I hope you've got your insurance paid up," chortled the customs agent at the Johannesburg airport as he looked at my Shiloh 1874 Sharps. The year was 1981, and I was en route to a safari in Zimbabwe. As the agent placed my .45-70 buffalo rifle back into its aluminum traveling case, he exchanged a sympathetic glance with my professional hunter, Alec Strauss, who had come to meet me at the airport.

"You sure you wouldn't want to carry my .375 bolt action?" Alec asked as we boarded our connecting flight to Zimbabwe. "It's got four shots, just as fast as you can work the bolt. I mean, coming all this way with just a single-shot..." But the apprehension Alec displayed would dissipate like so much blackpowder smoke a few days later when I managed to stalk within 35 yards of a Roland Ward record-book impala and drop it with one well-placed shot from the Sharps.

To be sure, it wasn't the first time I had hunted with a single-shot rifle. Nor would it be the last. Like a first kiss, most of us remember our first rifles; mine was a Remington 514, a single-shot .22 outfitted with Lyman peep sights that I used to qualify for my Boy Scout marksmanship merit badge--and even went on to win a number of Arizona high school championships and regional matches with it, against heavier-stocked, bull barreled target rifles. The little Remington also made a dandy rabbit gun, and not only did I learn the basics of marksmanship with that Remington .22, it taught me not to count on a follow-up shot, because there wasn't any.

A few years later, I managed to acquire an original (there were no replicas back then) .50-70 Sharps carbine. Not owning any other big bore rifle at the time, I decided to take the old cavalry carbine deer hunting. I remember making my own ammunition by finger-pressing .490 round balls into surplus brass cases filled with FFg blackpowder. I don't recall ever killing anything larger than a jackrabbit with that Indian Wars relic, but it reinforced the challenge of making every shot count.

A short time later, I purchased a trapdoor 1873 Springfield .45-70 carbine from a pawn shop. Venturing out to the range, I practiced firing at targets set at 50 and 100 yards while holding two additional shells between the fingers of my supporting hand, flipping open the breech and immediately plucking one of the shells from my fingers, chambering it and snapping the breechblock closed, ready for a second shot.

I became fairly adept at this drill, and it was with a great deal of pride that I used this ex-cavalry carbine to drop a deer and had a second round already chambered, ready to fire, while the dust was still drifting up from his fall. That second shot was never needed.

Not being a complete Neanderthal, I eventually discovered repeating rifles, but for serious hunting I still opted for the simplicity and accuracy of the single-shot. There was the challenge of making that one shot count, even when I had to sacrifice a few extra nanoseconds to make sure the sights were perfectly aligned on an animal's lethal zone.

This self-discipline paid off on one of my first elk hunts in the Bridger-Teton wilderness area. I was carrying a .54 caliber 1863 Gemmer (no longer offered) from C. Sharps Arms. Although the action length was designed for 60 grains of FFg blackpowder, I had the factory lengthen the chamber so that it would accommodate 90 grains, a much more effective load for big game. Still, it was a 150-yard rifle at best, not only because of the blunt-nosed lead bullet's trajectory but also by virtue of the rifle's open buckhorn sights.