Hands are clothes.
Sep 1, 2012
Aug 30, 2012
Serendipity in .30-06
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.
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*Oh hush. I'm just trying to temper tautology.
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.
Sometimes Officer Friendly really is
The teevee reporter seems to have the lede right. Without much fuss, Indianapolis cop Jeff Patterson talked down a "special needs" student who had locked himself in a home ec room full of knives. When he threw one at the officer, Jeff grabbed a garbage can lid to shield himself as he persuaded the lad to surrender. No gunfire. No Taser. Just a cop with no yen to shoot somebody, a lone policeman thinking fast under pressure.
Two problems in the report. One may seem a quibble, but it is important enough to note. The journalist wrote that the lad surrendered before the officer "could" taze him. In fact, it appears Jeff handled things so that the surrender happened for he "needed" to shoot.
The other is a journalistic sin of omission. Where is the outrage at the presence of sharp knives in a school? A school, for God's sake. Where there are children. Maybe they'll get around to it. Dare you doubt that someone, somewhere, is jotting down a plan to turn the french knives over to the proper authorities and teach the budding cooks to do their cutting with dental floss and blunt scissors?
H/T Roberta
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Does anyone else hold a memory of sword fights in the back yard? The well-equipped 7-year-old Lancelot wielded a pine Excalibur, a long lath for the blade and a shorter one, nailed on, for the cross guard. Universally, his shield was zinc-plated sheet metal from Mom's outside garbage can. It made a neat noise when struck by your foe's sword, even neater when the blackguard cheated by throwing rocks.
Two problems in the report. One may seem a quibble, but it is important enough to note. The journalist wrote that the lad surrendered before the officer "could" taze him. In fact, it appears Jeff handled things so that the surrender happened for he "needed" to shoot.
The other is a journalistic sin of omission. Where is the outrage at the presence of sharp knives in a school? A school, for God's sake. Where there are children. Maybe they'll get around to it. Dare you doubt that someone, somewhere, is jotting down a plan to turn the french knives over to the proper authorities and teach the budding cooks to do their cutting with dental floss and blunt scissors?
H/T Roberta
---
Does anyone else hold a memory of sword fights in the back yard? The well-equipped 7-year-old Lancelot wielded a pine Excalibur, a long lath for the blade and a shorter one, nailed on, for the cross guard. Universally, his shield was zinc-plated sheet metal from Mom's outside garbage can. It made a neat noise when struck by your foe's sword, even neater when the blackguard cheated by throwing rocks.
Aug 29, 2012
Pornographic gun prices
The only explanation I have is that Ben and the Feds announced QE 3 and QE 4 and QE5 yesterday and everybody heard about it except me. Am I supposed to go trade my green money for orange today?
The chief pleasure down in Spencer last evening was making a guy I dislike pay close to $300 for a fair-to-good 10 gauge Remington 1889, Grade 1. It was tight and original, but the left hammer wouldn't cock, and I hate getting into the innards of old doubles. Otherwise I'd have laid it in against my next trip west, into serious Cowboy Action Shooting country where it would be desirable trading stock if working.
Otherwise: The rattiest old Stevens single shot .22 bolt gun you ever saw for $100. A Ruger 10-22 of no distinction for $290. One of those rattletrap Rohm .22 single-sixes for about $230. A post-64 Model 94 Winchester for $490. ('course that included the rubber slip-on recoil pad. Who's that frail?) And so forth.
The standout, though, was a Findy Sickle Iver Johnson .32 rimfire breaktop, nice, bright silver thanks to a soaking in naval jelly and enthusiastic wire brushing. Bubba didn't bother to dissemble it first. Not a part would move. One hundred bucks.
---
I settled for some shooty or otherwise lethal bric-a-brac -- a little ammunition and a nicely preserved Western 4 1/2-inch hunter from the '40s.
The chief pleasure down in Spencer last evening was making a guy I dislike pay close to $300 for a fair-to-good 10 gauge Remington 1889, Grade 1. It was tight and original, but the left hammer wouldn't cock, and I hate getting into the innards of old doubles. Otherwise I'd have laid it in against my next trip west, into serious Cowboy Action Shooting country where it would be desirable trading stock if working.
Otherwise: The rattiest old Stevens single shot .22 bolt gun you ever saw for $100. A Ruger 10-22 of no distinction for $290. One of those rattletrap Rohm .22 single-sixes for about $230. A post-64 Model 94 Winchester for $490. ('course that included the rubber slip-on recoil pad. Who's that frail?) And so forth.
The standout, though, was a Findy Sickle Iver Johnson .32 rimfire breaktop, nice, bright silver thanks to a soaking in naval jelly and enthusiastic wire brushing. Bubba didn't bother to dissemble it first. Not a part would move. One hundred bucks.
---
I settled for some shooty or otherwise lethal bric-a-brac -- a little ammunition and a nicely preserved Western 4 1/2-inch hunter from the '40s.
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