So whaddya do when you've had three magazines for a Remington 760 in .30-06 rattling around in the miscellaneous box for years? You haven't been able to locate a buyer of sufficient taste and discernment to own a 760 (or anything else in that action family) in a proper caliber. Or at least you can't find one anxious to acquire your mags at anything near a fair price.
You despair, of course. Unless you're of my cheerily optimistic persuasion. Then you wait for a fine1963 production model to pay an unexpected visit to your quarters. And wait. And wait. Years.
But eventually it happens, at least to those of us who lead clean lives, devoid of impure thoughts.
T' hee. I'm looking at it now. At a very fair price it is mine. MINE! Including the vintage Redfield 3x9 on that tank-like Redfield mount. And with enough clips* to handle 21 rampaging terrorists before having to fumble individually with any of these noble rounds.
(Pictures possible if and when I find the three-volt Cockroach by Canon.)
Among the beauties of the Second Amendment is this: Here in the Land of the Free, it is not forbidden to buy a rifle primarily because you already own a magazine or so for it. Bless the Founders.
Funny, it didn't start out to be a particularly good day.
*Oh hush. I'm just trying to temper tautology.