Just an anecdote....
Back in the Mid 80s, while on active duty... we used to hunt the Navy Bombing Range on the island of Kahoolawe in the middle of the Hawaiian Island Chain. The island was small and Steep, with hard rock, hard clay, brush and some trees. Hunt? What would we hunt? During WWII, the US had released a bunch of goats infected with TB as part of a test program to develop a bio-weapon. Never implemented. Eventually the strain died out, but the goats never did and began to cause a major erosion problem on the island. The US government was sued by the Hawaiian People, and lost. They had to implement a program to control the goat population on the island. It was managed by the Navy from Ford Island, in the middle of Pearl Harbor. (They controlled the bombing range.)
I was the hunting chairman for the Kaneohe Bay Marine Corps Air Station Rod and Gun Club and organized hunts to the island in conjunction with the Navy Captain in Charge. They loved us, we didn't just SIT in one spot and wait for them to wander by, we covered the island and HUNTED the goats. We flew over on Friday morning, hunted all weekend, and were flown back Monday morning. Great fun. The terrain was rough, you could scale cliffs, or hike to the beach and fish for supper.
kahoolawe landscape.jpg
One trip, I hunted with a Retired Marine Colonel. He carried a beat up, scarred Weatherby Rifle. This rifle had started life as a Presentation Grade with a beautiful Walnut Stock, silver and gold high relief engraving of hunting scenes, and his Eagles inlaid in the stock, and was still beautiful. However, the scars, scratches and dents and dings went thru the carvings, the inlays, and the beautiful figuring of the stock. When we stopped to take a break, hydrate, and rest, I asked him about the rifle. "How can you carry that beautiful rifle through THIS terrain?"
He laughed, "What would you have me do? He shook his head. "Keep it locked in the gun case, take it out to show to people so they can ooh and ahh over the inlays and pretty walnut stock, never shoot it?" He shook his head again. "Every dent, ding, and scar is a memory. Some evenings, alone at home, I'll pull the rifle out of the rack, hold it in my lap, and touch a scar or dent, and the memory floods back."
He pointed, "Here, this is a hunt with my brother in Montana. Slipped on a wet bolder as we tried to get into position for a shot." Another touch. "This scratch, those massive thorns they have in Africa, on the last safari before my wife passed." He touched another. "This one, my Command Sergeant Major, from my last command before I retired. He hunted with the rifle and took a trophy buck in the thick brush in North Carolina." If I had the rifle refinished, I'd erase the scars, and the markers for the memories."
When I passed the old Single shot .22 down to MY daughter than the four kids learned to shoot with, the same one my Grandfather taught me on, I asked if she wanted me to refinish the stock. She laughed and said she didn't. "We put those dings there, they are memories. I'll pass them on to Jo." (My Granddaughter.) "It'll be a bonding moment."
Don't know where you got the scratch... if it holds any memory... but maybe it does.
My skills are limited. 