470-it is a beautiful piece of wood! I'll post more pics after I get her in my hands.

My personal preference is wood over engraving. And I have to admit that rifle has the nicest wood over any other rifle I own.

Clark, I am sure we will meet, and I am sorry I ddn't get a chance to catch up with you on Saturday. I was called into action by Rusty to help him create The Butch Searcy Double Rifle Christmas Club, forever to be known as "The Silent Knight Purchase Plan".

Saw Doc's 577 there at the Searcy booth. Awesome work and wood. I dared not touch her, given the sign that said "Do not touch". I cannot say that I did not drool on her though.

And by the way, the fingerprints probably belong to the Silent Knight.

There were some great English doubles available at the DSC, but I don't have Jed Clampets walking around money. I did a lot of research on Heym before I bought. They have been at this since 1865. And any PH or old timer that has ever shot one hsa it forever.

Even met a PH in SA who owns a Heym, and got a boatload of info on the make. The ammo Heym regulates their rifles with is Wolfgang Romey. That was new to me and I found out they are an old school maker. Their brass is thicker (like Lapua is here in the States), so a filler is at times not necessary.

So I now have a few rounds of Wolfgang Romey behind me as I write.

I learned that you can use Federal for practice. It is fairly close.

Also learned that the Heym generally pushes out rounds about 50 fps faster. My great grandfather would be proud -it is the German tight tolerance that accounts for the fps pickup.

In this process I also learned a lot about myself. I learned to listen to people that I now count as friends in the DRSS. I learned that despite my past experience in the military and as a hunter since about 8 years of age, I was a babe in the African DG woods. In my 20's and 30's, I was immortal. In my 40's I started to realize it wasn't all me. Today, I understand that divine intervention plaed a large role in my survival to date, and since then those who have befriended me here have taught me divine is great, but smart is better.

I sold my beloved Harley a month ago (to buy the Heym). But I counted the near misses I had with people that could not see a very big man on a very big motorcycle, and the one and only morotcycle accident (we all have one) where the handlebars went loose on a brand new Harley, and I would rather take calculated rather than uncalculated risks.

Not to digress too much, but the Harley accident ran me into a 10 foot median because there was no ability to turn. My thought before I hit the curb doing 40 mph was to put the bike down in the slim strip of grass on the mediam. I was successful in that task, but in the process, my right shoulder hit one of those road signs anchored in concrete and supported by a cast iron pole. I won, but the collission flipped me to one side, and I landed on the curb on my right rib cage.

I broke every rib on my right side in at least one place, two ribs in two places, ad had two ribs separate from the sternum.

It also collapsed my right lung. While I lay in the middle of the road thinking I was dying because I could not breathe but realizing that my prayer would probably be cut short by trucks behind me, everything stopped. Including traffic.

I will tell you that the recovery process was most reverent to the Harley. With regard to my semi breating mass, the fire department was the first to show. I had blocked all traffic on a major road in a major city. Not my goal for the day.

The firemen were great. My uncle was a fireman for 35 years. It is an Irish thing. Like my grandfather being the Chief Detective.

The first thing they wanted to do was to remove my helmet. Fine. Thank God I waswearing a helmet. Then they proceeded to prepare to cut my jacket off. STOP.

Not my motorcycle jacket. Yes, and if the fire department did not cut it off, the paramedics or hospital would.

Breathing out of one lung, and now feeling pain, I informed these fine gentlemen that if they did not help me out of my jacket, I would remove it myself. They removed my jacket without a cut.

While they were sitting me up, despite the cracking and clicking and pain, my right lung was geting air once again. That German committment to excellence, coupled with my Irish side's "always right" sway, saved not only my life but my leather jacket.

There is a moral - hunting is safer than biking. You can pick your hunting battles. Which is fine by me.