Sep 18, 2012

Domestica -- ammo and other incendiaries

-- The wood faerie returneth. My cup of renewable, sustainable biomass fuel runneth -- rilly rilly runneth -- over. My city man has just delivered a small load of bucked elm locust and plans to bring another. The stuff is unsplittable, but I can cut it short and burn it like chunks of coal.  I am this morning grateful to the administration of my village, Smugleye-on-Lake.

-- September song: With the windows still open to a light breeze, a small fire furnishes a corner of warm comfort amidst all the fresh air.

--Maybe the good mood is a hangover from the long evening in Reloading Central. The Redding B3 powder measure -- a sturdy cast-iron '40s or '50s relic -- is back online and throws IMR 3031 in dependable charges.  Besides...

--The Pacific case trimmer, of similar vintage and brutishness, has been tidied up and is ready to work as soon as I find pilots in .223, 257, 6mm*, .357, and .45.   I've never used it, and there was bonus delight in finding that standard RCBS shell holders work fine. Besides...

--  Several hundred rounds of brass have been resorted into several containers which match one another in size, style, and color. Enough of this kind of neat-freak compulsion and I'll be ready for a  Better Homes and Gardens spread.  Disclaimer: it happens seldom.  To wit:

-- The living quarters are a disaster. When BH&G is finished in the loading shack, a visit from the Hoarders film crew is more than possible. Example:It is not gracious to use the Stihl chain saw manual as a trivet. Gotta find my apron.

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*That's .244  in real money, by jingo.

New faces

A couple of additions to the blogroll.

Stainles of Sportsfiirngs caught my attention by reporting his pleasure in finding a Skeeter Skelton book. Anyone who likes Skeeter is to be admired even though memories  of his gun-journalist home, the old Shooting Times,  arouse my disgust with with the current crop of news-stand firearms rags. (My carbon-fiber reinforced polymer is way cooler than your wimpy ol' plastic!)

Welcome, too, to Stephen, an  entertaining fellow who seems to be a genial an/cap for all seasons. Guns, food, bikes, camping. All the good stuff.

Edit to add one more good guy: Mojave Desertrat who this morning suggests that the Kate exposure really isn't all that big a deal.

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I had read a lot of Skelton before hooking up with an AP colleague in Denver who  became a mulie hunting buddy.  (How ya doing, Bob K.?)  A Texan, he knew Skeeter at least slightly, and may (damn a fading memory) may have gone shooting with him a time or two.

Sep 17, 2012

How much does a Kwee cost?

"Quantitative Easing" -- or "QE" -- my butt.  The Fed loves the locution because it rings of careful policy crafted by the wisest of the wise.

Wrong, Bunkie. It is a pure and simple dilution of every dollar you have accumulated. It is money-printing.

So "QE" deserves a twee name. I nominate Kwee. As in, "Last week the Fed imposed Kwee 3 on the liquid wealth and productive forces of America."

Kwees are cute, also expensive as Hell. Permit me to take you back about four years, to a TMR report Dec. 4, 2008, when the the federal government was only thinking about bailing out every thuggish and incompetent business in sight.

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As of the time the Mr. Coffee wheezed itself full today, wholesale gasoline needed to decline just 29/100ths of one cent (about the value of a Pelosi promise) to be below $1 per gallonAnd a pound of lead now trades at 45.5 cents

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The corresponding  prices today are about $3 for wholesale gasoline and around $1 for lead.  The difference is what it cost you to permit the politically connected money barons to enjoy all the rewards of capitalism but none of the penalties. 'course if your personal income has doubled or tripled in the past three years and 10  months, you probably aren't all that upset. Show of hands, please?

Pronunciation aid: "kwee" rhymes with "Weimar."




Sep 16, 2012

The Sunday Slasher

The very bright lad has some prepper tendencies. In the course of studying one "survival expert" he was persuaded to buy a Mora, hawked as the "best survival knife." A few weeks passed and he found eye and spirit offended by the garish plastic handle and the space-age polymer sheath. He wondered if Gramps might find time to reduce the ugliness. Sure. 





About 90 per cent complete, reflecting the notion that a blade is worth little if it can't be controlled, hence the outsize grip with admittedly unattractive palm swells. Looks bad, feels good.

This is the first experiment with a steel butt plate in the Shops of Camp J (tm). The  thinking is that a "survival" knife may be called on to function as a  crude hammer. 





And since we have a butt plate, why not use it to retain four wax-dipped  matches, virtually weightless and out of mind until a fire becomes crucial when all easier possibilites are absent?

  

The plate, hacked from a heavy old gate hinge, is attached, ground to a crude fit on a wheel, then trimmed to the wood profile on a one-inch vertical belt sander. It looks nice polished, but it will rust. If circumstances permit it will be hot-blued, otherwise painted. A question in my mind: Should it be flourescent orange for findability at the cost of ugliness?









I'll return the black tactical coal-tar sheath to the lad for whatever use he may make of it, but the knife will live in the heavy beef hide, similar to this but I hope without the stupidly misplaced copper rivet. The hole in the grip and the two little notches in the blade -- just forward of the handle -- might make it possible to lash the the knife to a shaft. I personally have never needed a makeshift spear, but who knows?

Notes and asides:

1. When someone offers you "the best" whazzis,  you're being flimflammed. There's no best survival knife, gun, or piccolo. A designer imagines the jobs the tool should do in various situations and builds accordingly. The honest ones will concede that they have created a compromise and not necessarily the optimum one for the situation you might meet.

2.  The matches hidden in the handle may or may not work. Moisture might destroy them despite precautions. Swelling might make them impossible to extract.  They are a last shot, in extremis, hope. If they added significant weight or complication, they would not exist.

3. The little blade notches weaken it. Heavy prying might easily snap it. Is the risk worth the ease of making a spear? Beats me.

4. I don't disparage knives from Mora. The steel seems proper, and the price is right. I tried to find one of the older laminated blades and couldn't.

5. The knife won't quite float, but it comes close enough to neutral buoyancy that you might be able to snatch it back before it dives to the bottom of Lake Nungusser. Wrist thong through the hole? Awkward but worth thinking about if you're lost in a watery place.

6. I hope the young man never learns the limitations of this thing.  Having to "survive" in the woods is almost always a result of bad procedure. My own  backwoods misadventures testify to that, in every case reflecting incomplete planning or inattention. The best survival tool is between the ears and should never be stashed between the buttocks.