gasses bled from each shot through a small hole in the barrel, kind of like an internal combustion engine. But rifles are relatively consistent between loads. For shotguns, the gas pressure between, say, a target load and a goose load or a black powder load and a smokeless load, varies, making it difficult to make a gas-operated shotgun that works reliably. Instead of gas-operation, Browning decided to harness the power of recoil to cycle the action for the Auto 5.

If you’ve ever shot an Auto 5, you’ll notice the "long" in its long-recoil action. The entire barrel and bolt move backwards with the shot before the barrel slams forward again followed by an ejecting shell and the bolt. The design relies on springs in the magazine tube and the stock. But the springs alone can’t account for the variety in shotgun shell payloads and pressures. Higher pressures would slam the bolt back too fast and low pressures weren’t powerful enough to cycle the action. To fix this, Browning added a set of adjustable friction rings as a simple, cheap, and effective shock absorber to compensate for different loads.

Since the Auto 5’s introduction, designers have come up with successful gas-operated shotguns. And improvements have been made to recoil-operated semiautos. But the Auto 5 was the gun almost all semiauto shotguns were built on. With this patent, Browning held a virtual monopoly on the semiauto shotgun market for half a century.

Auto 5s were made by four companies in a wide variety of sub-models in 12, 16, and 20 gauge. There are lightweight versions, some that hold only three shells, some with short barrels, and some that are full-blown modern workhorses. All of this to say, you want to do a little research before buying a used Auto 5.

As with any used firearm, you first need to figure out where you fall on the spectrum of collector vs. shooter. Diehard collectors prize original finish, condition, and rare short-run models. Those who like to hunt and shoot want a gun that can gather groceries and bust clays. They’re less likely to put up with the fact that many Auto 5s shouldn’t shoot steel. They’re also less picky about finish and condition. Collectors will generally pay more, and shooters will pay less.

For the practical hunter, one who wants their gun to perform above all else, the Japanese Auto-5s are what you’re after. These guns were made from 1976 to 1998. Specifically, you’re looking for a Miroku that was made between 1983 and 1998 because it has a nitride-coated magazine tube and removable Invector choke tubes. The Japanese also built a Magnum 12 with a 3-inch chamber in the late 1980s-90s. This gives you the vintage flare of a humpback A-5 with all the modern bells and whistles.

Classic Auto 5s are nothing to scoff at, though, especially the Belgian ones. These guns are beautifully made with a deep bluing, sharp checkering, good engraving, and an old-world fit and finish. Between 1958 and 1975 is the sweet spot for these guns. There are regular and magnum models in both 12 and 20 gauge, and they ditch the inside the trigger guard safety for a nice crossbolt safety. If you’re looking for a Light Twelve, Sweet Sixteen, or 20-ga to keep it classy in the uplands, check out Belgian guns from the aforementioned years. The Sweet Sixteens and 20-gauges weigh less than seven pounds.

To the collectors out there, you probably already know what you’re after. One interesting gun to find in good condition would be the 3-Shot Automatic A-5. In the 1930s, when duck hunters were first restricted to three shells, Browning came up with a three-shell-only 3-Shot Automatic A-5 with no magazine plug—just a two-shot tube and shorter forend. Plugs were later accepted as legal, and Browning eventually ceased production on these guns in 1946. There are also some incredibly fancy, high-grade Belgian guns made before WWII either by or under the supervision of master engraver Felix Funken.

There are some fantastic, full-coverage game scenes that came out of this period, but I’ve also seen some Art-Deco themes that really push the boundaries of engraving. Funken went on to open FNs custom shop in 1956, and as many hunters know, the Auto 5 keeps trucking on in the uplands, on the marsh, and anywhere else a reliable shotgun is needed.