I don't know how this happens to me every year: All summer it feels like hunting season is never going to get here; then it's upon me so fast that I'm not even close to having anything ready.

I'm sure that part of the problem is that it's so hot for so long here in Alabama. October is here and we're still getting highs in the 90s every day -- not exactly stand-hanging weather.

But even if it wasn't for that, I'd still be behind. It seems that nothing goes right for me when it comes to equipment.

Actually, I should qualify that; my bow is shooting very well. When I do my part, it hits exactly where I'm aiming. It even seems to cut me a break when I don't do everything just right. But when it comes to firearms, I'm jinxed. Heard of Murphy's Law? It's the one that says, "Anything that can go wrong will go wrong." Well, Murphy is just a pen name I use now and then. It's really Ken Piper's Law.

Last week I was asked to fill in on a caribou hunt for Buckmasters Executive Editor Russell Thornberry. That whole process is the material for a long article, but we'll stick to the firearms aspect of it for the sake of this blog.

With only about a week to prepare for the trip, I grabbed my trusty .270 Remington Model 700 and gave it a once-over only to find the trigger had rusted solid. There was no rust visible, but apparently saltwater had gotten inside the trigger mechanism on a trip to the Arctic two years ago. I cleaned the barrel and outside of the gun when I got back but never thought to take it apart.

A quick email to the folks at Timney Triggers (www.timneytriggers.com) had a replacement on its way via overnight shipping. GunHunter magazine editor Larry Teague helped me put in the new trigger (make that Larry put in the trigger while I watched and made comments), and we were off to the range. It didn't take long to figure out that I had a major problem: the gun wouldn't fire. It seems that the new trigger required a little work on the stock to make it fit a little less snugly. Before you ask, we tried the mechanism many times at the office prior to putting the gun back together. It should have worked, except for Ken Piper's Law.

We headed back to the office, where I took a Dremel tool to the offending part of the stock and quickly had the rifle working properly. Of course the day was shot by then.

The following morning found Larry and I back at the range. The gun was firing okay, but it wasn't holding a very good pattern. It seems the extra work on the bedding that Larry and I did while we had the gun apart wasn't such a hot idea after all. I had brought along my old Remington Model 760 that I've had since I was a junior in high school, and it was shooting great groups, so at least I had a gun ready for the hunt. It was time to head back to get some real work done.

As Larry and I were packing up, I grabbed one of the sand bags that helps weigh down the rather nice Caldwell bench rest Larry had graciously brought along. When I picked up the sand bag, the bench rest, with my beautiful Model 700 Mountain Rifle still resting in its grooves, flipped off the table and onto the cement of the range, gun-first. I'm including a picture of a Mountain Rifle LSS so you can fully understand my misery. The gun will definitely require some work at a gunsmith to smooth out gouges in the end of the barrel, and I'll be calling Nikon for a replacement scope as well.

Larry, who was going on the caribou hunt as well, just looked me and said, "Man, that gun just doesn't want to go to Canada again." Thinking back on what it had to endure on the last trip, I couldn't blame it. Then I headed for an appointment while Larry went back to Buckmasters headquarters.

About two hours later, I made it back to the office only to run into Larry coming down the hall and shaking his head. He pulled me aside and said, "You're not gonna believe this, but our hunt just got cancelled." We like to have fun in the office, so I really didn't think much of it and returned to my desk. Larry followed me in. "Well, at least now you'll have time to get your gun worked on before season," he continued. This was going a little too far.

Then I realized he wasn't kidding. "You're serious, aren't you?" I asked.

"Yes. The outfitter called and said the caribou had all migrated out of his area and told us not to come."

At that point, there was only one thing I could say: "I think I'll go outside and shoot my bow."