[Jeff Higgins]

I used to cross the border into Canada at least once a year, sometimes twice. With firearms. We used to shoot a two day mid-range "stage" match (200, 300, 400, 500, and 600 meters) for black powder cartridge and muzzle loading rifles at the old General Volkes Range. It's right on the north side of Mt. Baker, with beautiful views of the mountain.

I absolutely never had a lick of trouble going into Canada. This was before they passed their law requiring a "FAC" - Firearms Acquisition Certificate. I'm told, by the way, that's it's still just as easy, if you get your FAC in advance. Anyway, a typical exchange at the crossing would go like this:

"Good morning sir, what brings you to Canada?"

"I'm shooting in a rifle match this weekend at General Volkes. Here's the flyer."

"Ooh - it says 'vintage rifles prior to 1895.' What are you shooting?"

"An 1874 Sharps in .45-100." (Or whatever I had that weekend.)

"How much ammo?"

"Couple hundred rounds."

"Cool. Good luck in the match" as he hands the flyer back and sends me on my way.

That's it, that's all. Each and every time. The crossing coming back home, however, was always a big hassle. Power tripping U.S. crossing guards "welcoming" me home fer chrisakes.

"Good evening, sir, how long were you in Canada and what were you doing there?"

"I was there for the weekend, shooting a rifle match. Here's the flyer. Here's a few medals I won."

Silence. Steely glare. Starting to squint... "Does that mean you have a rifle? And ammunition?"

"Yessir, I have both."

"Please pull over there..."

Once "over there" the real grilling started. Was I sure that was the only rifle, was I sure it was the same one I went up there with, was I sure I even went up there with one, was I sure I didn't buy it in Canada, how come I have so much ammo and most of it has been fired, and on and on and on. They never took the car apart, but they threatened to so a couple of times. Total "Buford T. Justice" level ass holes. Way, way too impressed with their own authority and cleverness. But boy, they thwarted my dastardly plans to invade my own country with a 130 year old buffalo rifle...