The commission that’s stayed with me most recently wasn’t the hardest thing I’ve done technically, though it had real challenges. What made it different was what was at the center of it. The client wanted his dogs on that gun — specific dogs he hunts with, specific birds he chases, a life in the field made permanent in steel. That kind of picture doesn’t come from a catalog. It comes from a real conversation, and everything that follows depends on how well that conversation goes.
The project was a bespoke Parker, built in collaboration with a stock maker, with every part of it done as well as we could do it. The client wanted the receiver to carry portraits of his personal dogs and the game birds he hunts. My own time as a wing shooter meant that picture felt familiar to me right away. I understood what he was describing because I’ve lived something close to it. That helped us get to a clear shared vision quickly, and the work moved from there.
I work almost entirely on one-of-a-kind commissioned pieces for private collectors.
The clients who bring projects like this have usually owned fine guns for a long time. They know what they’re asking for and they’re ready to give the work the time it takes. A commission at this level runs eight to fourteen months. The clients who come in understanding that tend to be the ones whose pieces come out right — and the ones who come back.
“The special part was the relationship forged between the client and myself. Understanding the man’s bond with his dogs and his passion for wing shooting — that was the catalyst for transforming bare steel into art.”
The stock maker, Brian Dudley, and I worked on the metal and wood separately, passing images back and forth through the client as we went. When the gun came together, the engraving on the receiver and the checkering on the stock read like they came from the same hand. That happened because both of us had fully taken in the same picture of what the client wanted. When that’s solid enough, the work fills in on its own.
The Barrel Addresses
One of the demanding parts of this commission was the barrel addresses. The gun is a Parker Reproduction with its own factory markings, and the client wanted those replaced with text that would read like original Peerless work from more than a hundred years ago. On a double gun, getting there is a specific technical problem.
Double-gun barrels are put together with a rib soldered between the two tubes, using alloys that flow somewhere between 350 and 800 degrees Fahrenheit. Conventional welding — TIG or MIG — can blow past that range at the work area, which puts the rib solder and barrel geometry at risk. On a gun like this, any double gun, that’s unacceptable.
I’ve had a laser welder for over a decade and use it regularly on antique, vintage, and collectible firearms. The beam works at 0.3 to 3 millimeters — most of the work here was done at 1 millimeter or below. The heat-affected zone is microscopic. I’m holding the parts in my bare hands while welding. The solder stays where it is and the geometry holds. For barrel work on a double gun, it’s the approach I rely on.
“Laser welding is an invaluable skill in restoring and preparing vintage, antique and collectible firearms. The precision makes possible things that simply can’t be done any other way.”
After filling the existing markings, I dressed the material down to a clean surface for engraving. The working space was about a quarter inch wide by five inches long, with machined serrated patterns on both sides that I couldn’t disturb. The original Peerless markings had run six and a half inches. My space was five. I redesigned the lettering to fit, keeping the period character the client was after.
Then I did it again for the second barrel set — both sets going into the same case, side by side. Any difference between them would show right away. Getting the second set to match means bringing the same care to it as the first. There’s no shortcut on the back half of a matched pair.
What Matters at the End
The client is completely happy with how the gun turned out — his words, and the only measure that matters to me. He commissioned several more projects before the piece left the shop. That’s the outcome I’m working toward every time. Not just someone who’s satisfied, but someone whose connection to the piece keeps going.
Most of my clients come back. They bring a new project when they pick up the last one, or they send someone who saw the work and wanted something like it for their own story. When a gun carrying one man’s dogs and birds becomes the reason another man calls about his own, that’s the work doing what it’s meant to do.
The projects that come out best are the ones where the client and I land on the same picture early, and both of us are comfortable letting it take the time it takes. That’s what gives a piece the chance to become what it’s supposed to be.