Baron’s Swedish Mauser hung on the wall of his narrow trailer above the wood burning stove at his rustic home in Washington State’s Olympic Mountains. The Baron also had a 22 semi automatic rifle and a 12 gauge shotgun hanging his 1996 6.65 mm Swedish bolt action. This is the first time I met the Baron after he became a regular in the Lost Angels Chat. But it is Baron’s Swedish Mauser that became by far the most unforgettable focus of my week long visit to the great writer’s home in the mountains.

When I was 12 years old looking for a Springfield 03 to buy I was intrigued by the surplus Swedish military rifles that were selling for a pittance. They looked cool. But now it’s 1997 and I am visiting Baron in his small single wide trailer. I’m here for one week, and Baron and I have a lot of very interesting times together. Which you can read all about in my latest book, Life of an Exotic Entertainment Photographer.

It makes sense for a self proclaimed mountain man like Baron to have three or four firearms in his trailer.

He’s got a semi automatic 22 rife which is cheap, fun to shoot and good for small game. His 12 gauge shotgun is indispensable. Because when the chips are down and he has no food, he can always hit birds on the wing or small animals on the run. Good for self defense also, and if he were attacked by a grizzly bear it has stopping power he can count on. But the 50 caliber black powder Hawken? It might have been the cats meow for early 19th century mountain men. But this isn’t the 19th century. But oh well. Each to his own. I will soon have 36 firearms. And not all of them are practical must haves. Of all of his guns, the one that intrigued me the most was Baron’s Swedish Mauser. And it was the one he was the proudest of.

“Believe it or not, it will shoot as flat as a 300 H & H Magnum,” Baron told me.

“Nah. No way,” I replied. That 6.65 mm Swedish round was devised in 1896. And it wasn’t the most powerful round out there. Our 30-06 is a far better cartridge and it was introduced in 1906.”

The Baron had few amenities in his small trailer. He had an old 1500 watt space heater that was so run down that it would produce just half that many watts. He had a supply of firewood on hand for his wood burning stove. But it was soft wood. And each log would last only for a couple of hours. I found myself waking up every couple of hours putting more wood on the fire. But he had a passable internet connection.

And used it to check the ballistics of Baron’s Swedish Mauser.

Although the velocity of a 139 grain bullet was well below a 150 grain 30-06 load, the 6.5 Swede actually shot flatter. And by the time Baron explained to me that the Swedish Mauser was built better than an 1898 German Mauser I had to have one.

“How much do you think I will have to pay for one?” I asked the Baron.

“About a hundred dollars or so,” Baron replied. “And I think there’s a nearby gun shop that will have one in stock.”

I got a rifle that was nearly identical to Baron’s Swedish Mauser the next day. And had to try it out a.s.a.p.

Baron had this old Nissan pickup truck that he used for hauling wood that he cut back to his trailer. And for general transportation. I was surprised that it was two wheel drive and not four wheel drive. Because I had learned in my first several years as a farmer that two wheel drive pickups were as useless as tits on a bore when the going go tough. And those Olympic mountains of Baron’s were no laughing matter. I can’t remember how long it took us to get to that pristine mountain lake. Two hours, three hours? But whatever time it took, I was completely surprised that we didn’t encounter one single motorized vehicle over the last forty-five minutes of our journey. In my many years traveling out West I never encountered an area so devoid of human civilization since spending a month at the National Outdoor Leadership School in Wyoming’s Wind River Mountains.

Baron and I shot out Swedish Mausers out to two hundred yards once we got to the lake. We didn’t take any targets with us. So we shot at tree stumps and willows out on the lake, or whatever else was close at hand. The rifle was very easy on my shoulder. Kicking far less than my 30-06 Springfield. And even less than the .243 I had shot in my early teens. But as Baron explained to me, that 6.5 mm Swedish cartridge was a favorite with Swedish moose hunters. And it was equally good on American Moose Baron assured me. So I felt really good about my new rifle. And even if, and that was a very big if. An almost impossible if. A grizzly bear should attack us I had a rifle with the power and penetration that would save our lives.

But it would be my fascination with Baron’s Swedish Mauser and my buying one just like his that might soon cost us our lives.

When we decided to head back to a restaurant near Baron’s trailer, we found that Baron’s two wheel drive pickup was stuck in the snow.

I used to drive both rear engine and front wheel drive Volkswagens, and always had a shovel along. Baron didn’t. Although he kept a chain saw in his pickup bed which he used for cutting firewood whenever he encountered a fallen tree along the road. The largest potential snow digging implements we could find were a screwdriver and claw hammer. But there was no one around to rescue us. And it was already close to 4 p.m. We could freeze to death our on that lake before anyone would find us. So we had no choice other than making that claw hammer and screwdriver fly. Both were better than using our fingernails.

After we finally hacked and chiseled enough snow away from the pickup’s rear tires, Baron finally gave it a go. But the tires never got a good grip in the snow. I finally noticed the brushwood that filled the bed of Baron’s pickup. On the way to the lake we encountered a small tree that had fallen across the road. An elated Baron, gleefully cried out, “Road Kill.” And used his chainsaw to cut the tree into small pieces that would fit in his stove.

The pickup truck’s back wheels had dug a rut beneath its tires. Which kept getting deeper each time Baron tried to drive his way out of the ruts. I pushed while Baron drove. All to no avail. We were finally able to get the pickup out of the ruts by cramming brushwood underneath its tires.

We were home free a last getting the truck unstuck until Baron almost got us stuck again.

The road was a narrow two lane all covered with snow. But it started snowing before we got a mile away from the lake. Baron seemed totally unconcerned as he relaxed behind the wheel. But I had been there before. Two many times. I’d be driving home to my farm house from a party. And it would start to snow. Snowing harder and harder until my front wheel drive car would get stuck in a drift before I had gone thirty miles.

I watched the snow falling harder and harder down on that road when I asked Baron.

“I’m hungry. How far is Port Townsend?

“Not very far,” Baron replied. We should be there within half an hour.”

“Is Port Townsend North or South of us?” I asked.

“It’s South of us.”

“So we are traveling South, right Baron?”

“Yes.”

“Baron, even though it’s snowing I can still see a bit of the sun to our left.”

“That’s good.”

“Baron, it is 4 p.m. So if we are traveling South should the sun be on our left or on our right.”

“On our right, Jack.”

“Baron, the sun is on our left. Which puts the sun West of us So we are going North, not South and we are heading uphill where the snow will be falling a lot harder. We are going to get stuck again unless you turn around.”

That night Baron and I got in the Lost Angels Chat while we had a nice dinner and drank a lot of beer together.

PlOne and several of the Dollies strippers were in the chat room with us, when Baron described our day getting stuck in the snow.

“We might have died in those mountains if we had gotten my truck stuck again. There was no one on that road but us. So if we had gotten stuck chances are no one might have come by to help us. That jack. He saved the day. Jack is the Greatest Mountain man that ever lived. Greater than Daniel Boone and even Abraham Lincoln.”