Travis McGee is sad

He mentioned her more than once. She got him through one lonely night aboard The Busted Flush, balladeering in Spanish with Trio Los Panchos.  She made many another 60s pop/jazz star sound like a soloist at the swing choir recital.

RIP, Edie Gorme.

Six weeks agoe I cudnt evin spell gunsmith

...Undoubtedly more than you want to know about that First Series Colt Woodsman Match Target that moved in a few weeks ago, the one who didn't bring a magazine along.  So sue me.

I mentioned in the second post down that I found an old High Standard HD mag for it, along with a similar empty body. I  claimed I could make the follower and find some sort of workable spring.

















Half done in less than 45 minutes.


The left follower is the new one. It looked correct and measured correct. Just to make sure, I installed it in the mag with the spring. Works fine.

Two complications remain. A spring could turn up in one of my "miscellaneous" boxes during my next paw-through. If not, almost any from a gun-show-junk  .22LR magazine should be adaptable.

The retaining pin will give me more trouble.  JMB designed it as slip-in. The groove under the head holds things together by engaging the body tin. There's no lathe here, so I'm leaning toward tapping the hole for a 6-32 machine screw. Might work. Might get a better idea.

The new follower began life as a steering arm from a junked-out Dixon ZTR42 mower. Most of it went to Ken's iron pile, but I squirreled away a few likely looking bits of steel for just such an emergency gun repair. Because I live a pure and virtuous life, the handle happened to be the exact thickness of the factory follower, saving me some tedious surface grinding.

Tools involved: Makita angle grinder. Baldor bench grinder. One-inch vertical belt sander obviously built by a Mattell subsidiary. Twelve-inch muslin polishing wheel on  big old 3450 rpm Craftsman table saw motor. Chinese drill press. (Twenty minutes after you drill a hole you want to make another one.) Couple of mill bastards.

Technique: Use the factory part for a pattern. Cut your new one a few thousandths oversize. Trim to fit. (That's what the bastards are for.) Shine her up a little.

Tough men, sick cows, and good horses.

At least Jinglebob's horse was nice enough not to break his glasses.

It's a report from the dirty end of the food chain, and you might want to mention it to your city friends who still think their hamburgers originate in Ronald McDonald's back room.

Open Carry

Being an After-Action Report on the Sioux City loophole where, uncharacteristically, I open carried.

I carried it in a wrong holster, a fine old piece of Bianchi basket-stamped leather built for and home to a Ruger RST4. The pony barrel  stuck out a couple of inches, and the high sight made drawing a two-handed comedy. I was no candidate for a Badass-of-the-Show award.

It was the only handy sheath that came close to accommodating the Colt. I used it because we planned to be there for a couple of hours, and I needed both hands free to coon-finger vendor guns while seeking what I really wanted.

(Maybe I was also dreaming of tangible sympathy, the kindness of stangers.  Some Christian soul would notice the empty magazine well, empathize with my anguish, and offer me one for a song, of which I have two available,  Kumbayah and Wabash Cannon Ball.)  

Finding a proper 1st Series Match Target clipazine was the objective. Finding one that would simply work was the fallback aim.  Any of you who have performed the drill (Hey, you gotta magazine to fit my old {name-that-gun}?)  know it's crucial to have the gun at hand. The vendor's word, even if he's dead honest and dead sure, is not to be taken literally.

The Colt search was fruitless, but I nodded reverently toward the final resting place of John M. Browning for his decision to make the same bullet holder fit both High Standard HDs and his pre-war Colts. A hobby dealer had one and one-half of them.  Mister Complete fed eight fast ones faultlessly upon testing last evening. Miss Half needs a follower -- already roughed out from a scrap of steel -- and a spring.

Back to the open-carry theme. Unless I'm in the field it always make me feel a little silly,  as though I'm trying to announce that my junk is more impressive than yours.

But not as silly as one portly young fellow should have felt as he strode the aisles with camo leg holster, leather combatish shooting vest, and a tactical quick-open stabber clipped to a pocket of his black cargo pants.  The empty holster marred the image. We figured he had spent all his money on tactical accessories and was still saving up for an actual pistol.