Why can't a country that can send a man to the moon devise a Valentine which combines (a) effectiveness and (b) non-commitment?
Oh well.
Showing posts with label Gimme some guns. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Gimme some guns. Show all posts
Feb 14, 2015
Official Love Day Porn
Having failed again in my annual quest for the perfect Valentine greeting, I bundle up for a sure-love trip, the huge Sioux Falls loophole.
Why can't a country that can send a man to the moon devise a Valentine which combines (a) effectiveness and (b) non-commitment?
Oh well.
Why can't a country that can send a man to the moon devise a Valentine which combines (a) effectiveness and (b) non-commitment?
Oh well.
Jul 12, 2014
The Guns We Need
By "we" I mean Dick Sommers, my grandpa's Uncle George, and me. Maybe you, too, but not necessarily. As Dick told the preacher, some thinks one way, some another.
---
Dick went early to the upper Missouri and crossed the Divide to the Seed-skee-dee and beyond. He trapped his plews, bedded his squaws, and drank his whiskey until he began to gray. He returned to Missouri, married up white, and farmed his plot until he buried her. Then he allowed himself to be talked into guiding an early emigrant train to the Oregon Country.
Except for the kitless preacher, who mooched, Dick's plunder was the slimmest of the lot, barely a burden for two pack horses on the six-month trek. Indian trade truck, kettle, a robe or two, and "a couple of knives, his Hawken, and an over-and-under double with one barrel big enough for bird shot." And a small keg of whiskey.
The best modern analogue is found elsewhere, in good writing about equipping for a serious north woods canoe trip. The better authors remark the primitive red man who set out for a season with his bow, quiver, knife, and maybe a sack of pemmican. "Our equipment is a substitute for his knowledge," they write.
Dick Sommers knew; his main arsenal lived in his head.
---
"Uncle" George lived and killed about a century later. He is my only known ancestor to fall low, a lawyer and incessant office seeker who got hisself elected mayor of Madison, Missouri, twice, and justice of the peace in his old age, a time when he got an idea. He would sue a passel of his relatives to get his legal paws on a small dirt farm northwest of Madison.
The merits of the case are murky, probably lost forever. The larger points are that Leslie, 40, died, George took poison in prison, and the large extended family -- a whole raft of us infested those parts then -- factionated itself like a pack of Sunnis and Shi-ites. All over 111 acres of miserable ground which wouldn't have brought $25 an acre.
Leslie shared a surname with George and was probably a nephew, maybe with some "removeds" and "greats" tossed in. He was 40 to George's 68. He was on the other side of the law suit and pissed off, and aggressive, and, family lore holds, on familiar terms with strong spirits.
On November 13, 1926, they met in downtown Madison. A scuffle happened. George told the jury that being old and weak he was forced to shoot. Two quickies and finisher.
Within a month George was convicted of manslaughter. He appealed, lost, and in 1928 went to prison. Two years or so later, in the infirmary, he found a jar of potassium-something and drank.
So, back to the point. Then as now the media were awful light on interesting details but did report the gun George needed was
"a .32 revolver of the blue steel variety."
Therefore we are certain that whatever his other character flaws, my ancestor George wouldn't be caught dead carrying no whore-house special colored chrome or nickel or some two-tone Brucie gun. A sure-nuf man's man. That's always been a great comfort to me.
---
Me? I figure that the only guns I actually need to face the wild world, including the wild civilized world called cities, are two: A 1911 out of John Moses Browning for carry and an old Savage .22LR over and 20-gauge under for pot meat and general pest control. With an especially sturdy pack mule I'd add a .30-06 to reduce the need for careful stalking, but we're getting pretty close to effete foo-foo-raw here.
I have other stuff, of course, but they're mostly fashion statements, unless I miss my guess.
Ain't no harm in that, I reckon, but, as I may have mentioned, some thinks one way, some another.
---
(Dick will be familiar to A.B. Guthrie readers.)
---
Dick went early to the upper Missouri and crossed the Divide to the Seed-skee-dee and beyond. He trapped his plews, bedded his squaws, and drank his whiskey until he began to gray. He returned to Missouri, married up white, and farmed his plot until he buried her. Then he allowed himself to be talked into guiding an early emigrant train to the Oregon Country.
Except for the kitless preacher, who mooched, Dick's plunder was the slimmest of the lot, barely a burden for two pack horses on the six-month trek. Indian trade truck, kettle, a robe or two, and "a couple of knives, his Hawken, and an over-and-under double with one barrel big enough for bird shot." And a small keg of whiskey.
The best modern analogue is found elsewhere, in good writing about equipping for a serious north woods canoe trip. The better authors remark the primitive red man who set out for a season with his bow, quiver, knife, and maybe a sack of pemmican. "Our equipment is a substitute for his knowledge," they write.
Dick Sommers knew; his main arsenal lived in his head.
---
"Uncle" George lived and killed about a century later. He is my only known ancestor to fall low, a lawyer and incessant office seeker who got hisself elected mayor of Madison, Missouri, twice, and justice of the peace in his old age, a time when he got an idea. He would sue a passel of his relatives to get his legal paws on a small dirt farm northwest of Madison.
The merits of the case are murky, probably lost forever. The larger points are that Leslie, 40, died, George took poison in prison, and the large extended family -- a whole raft of us infested those parts then -- factionated itself like a pack of Sunnis and Shi-ites. All over 111 acres of miserable ground which wouldn't have brought $25 an acre.
Leslie shared a surname with George and was probably a nephew, maybe with some "removeds" and "greats" tossed in. He was 40 to George's 68. He was on the other side of the law suit and pissed off, and aggressive, and, family lore holds, on familiar terms with strong spirits.
On November 13, 1926, they met in downtown Madison. A scuffle happened. George told the jury that being old and weak he was forced to shoot. Two quickies and finisher.
Within a month George was convicted of manslaughter. He appealed, lost, and in 1928 went to prison. Two years or so later, in the infirmary, he found a jar of potassium-something and drank.
So, back to the point. Then as now the media were awful light on interesting details but did report the gun George needed was
"a .32 revolver of the blue steel variety."
Therefore we are certain that whatever his other character flaws, my ancestor George wouldn't be caught dead carrying no whore-house special colored chrome or nickel or some two-tone Brucie gun. A sure-nuf man's man. That's always been a great comfort to me.
---
Me? I figure that the only guns I actually need to face the wild world, including the wild civilized world called cities, are two: A 1911 out of John Moses Browning for carry and an old Savage .22LR over and 20-gauge under for pot meat and general pest control. With an especially sturdy pack mule I'd add a .30-06 to reduce the need for careful stalking, but we're getting pretty close to effete foo-foo-raw here.
I have other stuff, of course, but they're mostly fashion statements, unless I miss my guess.
Ain't no harm in that, I reckon, but, as I may have mentioned, some thinks one way, some another.
---
(Dick will be familiar to A.B. Guthrie readers.)
Jun 18, 2014
Another junk post -- Winchester 97 junk
Poor man that I am, when someone offers me a Winchester 97 for $25, I'll find a way. Maybe borrow a bicycle and go can collecting along the highway.
She's seen here somewhere between before and after. The masking tape that held her wood together is gone, along with some of its gummy residue. Some of the patina is missing. But she's still jammed open and will probably stay that way. I hate tearing down Model 97s.
If I got enough of the gunk from the oil-soaked chip and butt stock wrist, I'll epoxy them back together, reattach the wood, steel-wool the rest of the tape crap off, and offer her up as a "parts" gun or decorator. If the glue won't hold, I'll push her as one of the few Model 97 three-piece takedowns in existence. Or maybe a rawhide wrap. Add a few brass tacks and she becomes a genuine Injun gun.
It's something to do in my dedicated gun-tinkering time while I'm waiting for the Commander slide. If the nice folks at Caspian meet their promised schedule, it's due in three weeks.
---
Sure I know the old Corn Shucker's provenance, all the way from the night Private Alvin C. Blatnik (ret.) of Strawberry Point, Iowa, won her from Teddy Roosevelt in a five-card stud session at the 10th annual Rough Riders reunion. But you guys wouldn't be interested.
She's seen here somewhere between before and after. The masking tape that held her wood together is gone, along with some of its gummy residue. Some of the patina is missing. But she's still jammed open and will probably stay that way. I hate tearing down Model 97s.
If I got enough of the gunk from the oil-soaked chip and butt stock wrist, I'll epoxy them back together, reattach the wood, steel-wool the rest of the tape crap off, and offer her up as a "parts" gun or decorator. If the glue won't hold, I'll push her as one of the few Model 97 three-piece takedowns in existence. Or maybe a rawhide wrap. Add a few brass tacks and she becomes a genuine Injun gun.
It's something to do in my dedicated gun-tinkering time while I'm waiting for the Commander slide. If the nice folks at Caspian meet their promised schedule, it's due in three weeks.
---
Sure I know the old Corn Shucker's provenance, all the way from the night Private Alvin C. Blatnik (ret.) of Strawberry Point, Iowa, won her from Teddy Roosevelt in a five-card stud session at the 10th annual Rough Riders reunion. But you guys wouldn't be interested.
May 2, 2014
Gratuitous Parts Porn
This project should have been done in February, but you know how it is. One book leads to another and pretty soon you're left with an inside job when the weather and the cluttered state of your estate logically require outside time.
But it's nagging me. A little voice in my head keeps saying "you ain't got no commanderish pistol yet so you ain't s---."
"But-but-but, I got MOST of a commander..."
"Don't pee down my gun barrel and tell me it's Hoppes No. 9." (The head voice is sometimes a bit vulgar.)
So. Caspian has my plastic numbers and the Brown Truck of Glee will appear in due course bearing an in-the-white slide.
---
A guy serious about 1911s never passes up a good deal on parts, or practically any deal at all. Most of what you see represents four or five years of loophole finds, and there are enough little steelies to outfit the AMT 4 1/4-inch frame and most of the new slide.
I think this one will come in around 350 - 400 Federal Reserve Cartoons. It is no special bargain but a reasonable enough value if my tinkering skills haven't deteriorated too badly.
It will be built loose, not quite as wobbly as the GI version, but close and -- if I don't get too tired of wearing out 400-grit emery -- smoother. Its planned destiny is belt-riding, sure to go bang every time but not expected to snuff candles at 50 yards every time.
Finish? Likely Mr. Brownell's spray and bake stuff;. Color? Undetermined but probably GI gray unless I decide to impress everyone with my cool tacticality.Then camo.
But it's nagging me. A little voice in my head keeps saying "you ain't got no commanderish pistol yet so you ain't s---."
"But-but-but, I got MOST of a commander..."
"Don't pee down my gun barrel and tell me it's Hoppes No. 9." (The head voice is sometimes a bit vulgar.)
So. Caspian has my plastic numbers and the Brown Truck of Glee will appear in due course bearing an in-the-white slide.
---
A guy serious about 1911s never passes up a good deal on parts, or practically any deal at all. Most of what you see represents four or five years of loophole finds, and there are enough little steelies to outfit the AMT 4 1/4-inch frame and most of the new slide.
I think this one will come in around 350 - 400 Federal Reserve Cartoons. It is no special bargain but a reasonable enough value if my tinkering skills haven't deteriorated too badly.
It will be built loose, not quite as wobbly as the GI version, but close and -- if I don't get too tired of wearing out 400-grit emery -- smoother. Its planned destiny is belt-riding, sure to go bang every time but not expected to snuff candles at 50 yards every time.
Finish? Likely Mr. Brownell's spray and bake stuff;. Color? Undetermined but probably GI gray unless I decide to impress everyone with my cool tacticality.Then camo.
Apr 1, 2014
Second Prelude to a Loophole AAR
Not meaning to over tease, but the loophole isn't actually over yet. The afterglow continues tonight with a rendezvous in the Great Room of the Commandant's Quarters here at Camp Jiggleview of which I am Commandant. Please stay tuned.
Meanwhile, my existential crisis is over, thanks to four astute readers. She stays:
She remains out in the cold:
(Sister Ship)
I sort of hate to pass a dolled-up JMB adaptation in moderately convenient carry size, but my commenters made their case on romantic and theological grounds. (JAGSC: Savage more huggable. and GMA John warned, Lose the Savage, lose your soul. Both Stephen and Stretch endorsed them in one way or another.) I am grateful for the counsel and will be until I see some friend -- or, worse, a jerk I dislike -- wearing one at a barbecue.
My gratitude, Gentlemen, moves me to award you each a Dr. Lucy:
---
All is not lost in my mild urge to downsize my main carriable from the big SW 645. The Sig is offered at $800, and I suppose I could resolve to live on Kraft macaroni and cheese for several weeks and just buy the danged thing.
Or I could get off my butt, turn off the computer, quit blogging for a while, and finish the half-done Commander project. The big hangup is lack of a slide for the short AMT frame. If any of you happen to have a spare one for a 4 1/4 barrel, I'll give you a Lucy, too. And some money if you insist.
Meanwhile, my existential crisis is over, thanks to four astute readers. She stays:
She remains out in the cold:
I sort of hate to pass a dolled-up JMB adaptation in moderately convenient carry size, but my commenters made their case on romantic and theological grounds. (JAGSC: Savage more huggable. and GMA John warned, Lose the Savage, lose your soul. Both Stephen and Stretch endorsed them in one way or another.) I am grateful for the counsel and will be until I see some friend -- or, worse, a jerk I dislike -- wearing one at a barbecue.
My gratitude, Gentlemen, moves me to award you each a Dr. Lucy:
---
All is not lost in my mild urge to downsize my main carriable from the big SW 645. The Sig is offered at $800, and I suppose I could resolve to live on Kraft macaroni and cheese for several weeks and just buy the danged thing.
Or I could get off my butt, turn off the computer, quit blogging for a while, and finish the half-done Commander project. The big hangup is lack of a slide for the short AMT frame. If any of you happen to have a spare one for a 4 1/4 barrel, I'll give you a Lucy, too. And some money if you insist.
Mar 31, 2014
Prelude to a loophole report; serious gun question
For astute readers with Sig experience. Or even without:
Should a fellow acquire an as-NIB Sig 11 Carry (in .45 ACP, of course) at a net cost to himself of $671? Even if it requires parting with a very nice Savage 99 for whom his affection keeps growing?
Would it help to add that the Sig comes (a) with three magazines and (b) from a dealer whom the would-be buyer likes, one who has given him more than one good deal over the years? (It does not, however, have a Picaninnnineeheehee Rail, nor a laser pointer, nor, for that matter, even a USB port.)
I'm a little embarrassed to post a personal quandary for all the world to see because I am ordinarily quite capable of making my own decisons about the proper relationships among myself, my Federal Reserve Cartoons, and my blue steel.
But, gee, this has become a series of existential moments, and I've never been too good at resolving conflicts via the philosophy of gay French navel gazers.
Should a fellow acquire an as-NIB Sig 11 Carry (in .45 ACP, of course) at a net cost to himself of $671? Even if it requires parting with a very nice Savage 99 for whom his affection keeps growing?
Would it help to add that the Sig comes (a) with three magazines and (b) from a dealer whom the would-be buyer likes, one who has given him more than one good deal over the years? (It does not, however, have a Picaninnnineeheehee Rail, nor a laser pointer, nor, for that matter, even a USB port.)
I'm a little embarrassed to post a personal quandary for all the world to see because I am ordinarily quite capable of making my own decisons about the proper relationships among myself, my Federal Reserve Cartoons, and my blue steel.
But, gee, this has become a series of existential moments, and I've never been too good at resolving conflicts via the philosophy of gay French navel gazers.
Mar 10, 2014
The Belgian Countess
She could have worn white to the ceremony, and the snickering old gossips in the back pews would have been wrong.
Fulfillment ensued.
Replacing the lanky older model .
---
The original 6-incher had been abused by excessive dry-firing and possibly too many shorts without careful chamber cleaning. Some finicky work put her back in shooting shape, but she never had my full trust. I ran the internet for replacement barrels and found none.
But Saturday, at the Wells (Minnesota) school-house loophole, there she reposed at a price about one-third what I would have expected. I haven't stopped grinning since.
Fulfillment ensued.
Replacing the lanky older model .
---
The original 6-incher had been abused by excessive dry-firing and possibly too many shorts without careful chamber cleaning. Some finicky work put her back in shooting shape, but she never had my full trust. I ran the internet for replacement barrels and found none.
But Saturday, at the Wells (Minnesota) school-house loophole, there she reposed at a price about one-third what I would have expected. I haven't stopped grinning since.
Mar 3, 2014
Jim's Beauty Secrets
And here you thought I was going to advise you to irritate an authoritarian statist every day, didn't you? You should, of course, because that makes you smile, and a smile is about the sexiest thing going.
But I'm really talking about skin beauty. This time of year my hands get all crinkly. When I pick up my 1943-issue 1911 A1 in order to irritate an authoritarian statist it sounds like a class of junior high kids wadding up their D-minus English essays. You don't want that. For one thing, it might alert the statist and give him time to hide.
My usual beauty aid is Corona, sometimes known as horse liniment. It works pretty well, and if you use it while drinking Mexican beer you might break into a syncopated Corona Corona improvisation. That would be sexy too, especially if your date is named Juanita or something like that.
Last night, however, I found something better. I went to an auction and came home with a professionally done 1903 Remington sporter. It needs a spa day too, but that's okay because dirt cheap. One problem was the sling, high quality leather but drier than high-noon Yuma.
Dry leather requires mink oil, and I used my fingers to smear great gobs of it all over the strap. It's still soaking in, but, ooh lah lah! My silken hands. I dare not go to the WalMart today lest droves of lady associates swoon.
But I'm really talking about skin beauty. This time of year my hands get all crinkly. When I pick up my 1943-issue 1911 A1 in order to irritate an authoritarian statist it sounds like a class of junior high kids wadding up their D-minus English essays. You don't want that. For one thing, it might alert the statist and give him time to hide.
My usual beauty aid is Corona, sometimes known as horse liniment. It works pretty well, and if you use it while drinking Mexican beer you might break into a syncopated Corona Corona improvisation. That would be sexy too, especially if your date is named Juanita or something like that.
Last night, however, I found something better. I went to an auction and came home with a professionally done 1903 Remington sporter. It needs a spa day too, but that's okay because dirt cheap. One problem was the sling, high quality leather but drier than high-noon Yuma.
Dry leather requires mink oil, and I used my fingers to smear great gobs of it all over the strap. It's still soaking in, but, ooh lah lah! My silken hands. I dare not go to the WalMart today lest droves of lady associates swoon.
Mar 1, 2014
There's a wuss in my mirror
I've made some stupid and imprudent trips in my life, by land, sea, and air. Once in a while minor drama occurred, but nothing threw me or mine into a serious "survival" situation. Propose a journey and my default answer is, "Let's go."
Maybe some parts in my middle are shrinking.
The best the weather guessers can do for me tomorrow is big wind, maybe a little snow and a high of four below. So I'm reluctant to load up the dog and the check book for the 80-mile run down to Humboldt, meaning I'll miss what could be the gun auction of the decade for any blue-steel tinker.
"The following guns have a little to a lot of rust and deterioration, most will need work or be for parts:
"Ruger Single 6 revolver, .22 * Remington 48, 12 ga. * Winchester 42, .410 * Browning light 20, 20 ga. * Savage 99, .284 * Remington 1100, 16 ga. * Stevens 94C, .410 * Remington Viper 522, .22 * Marlin 49DL, .22 * Ruger 1022, .22 * Browning BPS, 12ga. * Winchester 12, 12ga. * High Standard Sport King, 12 ga. * Mossberg 20, 20 ga. * Winchester 59, 12 ga. * Christoph Funk O/U, 16 ga. * Remington 1100, 12 ga. * Winchester 77, .22 * Christoph Funk, 28 ga. * Remington 700, 6mm * Winchester 12, 12 ga * Winchester 59, 12ga. * Marlin 39A, .22 * Remington 121, .22 * Remington 550, .22 * Winchester 69A, .22 * Remington 31, 16 ga. * Remington 552, .22 * Ithaca 37, 12 ga. * Smith + Wesson 1000, 20 ga. * Winchester 42, .410 * Remington 550, .22 * Wards Westernfield 560, 12 ga. * Winchester 1400, 16 ga. * Mossberg 540, .22 * Smith and Wesson 1000, 12 ga. * Winchester 12, 12ga. * Winchester 77, .22 * Winchester 69, .22 * Marlin 25, .22 * Squires Bingham 16, .22 * Ruger 1022, .22 * Remington 31, 12ga. * Ithaca 37, 20ga. * Ithaca 37, 12 ga.. * Remington 1100, 12 ga. * Remington 1148, 12ga. * Remington 1100, 20ga. * Ruger 77, .306 * Marlin 60, .22 * Winchester 12, 16 ga. * Winchester 12, 12ga. * Ruger 1022, .22 * Winchester 55, .22 * Winchester 67, .22 * Winchester 12, 16ga. * Ithaca 37, 16 ga. * Winchester 12, 20 ga. * Marlin 783, .22MWR * Winchester 12, 12 ga. * Winchester 77, .22 * Ithaca 37, 12 ga. * Marlin 883, .22 * Winchester 12, 20 ga. * Savage 24, .410 * Remington 582, .22 * Remington 742, 30-06 * JC Higgins 25, 22LR * Remington 514 .22 * Remington 4, .22 * Stevens 77D, 16 ga. * Marlin 883, .22mag * Remington 03, 30-06 * Ithaca 37, 20 ga. * Stevens 67, 12 ga. * Browning BPS, 12 ga. * Remington 878, 12 ga. * Winchester 12, 16ga. * Winchester 25, 12 ga. * Winchester 59, 12 ga. * Savage 357, 12 ga. * Newport WN, 16 ga. * Mossberg 46, .22 * Mossberg 342A, .22 * Stevens 94, .410 * Winchester 77, .22 * Remington 514, .22 * Mossberg 44, .22 * LC Smith 12 ga. * German 22, .22 * Mauser 98, .22 * Mossberg 152, .22 * Mossberg 64KA, .22 mag * Iver Johnson, 410 * "
Sure, a lot of crap not worth an hour of fixing time, but get a load of the Winchester 69s and 77s, the old Rugers, the 1950s Mossies. Given the weather -- and the general decline of gunners willing to dirty their hands at a work bench -- you would expect a light crowd and probably dirt-cheap prices.
In the non-junk listing lurk a couple of Garands, some Mausers ,and a "1936" Luger.
If you guys really loved me you would organize a fleet of St. Bernards with brandy flasks and station one every few miles along the way.
You would also provide me a house sitter. The life-support systems in the Commandant's Quarter's here at Camp Jiggleview require a certain amount of babysitting when global warming becomes this severe.
---
ETA: I'd really like to inspect that "deteriorated" 6mm Remington 700. I badly want a 700 short action for the new take-off .222 barrel gathering dust in the shack.
Maybe some parts in my middle are shrinking.
The best the weather guessers can do for me tomorrow is big wind, maybe a little snow and a high of four below. So I'm reluctant to load up the dog and the check book for the 80-mile run down to Humboldt, meaning I'll miss what could be the gun auction of the decade for any blue-steel tinker.
"The following guns have a little to a lot of rust and deterioration, most will need work or be for parts:
"Ruger Single 6 revolver, .22 * Remington 48, 12 ga. * Winchester 42, .410 * Browning light 20, 20 ga. * Savage 99, .284 * Remington 1100, 16 ga. * Stevens 94C, .410 * Remington Viper 522, .22 * Marlin 49DL, .22 * Ruger 1022, .22 * Browning BPS, 12ga. * Winchester 12, 12ga. * High Standard Sport King, 12 ga. * Mossberg 20, 20 ga. * Winchester 59, 12 ga. * Christoph Funk O/U, 16 ga. * Remington 1100, 12 ga. * Winchester 77, .22 * Christoph Funk, 28 ga. * Remington 700, 6mm * Winchester 12, 12 ga * Winchester 59, 12ga. * Marlin 39A, .22 * Remington 121, .22 * Remington 550, .22 * Winchester 69A, .22 * Remington 31, 16 ga. * Remington 552, .22 * Ithaca 37, 12 ga. * Smith + Wesson 1000, 20 ga. * Winchester 42, .410 * Remington 550, .22 * Wards Westernfield 560, 12 ga. * Winchester 1400, 16 ga. * Mossberg 540, .22 * Smith and Wesson 1000, 12 ga. * Winchester 12, 12ga. * Winchester 77, .22 * Winchester 69, .22 * Marlin 25, .22 * Squires Bingham 16, .22 * Ruger 1022, .22 * Remington 31, 12ga. * Ithaca 37, 20ga. * Ithaca 37, 12 ga.. * Remington 1100, 12 ga. * Remington 1148, 12ga. * Remington 1100, 20ga. * Ruger 77, .306 * Marlin 60, .22 * Winchester 12, 16 ga. * Winchester 12, 12ga. * Ruger 1022, .22 * Winchester 55, .22 * Winchester 67, .22 * Winchester 12, 16ga. * Ithaca 37, 16 ga. * Winchester 12, 20 ga. * Marlin 783, .22MWR * Winchester 12, 12 ga. * Winchester 77, .22 * Ithaca 37, 12 ga. * Marlin 883, .22 * Winchester 12, 20 ga. * Savage 24, .410 * Remington 582, .22 * Remington 742, 30-06 * JC Higgins 25, 22LR * Remington 514 .22 * Remington 4, .22 * Stevens 77D, 16 ga. * Marlin 883, .22mag * Remington 03, 30-06 * Ithaca 37, 20 ga. * Stevens 67, 12 ga. * Browning BPS, 12 ga. * Remington 878, 12 ga. * Winchester 12, 16ga. * Winchester 25, 12 ga. * Winchester 59, 12 ga. * Savage 357, 12 ga. * Newport WN, 16 ga. * Mossberg 46, .22 * Mossberg 342A, .22 * Stevens 94, .410 * Winchester 77, .22 * Remington 514, .22 * Mossberg 44, .22 * LC Smith 12 ga. * German 22, .22 * Mauser 98, .22 * Mossberg 152, .22 * Mossberg 64KA, .22 mag * Iver Johnson, 410 * "
Sure, a lot of crap not worth an hour of fixing time, but get a load of the Winchester 69s and 77s, the old Rugers, the 1950s Mossies. Given the weather -- and the general decline of gunners willing to dirty their hands at a work bench -- you would expect a light crowd and probably dirt-cheap prices.
In the non-junk listing lurk a couple of Garands, some Mausers ,and a "1936" Luger.
If you guys really loved me you would organize a fleet of St. Bernards with brandy flasks and station one every few miles along the way.
You would also provide me a house sitter. The life-support systems in the Commandant's Quarter's here at Camp Jiggleview require a certain amount of babysitting when global warming becomes this severe.
---
ETA: I'd really like to inspect that "deteriorated" 6mm Remington 700. I badly want a 700 short action for the new take-off .222 barrel gathering dust in the shack.
Feb 25, 2014
Loophole AAR
I don't get to this one often enough, especially considering it is my natal city, a couple of hours southeast. But it was time. I had my buddy's balls* in a can, and he wanted them. The show his club runs was a good excuse to make the delivery.
I didn't run across anything making me giddy enough to toss large denomination Federal Reserve Cartoons around, but it is tasteless to leave a loophole empty-handed, ergo:
For $25 it justifies itself as a high-class paperweight, and who knows when I'll stumble across a box of parts for five bucks at a garage sale.They would need to fit a High-Standard Model A or B from 1934, the year A. HItler flew to Essen for a gigglefest as he watched his former friends bleed out. And speaking of long knives:
Boy Scout, official, USA-made but otherwise unmarked so I can pretend it's a Marble. The condition isn't too bad, but Tenderfoot Teddy couldn't resist using his sharp edge to trim up the sheath. What a creep, but at least his old man didn't own a three-horsepower Baldor running a 60-grit wheel at 3450 rpms.
This Remington RH 51 came from a Baldor-equipped home in a sheath style I've never seen before, stamped "Remington" and "DuPont." That dates it to 1933 or later and probably pre-1941.
I don't actually get upset at battered knives if they're cheap enough. The patinae, gouges, and grinds just loosen their metaphorical tongues so they can tell me how things were back then, or might have been.
---
*soft lead, .504
I didn't run across anything making me giddy enough to toss large denomination Federal Reserve Cartoons around, but it is tasteless to leave a loophole empty-handed, ergo:
For $25 it justifies itself as a high-class paperweight, and who knows when I'll stumble across a box of parts for five bucks at a garage sale.They would need to fit a High-Standard Model A or B from 1934, the year A. HItler flew to Essen for a gigglefest as he watched his former friends bleed out. And speaking of long knives:
Boy Scout, official, USA-made but otherwise unmarked so I can pretend it's a Marble. The condition isn't too bad, but Tenderfoot Teddy couldn't resist using his sharp edge to trim up the sheath. What a creep, but at least his old man didn't own a three-horsepower Baldor running a 60-grit wheel at 3450 rpms.
This Remington RH 51 came from a Baldor-equipped home in a sheath style I've never seen before, stamped "Remington" and "DuPont." That dates it to 1933 or later and probably pre-1941.
I don't actually get upset at battered knives if they're cheap enough. The patinae, gouges, and grinds just loosen their metaphorical tongues so they can tell me how things were back then, or might have been.
---
*soft lead, .504
Feb 20, 2014
The right tool for the right job
Admit it. You, yourself, have felt the urge and even come >this< close to action.
Bob put money in the machine and pulled the lever, No product. No help from the return-money button. The boss's fork lift was handy.
Some jerk squealed. Polaris fired him. He applied for unemployment compensation.
"State unemployment records say banging and rocking the machine didn't work, so M---------- allegedly commandeered a forklift, picked up the machine at least six times and dropped it on the floor at the Polaris Industries' warehouse in Milford. Three candy bars felll."
Denied. He must settle for the three gedunks.
My impulse control is a little better than that, though far from perfect, leading to a nice little fantasy.
Administrative law judge: "Why on earth did you pulverize the candy machine with a fork lift, Jim?"
Me: "Because I didn't have a goddam Tommy Gun on me, dammit. That's why."
Bob put money in the machine and pulled the lever, No product. No help from the return-money button. The boss's fork lift was handy.
Some jerk squealed. Polaris fired him. He applied for unemployment compensation.
"State unemployment records say banging and rocking the machine didn't work, so M---------- allegedly commandeered a forklift, picked up the machine at least six times and dropped it on the floor at the Polaris Industries' warehouse in Milford. Three candy bars felll."
Denied. He must settle for the three gedunks.
My impulse control is a little better than that, though far from perfect, leading to a nice little fantasy.
Administrative law judge: "Why on earth did you pulverize the candy machine with a fork lift, Jim?"
Me: "Because I didn't have a goddam Tommy Gun on me, dammit. That's why."
Feb 13, 2014
The gun salesman of the decade is getting tired
Things are rough at the Cabela's gun counter. About everyone who wanted a Glokkenpopper 'cuz he was afraid of Obama has bought one, and the gun clerks are finding time to wander over to chat up the pretty girls hustling overpriced Chinese shirts with Cabelas's patches on them.
I doubt you need to disturb your long-term Cabela's (or Ruger or S/W) position. About the time HIllary starts looking like a shoo-in, the market will recover.
Besides, Cabela's makes most of its money from those Chinese shirts. New Jersey file clerks like to wear them to TGIF's. Impresses the girls there, they tell me.
I doubt you need to disturb your long-term Cabela's (or Ruger or S/W) position. About the time HIllary starts looking like a shoo-in, the market will recover.
Besides, Cabela's makes most of its money from those Chinese shirts. New Jersey file clerks like to wear them to TGIF's. Impresses the girls there, they tell me.
Feb 2, 2014
Arctical Loopholing and Some Other Weekend Wrapup Reports
The Emmet County, Iowa, sportsman's club knows how to run a loophole, friendly, well organized, and well advertised. The guys even hang around the door offering to help you carry your stuff from vehicle to table.
It suffers only from the dominance of plastic fantastic, but that's a world wide issue, and there was still enough honest walnut and steel to keep a hard-core recalcitrant happy.
The Saturday crowd was large and oddly open-handed. I was forced to cancel my date with Miss Cougar (senior division) last night due to exhaustion from counting Federal Reserve Cartoons, not to mention palpating the newly adopted Mossberg 800A. (.308).
The overriding pleasure is the glow of having freed a few cubic feet of gun-room space via a massive conversion of pure junk to FRCs.
---
While I was freezing, my daughter and her good man were on a ferry from Puerto Juarez to Isla Mujeres. It's her umpteenth trip. counting her first when she was a toddler and the island was our ultimate destination on a three-week roadie down the Mexican gulf coast. She posted a picture on arrival. Palms and white beach and cervasa and damned if I'm not going to invite myself along next time. Like all Irish-derived humans, she carries a load of guilt around, and I think I can exploit it for selfish purposes.
---
The winter of malice continues. The current 10 above and predicted 1 below are comparatively benign, but that worm hole through Canada is letting another freeze fart through, and the portent is a 1-below high on Wednesday, followed by minus- teens low.
Why the Hell doesn't the south side of the jet stream stay up by Moose Jaw where it belongs? Kerry should stop horsing around in Iran and investigate. A strongly worded note to Toronto is the least we should demand.
Only a dork uses the term "enervating," but I'm tempted.
I'm placing my faith in the long range NWS guess that the pattern is changing and could bring actual above-freezing temperatures by a week from today. I used to draw to inside straights, too.
It suffers only from the dominance of plastic fantastic, but that's a world wide issue, and there was still enough honest walnut and steel to keep a hard-core recalcitrant happy.
The Saturday crowd was large and oddly open-handed. I was forced to cancel my date with Miss Cougar (senior division) last night due to exhaustion from counting Federal Reserve Cartoons, not to mention palpating the newly adopted Mossberg 800A. (.308).
The overriding pleasure is the glow of having freed a few cubic feet of gun-room space via a massive conversion of pure junk to FRCs.
---
While I was freezing, my daughter and her good man were on a ferry from Puerto Juarez to Isla Mujeres. It's her umpteenth trip. counting her first when she was a toddler and the island was our ultimate destination on a three-week roadie down the Mexican gulf coast. She posted a picture on arrival. Palms and white beach and cervasa and damned if I'm not going to invite myself along next time. Like all Irish-derived humans, she carries a load of guilt around, and I think I can exploit it for selfish purposes.
---
The winter of malice continues. The current 10 above and predicted 1 below are comparatively benign, but that worm hole through Canada is letting another freeze fart through, and the portent is a 1-below high on Wednesday, followed by minus- teens low.
Why the Hell doesn't the south side of the jet stream stay up by Moose Jaw where it belongs? Kerry should stop horsing around in Iran and investigate. A strongly worded note to Toronto is the least we should demand.
Only a dork uses the term "enervating," but I'm tempted.
I'm placing my faith in the long range NWS guess that the pattern is changing and could bring actual above-freezing temperatures by a week from today. I used to draw to inside straights, too.
Jan 20, 2014
Miss Mossberg of 1948...
(...or so)
Hardly anyone sets out to collect Mossberg .22 rifles. Among firearms aesthetes it's declasse, like acquiring a hoard of museum quality Vegomatics.
I think that's a shame, though I concede that Winchester, Remington, and Browning made prettier rifles for the 1930-1950s mid-price market, good shooters, light and with finer "feel" and more graceful lines than the slightly cheaper Mossies.
O.F. Mossberg and Sons hardly ever played the anorexria game. Steel was cheap, and what are a few more ounces in a tool designed to contain explosions and deliver energy precisely and consistently? So some of them could look a bit clunky, like the 144ls or the 151.
I have a near-ugly 151* on the rack, seldom cleaned and never treated to spa day. It sometimes goes afield when the population of dirt clods gets out of hand. It kills them quickly and reliably, hardly ever bitching about the kind of ammunition it is fed.
Trading off the 144 ls was one of my all-time great errors. In the 70s I was mildly interested in four-position, 50-foot bullseye shooting, and it yielded nothing to Winchester 52 shooters (although I often did).
The other one I love is the fake Tommy Gun. I've mentioned I picked up a nice one recently to replace another I gave to a nephew. She's been my companion on the two marginally decent plinking days of this evil January.
Mossberg 152. Not for sale. Or trade. Or gifting.
I may even waste time rooting around in old gun magazine for paper copies of contemporary ads.
This one is from late in the 1948-57 production period. The flipper became plastic about 1954.
Even in those calmer days you had to cut ad writers some slack. While the 152 was about the size and heft of the M1 Carbine, the forearm made it a Thompson to its target demographic -- imaginative 12-year-kids.
Minor geekery: The same flip-down marketing ploy was used on the bolt-action Model 142. The 152 came with a "peep" sight, the 152 K with opens. The scoped option never sold well. Most retail prices were a few pennies under $30. Factory magazines held seven rounds, and they are now hard to find. Triple K aftermarkets hold 10 and cost $42 with shipping. Mine required tinkering with a file to even seat, then a little more to feed -- which is still does only about two-thirds of the time. After that dreary drill I ran across an OEM.
---
*The 151 and some others reflect a period in O.F.'s history when it had a serious love affair with Mannlicher stocks and Monte Carlo cheek pieces. If you like retro-Kraut look, fine. If not you wonder, "what the hell? It's a ,22."
Hardly anyone sets out to collect Mossberg .22 rifles. Among firearms aesthetes it's declasse, like acquiring a hoard of museum quality Vegomatics.
I think that's a shame, though I concede that Winchester, Remington, and Browning made prettier rifles for the 1930-1950s mid-price market, good shooters, light and with finer "feel" and more graceful lines than the slightly cheaper Mossies.
O.F. Mossberg and Sons hardly ever played the anorexria game. Steel was cheap, and what are a few more ounces in a tool designed to contain explosions and deliver energy precisely and consistently? So some of them could look a bit clunky, like the 144ls or the 151.
I have a near-ugly 151* on the rack, seldom cleaned and never treated to spa day. It sometimes goes afield when the population of dirt clods gets out of hand. It kills them quickly and reliably, hardly ever bitching about the kind of ammunition it is fed.
Trading off the 144 ls was one of my all-time great errors. In the 70s I was mildly interested in four-position, 50-foot bullseye shooting, and it yielded nothing to Winchester 52 shooters (although I often did).
The other one I love is the fake Tommy Gun. I've mentioned I picked up a nice one recently to replace another I gave to a nephew. She's been my companion on the two marginally decent plinking days of this evil January.
Mossberg 152. Not for sale. Or trade. Or gifting.
I may even waste time rooting around in old gun magazine for paper copies of contemporary ads.
This one is from late in the 1948-57 production period. The flipper became plastic about 1954.
Even in those calmer days you had to cut ad writers some slack. While the 152 was about the size and heft of the M1 Carbine, the forearm made it a Thompson to its target demographic -- imaginative 12-year-kids.
Minor geekery: The same flip-down marketing ploy was used on the bolt-action Model 142. The 152 came with a "peep" sight, the 152 K with opens. The scoped option never sold well. Most retail prices were a few pennies under $30. Factory magazines held seven rounds, and they are now hard to find. Triple K aftermarkets hold 10 and cost $42 with shipping. Mine required tinkering with a file to even seat, then a little more to feed -- which is still does only about two-thirds of the time. After that dreary drill I ran across an OEM.
---
*The 151 and some others reflect a period in O.F.'s history when it had a serious love affair with Mannlicher stocks and Monte Carlo cheek pieces. If you like retro-Kraut look, fine. If not you wonder, "what the hell? It's a ,22."
Jan 7, 2014
Bunny Porn, Gun Porn
Yesterday was a savage bitch. In a fit of compassion at minus-17, I fed Peter Rabbit a little of New Dog Libby's chow. The ingrate still refused to pose while I was outside. So this. The window was clean for a change, but double pane glass still fools the focusing fairies in my 3-volt cockroach.
Today, at last dark of morning, I awoke to rising temperatures, all the way up to three below. Time to celebrate with Savage pleasure and with gratitude to that fine company for its findy sickle answer to Winchester levers -- especially the 1895.
She's been hanging on pegs since joining the family a few weeks ago, casually wiped down a time or two but still begrimed of long storage. (Well-oiled storage, however; thank you, Mr. Previous Owner.) Since there was nothing good on the internet, I decided to run her through my exterior detail shop.
Takedown was limited to pulling the Weaver K2, Redfield mount, and forearm. A little elbow grease with fine steel wool and brass brush left her shiny everywhere I could reach. The stock got a facial with Johnson paste wax, still my favorite cosmetic for oil-finished walnut.
She's from the 1950s in .300 Savage.
My never-sell-a-gun pledge remains in force, but I suppose I'll carry her to my next loophole table to explore trading opportunities. She ought to be even-up for a not-too-bad Garand or M1 Carbine. Maybe even a snazzy AR15 clone with a Pickiepickie rail, but I'd turn that offer down. I respect others' rights to own plastic, but, personally, I have my pride.
Today, at last dark of morning, I awoke to rising temperatures, all the way up to three below. Time to celebrate with Savage pleasure and with gratitude to that fine company for its findy sickle answer to Winchester levers -- especially the 1895.
She's been hanging on pegs since joining the family a few weeks ago, casually wiped down a time or two but still begrimed of long storage. (Well-oiled storage, however; thank you, Mr. Previous Owner.) Since there was nothing good on the internet, I decided to run her through my exterior detail shop.
Takedown was limited to pulling the Weaver K2, Redfield mount, and forearm. A little elbow grease with fine steel wool and brass brush left her shiny everywhere I could reach. The stock got a facial with Johnson paste wax, still my favorite cosmetic for oil-finished walnut.
She's from the 1950s in .300 Savage.
My never-sell-a-gun pledge remains in force, but I suppose I'll carry her to my next loophole table to explore trading opportunities. She ought to be even-up for a not-too-bad Garand or M1 Carbine. Maybe even a snazzy AR15 clone with a Pickiepickie rail, but I'd turn that offer down. I respect others' rights to own plastic, but, personally, I have my pride.
Dec 9, 2013
Elsewhere at the gun auction...
I semi-promised a price log, but it just wasn't interesting enough to bother with. It was a consignment sale apparently built around a couple of small dealers who were reducing inventory or getting out of the business. Most of the offerings were junkish old shotguns and ho-hum NIB stuff, heavy on the Glockenpoppers and Fry Points. In general, these WalMart--ish pieces brought less money than we've come to expect. Several NIB Glockers went for pre-Obama prices --$400-$500.
The Garand, a little better than the average example, brought $1,000. The Rockola carbine brought $750, one bid better than my top; very, very nice but with a Blue Sky import stamp.
Yours truly still spent too damned much money. Foolishly. Why the heck does he want a Nagent? He has no sentimental ties to Tula. 'cuz it was cheap, that's why, and pretty as a Russian Lady Tractor Driver.
The nice 1953 Savage 99 was a little more defensible. Ever since his buddy in the GMA lucked into one, he' been beside himself with envy. (Fun fact: The .300 Savage round was built to match original .30-06 military ballistics.)
The other two were junkers, one Stevens Little Krag, complete and $20 and one non-shooting Mossberg, bought for the price of the magazine which was needed here for the 152 -- the Mossy .22 with the flip-down fore end to make a kid feel like John Wayne with a Thompson.
(If I don't watch myself I'm going to get seriously and expensively interested in collecting boys' rifle.)
Some other stuff, too, but not worth mentioning except as they affected the total day's tab, the size of which made me grateful for friends who fed me last night.
The Garand, a little better than the average example, brought $1,000. The Rockola carbine brought $750, one bid better than my top; very, very nice but with a Blue Sky import stamp.
Yours truly still spent too damned much money. Foolishly. Why the heck does he want a Nagent? He has no sentimental ties to Tula. 'cuz it was cheap, that's why, and pretty as a Russian Lady Tractor Driver.
The nice 1953 Savage 99 was a little more defensible. Ever since his buddy in the GMA lucked into one, he' been beside himself with envy. (Fun fact: The .300 Savage round was built to match original .30-06 military ballistics.)
The other two were junkers, one Stevens Little Krag, complete and $20 and one non-shooting Mossberg, bought for the price of the magazine which was needed here for the 152 -- the Mossy .22 with the flip-down fore end to make a kid feel like John Wayne with a Thompson.
(If I don't watch myself I'm going to get seriously and expensively interested in collecting boys' rifle.)
Some other stuff, too, but not worth mentioning except as they affected the total day's tab, the size of which made me grateful for friends who fed me last night.
Dec 8, 2013
Ho Ho Ho and maybe Bang Bang Bang
A good little boy around here is thinking hard about buying himself a Christmas present when Tom Eberle auctions off bunch of lethal weapons (pdf) later this morning.
Who wouldn't want chance to augment his fantasy command to a full squad, just in case the captain orders him to take the MG42 nest from the Nazis, somewhere in France, 1944.
His current in-place TOE arms and equips only a scant fire team -- webbing and weapons for a private, a senior corporal. And himself, of course, a young but grizzled staff who left his carbine back in the foxhole to permit greater mobility as -- and we're talking Audie Murphy here -- he leads the charge with his 1911A.
Of course we'd wipe them out and earn two silver stars and The Medal, but a squad would be better, even if scant -- my vets plus a couple of peach fuzz draftees from the repple depple. I'd arm them myself with the Springfield Garand and Rockola carbine which lead off the rifle section in the sale bill.
N.B. -- Yeah, it's possible that I could expand my team to seven or eight with captured German, Frog, and Norwegian stuff, but that is not part of the fantasy which compels me to blow them away with Made in America.
---
We'll see what the disbursing officer thinks.
---
I'll try to log and post the prices, at least for the more interesting stuff. Beats working.
Who wouldn't want chance to augment his fantasy command to a full squad, just in case the captain orders him to take the MG42 nest from the Nazis, somewhere in France, 1944.
His current in-place TOE arms and equips only a scant fire team -- webbing and weapons for a private, a senior corporal. And himself, of course, a young but grizzled staff who left his carbine back in the foxhole to permit greater mobility as -- and we're talking Audie Murphy here -- he leads the charge with his 1911A.
Of course we'd wipe them out and earn two silver stars and The Medal, but a squad would be better, even if scant -- my vets plus a couple of peach fuzz draftees from the repple depple. I'd arm them myself with the Springfield Garand and Rockola carbine which lead off the rifle section in the sale bill.
N.B. -- Yeah, it's possible that I could expand my team to seven or eight with captured German, Frog, and Norwegian stuff, but that is not part of the fantasy which compels me to blow them away with Made in America.
---
We'll see what the disbursing officer thinks.
---
I'll try to log and post the prices, at least for the more interesting stuff. Beats working.
Nov 26, 2013
Dang you, Bubba.
Okay. I know it's just a Carcano you bought from Joe Bob for eight bucks one Saturday night in the 60s when he was hurtin' for cash to take Emma Lou to the drive-in picture show.
But still.
The "SA" stamp identifies it as one of the Italian goofs in 7.35x51 (or 52, sometimes) that Mussolini palmed off on the Finns for their Winter War. The SA ("Suomen Armeija" or "Finnish Army") didn't much like it, but they were desperate and issued most of them to REMFs. Still, they're mildly scarce and a nice piece of World War 2 history. Too nice to run through your woodshed chop shop.
At least you didn't fool with the metal, meaning I need to find only a stock and furniture to have a "correct" if not fully authentic rack mate for the other iron from the 1939-45 horror.
Errrr. Forty bucks when the hammer fell Saturday, if you must know, and that's why I'm grinning, regardless.
But still.
The "SA" stamp identifies it as one of the Italian goofs in 7.35x51 (or 52, sometimes) that Mussolini palmed off on the Finns for their Winter War. The SA ("Suomen Armeija" or "Finnish Army") didn't much like it, but they were desperate and issued most of them to REMFs. Still, they're mildly scarce and a nice piece of World War 2 history. Too nice to run through your woodshed chop shop.
At least you didn't fool with the metal, meaning I need to find only a stock and furniture to have a "correct" if not fully authentic rack mate for the other iron from the 1939-45 horror.
Errrr. Forty bucks when the hammer fell Saturday, if you must know, and that's why I'm grinning, regardless.
Oct 13, 2013
Enduring the gun show loophole
It's hard to be bored at a gun show. but we're managing it. Maybe the fine weather is keeping people outdoors. Maybe the promoter didn't promote well. Maybe folks already have all the guns they want.
Dunno, but my entire gross proceeds so far are represented by a single-action .22 from Germany -- better than an RG but a couple of parsecs shy of a Colt.
(Pretty enough and only forty-five bucks because it wouldn't stay cocked and the cylinder wouldn't rotate. Putting the trigger spring back where it belonged fixed the cock problem, and a new hand spring will put the rest in order. It will still be a POS, but a functional POS, and for the price that's about all a guy can ask. I see it living in an old sock under a front seat, like a spare Linus blankie.)
---
My co-conspirators at our three tables had just about the same level of excitement. Our traffic averaged four or five tire-kickers an hour, but Sundays are usually slower so perhaps we won't have to keep up the frenetic pace today.
The real disappointment is the dearth of anything very interesting. A guy gets tired of being surrounded by professional FFLs trying to move Glockszenklones and plastic assault rifles all dolled up in pretty pastels.
And I'm really getting tired of my junk boxes. I just threw a bunch of plastic grocery bags in the van. They'll rest beside the over-flowing totes with a notice that you can fill one up for, I dunno, ten bucks, maybe five, certainly less in the final hour. Or maybe some other hobbyist is as bored with his miscellaneous goodies as I am. We could exchange stuff on a pound-for-pound basis.
---
I knew this government shutdown would lead to tragic times.
Dunno, but my entire gross proceeds so far are represented by a single-action .22 from Germany -- better than an RG but a couple of parsecs shy of a Colt.
(Pretty enough and only forty-five bucks because it wouldn't stay cocked and the cylinder wouldn't rotate. Putting the trigger spring back where it belonged fixed the cock problem, and a new hand spring will put the rest in order. It will still be a POS, but a functional POS, and for the price that's about all a guy can ask. I see it living in an old sock under a front seat, like a spare Linus blankie.)
---
My co-conspirators at our three tables had just about the same level of excitement. Our traffic averaged four or five tire-kickers an hour, but Sundays are usually slower so perhaps we won't have to keep up the frenetic pace today.
The real disappointment is the dearth of anything very interesting. A guy gets tired of being surrounded by professional FFLs trying to move Glockszenklones and plastic assault rifles all dolled up in pretty pastels.
And I'm really getting tired of my junk boxes. I just threw a bunch of plastic grocery bags in the van. They'll rest beside the over-flowing totes with a notice that you can fill one up for, I dunno, ten bucks, maybe five, certainly less in the final hour. Or maybe some other hobbyist is as bored with his miscellaneous goodies as I am. We could exchange stuff on a pound-for-pound basis.
---
I knew this government shutdown would lead to tragic times.
Oct 4, 2013
Sixty bucks worth of gun porn, anyone?
Okay, let's start with Asian.
Ho-hum. Another old Jap. However:
A Type 99 or 38/99 with three kanji but no mum, ground off or otherwise. Smooth bore. A school-boy trainer, never meant to fire live rounds except perhaps as an overly complicated seppuku tool. It came my way for $40 at an auction two weeks ago, and since it isn't a "gun" I feel free to loophole it out at the local show next weekend. Maybe an even-up swap for a SW 25? Naah, probably not that much.
Switching to mature Americans:
Boooooring. Old Winchester 1897 12-gauge tubes. But wait!
The little word on the right, just forward of the 20-incher's extension -- "cyl" -- spells factory original r-i-o-t. Numrich would sell me one for about $275 if they had one. The other barrel, 26-inch full, would be upwards of $150, again if Mr. Numrich had one.
The Winchester tubes came at five bucks each, so if you are keeping track, I'm ten dollars shy of the $60 mentioned above. That's accounted for by:
--A take-off Remington 700 barrel in .222 Remington, with sights, grading somewhere between "damned good" and "near mint." I'll put it out, but finding a reasonably priced 700 short action would be more pleasing than a sale. That was an excellent round, and I forgive it for grand-siring the .223 McNamara-Stalemate.
--The world's ugliest Mossberg .22 barreled action which I'll price at three or four times cost and probably sell. If you have ever been on the vendor side of the table, you may have been asked, "Gotta bolt for ________ ?" Often enough, it's a Mossy.
Sometimes going to an auction brings out my venality. No, actually I mean my spirit of entrepreneurship, my patriotic desire to stimulate the economy.
Ho-hum. Another old Jap. However:
A Type 99 or 38/99 with three kanji but no mum, ground off or otherwise. Smooth bore. A school-boy trainer, never meant to fire live rounds except perhaps as an overly complicated seppuku tool. It came my way for $40 at an auction two weeks ago, and since it isn't a "gun" I feel free to loophole it out at the local show next weekend. Maybe an even-up swap for a SW 25? Naah, probably not that much.
Switching to mature Americans:
Boooooring. Old Winchester 1897 12-gauge tubes. But wait!
The little word on the right, just forward of the 20-incher's extension -- "cyl" -- spells factory original r-i-o-t. Numrich would sell me one for about $275 if they had one. The other barrel, 26-inch full, would be upwards of $150, again if Mr. Numrich had one.
The Winchester tubes came at five bucks each, so if you are keeping track, I'm ten dollars shy of the $60 mentioned above. That's accounted for by:
--A take-off Remington 700 barrel in .222 Remington, with sights, grading somewhere between "damned good" and "near mint." I'll put it out, but finding a reasonably priced 700 short action would be more pleasing than a sale. That was an excellent round, and I forgive it for grand-siring the .223 McNamara-Stalemate.
--The world's ugliest Mossberg .22 barreled action which I'll price at three or four times cost and probably sell. If you have ever been on the vendor side of the table, you may have been asked, "Gotta bolt for ________ ?" Often enough, it's a Mossy.
Sometimes going to an auction brings out my venality. No, actually I mean my spirit of entrepreneurship, my patriotic desire to stimulate the economy.
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