I used AA hulls with gray wads, 7/8 oz shot and 14 gr of Clays using MEC bushing # 26.  it was super close to AA low noise low recoil  

Ideally, I would like to not change anything in my setup.  Has anyone found the closest possible replacement to Clays in volume and burn rate that would allow me to use the same bushing? Or if any of you used #26 with Clays and now use something else, even in a different bushing size, what is it?

Thanks in advance

Have they fallen out of favor?  Is everybody using slicked up SxS’s?

Any insight is much appreciated.

For a few days, T-SQUARE, Scourge of the Old West, is holstering those modern-day Wild Bunch guns and trading gun smoke for a little local culture, history, architecture, and adventure!

Thursday, August 27th is the last day of Wild Bunch, and while the smoke clears, I’m heading to South Bend for a self-guided walking tour and pencil sketching extravaganza at Notre Dame University. Sketchbook in hand, boots on the ground, and hopefully no stampede or outlaws wandering through the quad!

Then it’s off to Goshen for a 2:00 PM tour of the Brinkley RV factory—where I’ll get to see how they build the very kind of wagon I’ve been dragging across the country! 🤠

Want to join the posse?

If you’re a Cowboy, Cowgirl, Gambler, Soiled Dove, or just a plain ol’ trail hand who’d like to see some of the local sights while we’re in Indiana, send me a DM.

I’ll be happy to share my itinerary and whereabouts, and you’re welcome to join the expedition!

You will have to register on the Brinkley website for the factory tour !!

@Misty Moonshine @rubyruthless @Sixgun Seamus @Cowtown Scout, SASS #53540 L @Scarlett

 Where can you assemble close to 100 people and have this happen:

Guns of August Warm Up Day, my cart had a problem on the way to the shooting stages, I set my Yeti Cup on a picnic table and got my cart rolling again.  After getting back to my room, I couldn’t find my Cup.  As we all know, Yeti isn’t known for cheap pricing.  My brain didn’t tie the cart fiasco to where abouts of my cup until the next morning when I arrived at the range.  Parking across the lot from the previous morning, I loaded my cart and headed toward the shooting line.  I ran into a good friend of mine who was near by when my cart took the “dive”.  I asked him if he had seen my cup.  He looked across the 100 yards (or so) parking lot and said, “Is that it on the table?”.    Low and behold, that was it.  That Yeti Cup had been sitting on that table for over 24 hours totally unmolested. 

I ask you, where could we go and be surrounded by the kind of people found in SASS? The best bunch of Cowpokes ever assembled!

 By the Way:  GOA was a BLAST!

who is fixing 1894 marlin carriers?

I’ve got 3 that are double feeding.

What would you guys recommend to deal with the mold without damaging the finish?

A couple years back I just used a patch with some gun oil on it to deal with that on a rifle.  That was only one small spot and seemed to deal with it ok.  Does anyone have a better suggestion?

This is embarrassing.  I've always thought I did a good job keeping my guns clean.

I think this may mean I just don't shoot my guns enough.

Angus

Thanks !

Horace

I'm courious since most of us are reloaders does anyone have recommendations for CURRENT - MEANING AS OF JULY 30, 2026, for pistol powders used for 45LC and 38 special? I am currently stocking up on bottles of Accurate 2 but it looks like Hodgon is pulling that off the market due to no availability. What I have found in availiability is 1 - spelled ONE, bottle left in multipule Sportsman's warehouse stores. I somehow managed to find the last orphan bottle of Trail Boss at Cabela's a few months ago. Snatched it up just to use for barter. Seems like Alliant has shut down consumer production again for the war and Hodgon continues to buy up every brand and shut down the more popular products they produce. Hodgon never states that they have stopped production of any powder, they just keep it listed as "out of stock" on their website for years. So I guess what I'm asking is what is actually being produced TODAY, July 30th 2026 that is the favored powder of pistol reloaders in SASS....Not yesterday's favorite, not yesteryears favoite etc. I hate to break the news but Unique and Trailboss are long GONE products.

Fox

What's the call?

It happened again yesterday. I disassembled and reassembled and it seemed to work ok again. I know they like to be clean and lubed. No one wants to eat multiple rounds on a stage or question whether their gun will work or not. Whaddayasay?

PS- My wife loves this gun and while she can use a lever gun, she prefers this. 

Sometimes Pa says something completely innocent that causes my brain to take a detour down a road it probably should not travel. This particular journey began with one simple statement.

Pa casually mentioned that Molly’s Buckles is in Arlington, Texas.

To most people, that would be an innocent piece of information. I have never been accused of being most people.

I have also never been called normal or innocent, so there was really no reason to expect my brain to behave appropriately.

The moment he said “Molly’s Buckles,” something in the gray matter between my ears shifted gears.

My mind went into overdrive. I started examining the words. Connecting dots that probably had no business being connected. Somewhere in that dark and inappropriate corner of my brain was a thought that was just too perfect to ignore.

I slowly glanced over at Pa.

He knew. I don't know how he knew, but he knew.His face had that unmistakable look of fear and regret. I do believe I saw a bead of sweat form on his forehead, make its way down the side of his face, and land somewhere on the Duluth Trading Company shirt he was wearing.

He swallowed hard.

Then he waited.

For six years, Pa has been married to me.

Six years of listening to my thoughts escape my mouth before they have been properly evaluated.

Six years of learning that when I get that particular look on my face, he needs to prepare himself.

He has learned there are generally two possible outcomes. The first is that whatever comes out of my mouth will be so ridiculous that he will laugh until he needs his inhaler.

The second is that he will need to carefully construct a response that acknowledges what I have said without giving my brain the slightest bit of encouragement to produce another thought.

This was clearly going to be one of those moments.

I casually glanced up from the dark chocolate and flowers he had purchased in honor of our anniversary.

Because apparently romance, chocolate, flowers, and inappropriate thoughts are all perfectly compatible in our marriage.

I took a breath.

Then, with all the sweetness of peach cobbler topped with whipped cream, I asked: “Does the fact that your wife now has two Molly’s buckles mean you are my very own buckle bunny?”

Silence.

Pa opened his mouth.

Then closed it.

I could actually see the wheels turning. He was searching for the safest possible answer.

This was not a man who had just been asked a question. This was a man who had been presented with a carefully concealed verbal land mine and was attempting to determine whether stepping left, stepping right, or simply standing perfectly still would result in an explosion.

He finally lowered his eyes.

“It could be.”

I waited.

He knew better than to stop there.

“Yes, dear.”

And there it was.

The answer. Perfectly delivered.

No argument.

No unnecessary explanation.

No attempt to challenge the premise.

Just “It could be.”

Followed by the two most important words a man can learn after six years of marriage:

“Yes, dear.”

I smiled.

Not because I had won.

Although, obviously, I had won.

I smiled because I realized something important. Pa had finally been properly trained.

Six years.

It only took six years of marriage, travel, cowboy shooting, questionable motel decisions, my wandering brain, and an impressive number of thoughts that should probably have remained inside my head. But he finally understands.

Sometimes you don't have to understand the thought. Sometimes you don't even have to agree with the thought.

Sometimes you just need to recognize the look on your wife's face, choose your words carefully, and say:

“It could be.”

“Yes, dear.”

That, my friends, is what we call successful marital training.

And somewhere, deep in the inappropriate section of my gray matter, I am already working on the next lesson.

Howdy! Ladies, Gents, and Buckaroos:
     Thank you for coming to Brookfield to compete in the Saturday CAS match with the Shenango River Rats.  We beat the rain and had the match down on the cowboy range and never was heard a discouraging word.
 

Lefty Leadshot won the match. Congratulations, Lefty!  He is one fast hombre and couldn’t be beat!
Willie Miss 45 finished strong in second place followed by black powder aficionado Lenny James coming in third.  
Miss Philly Dean was our Top Lady Shootist.
Turtle Tader was our Top Buckaroo.  This was his first CAS match, and he didn’t do too bad.  He was using the “big boy guns” too.
The Brunswick Kid was our only clean shooter. Congratulations, Kid!
Slow Mo Dern was one miss away from a clean match earning him yet another purty brown ribbon for the trophy room wall.  
Big thanks to Mrs. Rootin’ Tootin’ Dan for keeping score throughout the whole match.  Thank you!
Big thanks to Bojak and Hannah for bringing in the donuts. Thanks, folks!
Thanks to everyone for making Turtle welcome. Thank you for sharing your hospitality, generosity, and knowledge with him.
 

Our next match will be the Thursday Work Shirker on Thursday August 27, 2026.  Visitors are always welcome.  We hope to see you then.
 

All the best,
Slow Mo Dern and the Shenango River Rats
 

Great stages, great competition, and most importantly, a great bunch of cowboys enjoying the sport we all love.

If you haven't made it to Logan yet, come on up and shoot with the Gallatin Valley Regulators at the 17th Annual Shoot & Toot. Bring your six-guns, your shotgun, your rifle, and your best cowboy chili - September 12th, registration is at 8:30 am

You’ll leave with a little more gunsmoke on your clothes, a big grin on your face, and probably a few new friends.

Come shoot with us! 🤠🔥💨

If you’re not familiar with them, they make the things that you wish your press or other gear offered to make your reloading easier, faster, or more efficient.

Brackets, stands, storage equipment, and other items, plus they offer custom fabrication for the idea you had that nobody else makes.

Check ‘em out!

I have a set of rules for our travels in cowboy shooting.

1. There are certain places I simply will not stay. I will not stay at the Red River Inn—or any motel where the doors open to the outside.
2. If the hotel or motel has a number in its name, I will not stay.
3. If there are chairs or other furniture from the thrift store sitting outside the rooms, I will not stay.
4. Never, ever take accommodation recommendations from Pony Soldier.

Perhaps you're curious about the origin of these rules. If so, grab a cup of coffee—or a double whiskey—and read on.

There once was a cowboy shooting range known as the Bar 3. The tales of the action and fun at that range are known far and wide, and for good reason. The matches were legendary, hosted by the legendary T Bone Dooley, whose highest priority was making sure everyone had fun. Folks who attended the annual Comin' At Cha planned their accommodations, meals, costumes, and entertainment all year long.

What made the Bar 3 special was T Bone's remarkable ability to bring people together for a cause.

I attended my first—and only—match at the Bar 3 for one of those benefit matches. Being new to the sport, I was still learning about cowboy shooting. Everyone welcomed me and encouraged me to relax and simply have fun.

Most of those folks barely knew me before the final day of the match.

By the end of that day, however, I had become infamous.

Because the Bar 3 was located near the small town of English, Texas, accommodations were scarce. Clarksville was the nearest town with a motel. Please pay close attention to the word motel. It plays a central role in this tale.

The Red River Inn, a small local establishment, offered a roof over your head, a bed, and an indoor bathroom—the bare necessities. It certainly wasn't a five-star hotel. In fact, I'm convinced the only stars it could claim were the ones on the police cars that regularly circled the parking lot. The nightly rate was low, and there was probably a good reason for that.

The Red River Inn earned a permanent place on my "Do Not Stay" list.

You may wonder how we ended up there.

We blame Pony Soldier.

His description, while admittedly vague, somehow failed to trigger any alarm bells in my head. We booked a room for two nights.

When we arrived, the best thing I could say was that parking would be convenient.

Picture a roadside motel straight out of the 1960s—a single-story building with rooms wrapped around the office on three sides. Each room had one door and one window. There was no swimming pool, no vending machines, and probably no refunds. We had no choice but to make the best of it.

We took our key—with its bright orange, coffin-shaped plastic key tag—and unlocked the door to what would be our home for the next two nights.

At first glance, the room appeared clean and utilitarian.

The color scheme could best be described as Walt Disney on LSD.

The carpet looked original to the building. The furniture appeared to have been rescued from at least five other hotels before they went out of business. The polyester bedspreads crackled as I ripped them off the beds and tossed them into the corner. I had no desire to inspect them under a black light. Some things are simply better left unknown.

Fortunately, the sheets were clean and free of tiny livestock.

By this point, I was already planning my revenge on Pony Soldier.

Our first night passed uneventfully. We rested from the drive and prepared for a full day of shooting, shenanigans, and socializing.

The match was everything I'd hoped it would be. I met many people who would become some of my dearest friends. T Bone knew exactly how to entertain a crowd of folks who loved playing cowboy, celebrating the Old West, and shooting. By the end of the day, we were exhausted. All we wanted was a hot shower and a good night's sleep.

Sunday morning arrived, and it was time to pack the car and head home after the final day of shooting. 

Mind you, we had firearms and equipment that weren't about to be left in the car overnight, so packing took a while.

It was barely daylight. Clarksville was still asleep. Birds had just begun their morning chorus. Everything was peaceful.

Suddenly, the quiet was shattered by loud pounding on the door of the room next to ours.

The motel manager was demanding that the occupants vacate immediately because the room had "not been paid for."

His vocabulary became considerably more colorful after that, but I'll spare you those details.

Moments later, the door swung open.

Out staggered a gentleman in a state of partial undress, clutching what remained of a twelve-pack of bargain beer. He made a hasty retreat to the east.

Seconds later, a woman—slightly more dressed but carrying an enormous purse overflowing with her worldly possessions—departed in the opposite direction.

Meanwhile, the motel manager continued providing colorful commentary about their stay and suggestions regarding any future visits.

Who knew Sunday morning checkout would include live entertainment?

As it turns out, we weren't the only audience.

Two fellow cowboy shooters, Rio Concho Kid and Ben Scalped, had witnessed the entire spectacle. The four of us stood there laughing while trying to finish loading our gear. It was a morning none of us would ever forget.

Being both a storyteller and an amateur comedian, I simply had to share the tale with my newfound friends.

So I did.

Complete with sound effects.

And pantomime.

Our posse took considerably longer to finish the day's shooting because everyone kept laughing. The jokes multiplied with every stage as I regaled them with the unforgettable story of what became known as The Red River Rendezvous.

Sadly, the Bar 3 has since closed.

I hope someday someone will revive it and create new events worthy of standing alongside the legend of Comin' At Cha.

Our friend Rio has also passed away.

But like the Bar 3 itself, he lives on in the stories we continue to tell around the loading table, at the campfire, and wherever cowboy shooters gather to laugh about the adventures that happen between the shooting stages as much as the ones on them.

I have technically found some, but only in bulk, and while I would not mind it I am currently far too broke to buy hundreds of dollars worth of powder right now.  All I need for the moment is one pound, I don’t even care which brand at this point, just one pound, not 5, not 10, not 25, just one, is that so much to ask?

Mostly just yelling at the clouds right now I know, but I really would appreciate any leads.

Is there really so much demand to completely wipe out the entire national supply for months on end with no restock in sight?  With so much demand one would think someone would up supply and cash in.  I feel like it’s 2020 all over again.  Getting so frustrated I’m half tempted to just buy a ball mill and make it myself at this point, probably be easier than just buying it.  This is ridiculous.

https://www.precisionreloading.com/cart.php#!c=103&s=in

The idea for the Magnificent Seven began with Texas Ghost, who envisioned a way to recognize Classic Cowboys—and later Cowgirls—who truly represent the spirit of the SASS shooting category.
Classic Cowboy and Classic Cowgirl shooters embody the costuming, shooting style, sportsmanship, and dedication to giving back to CAS that define Classic Cowboy and Cowgirl.

As Texas Ghost described it, much like John Wayne said of gunfighters in The Shootist, a Classic Cowboy or Cowgirl must “be willin’.” It is not the easiest category, and rarely the fastest, but it draws those who embrace the challenge, the tradition, and the look that make Classic Cowboy and Cowgirl so special.

Since 2010, the Magnificent Seven has honored those who meet these standards and stand out through their commitment to the game, their fellow shooters, and the Classic spirit.

When making a nomination, please include:

How does this Classic stand out?

How long have they been shooting cowboy?

How long have they competed as a Classic? Have they earned major awards or recognition? What have they done to support, encourage, or improve cowboy shooting locally or beyond?

We want to know who best represents the heart of the Classic Cowboy and Classic Cowgirl categories.

Tell us who you believe is truly “willin’” — and why.

Prior Recipients:
2010 — T-Bone Dooley
2011 — Lefty Henderson and Shotglass
2012 — RJ Law and Bella Spencer
2013 — Big 6 Henderson and Hot Tamale
2014 — GW Ryder and Squawty Bawdy
2015 — Doc Baker and Serenity
2016 — Tonic Kid and Marie Laveau
2017 — Chilipepper Kid and Black Hills Barb
2018 — Major Art Tillery and Cayenne Kay
2019 — Stirrup Trouble and Mattie Mahala West
2020 — Asa Smith and Boss Shamrock
2021 — Dutch Coroner and Lucinda Tincup
2022 — Whiskey Hayes and Ruby Red Rider
2023 — Sixgun Seamus and Silverlocks

2024 - Cowtown Scout and Witchy Woman

2025 - Ambs Aces

Any SASS shooter, independent of their own shooting category, may nominate a Classic. 

Prior recipients and current members of the Magnificent Seven are not eligible for the award.

Thank you,

The Magnificent Seven Ruby Red Rider, Hot Tamale, Dutch Coroner, GW Ryder, Cowtown Scout, Pony Soldier, and Sixgun Seamus.

Nominations accepted through July 31, 2026