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Showing content with the highest reputation on 12/01/2023 in all areas

  1. I understand the desire to open the game up to as many as possible. Like many others, I ran matches for years with an "open" class, allowing any SASS legal rifle and shotgun. A few ultimately made the move to WB, but I don't recall more than 3 taking advantage of the category. In addition to the record turnout at EoT last year, at the European Championships this year, there were 130 WB shooters out of a capped 360 total participants. That's almost 40% participation, in an environment where securing the needed additional firearms is REALLY difficult. So, when it is watered, WB ain't dead. It is disingenuous to say you can run a power factored .45 rifle the same speed as a cowboy loaded .38. There may be a few freaks who can, but I surely can't. I've tried it. Shooters who have purchased firearms at significant cost, procured components, developed loads, and invested in the game have a right to feel a bit stiffed, don't you think? Imagine the outrage if Classic Cowboy, or B Western became "Run What Ya Brung." I don't think either of those have the numbers combined at Winter Trail or End of Range, or whatever they're calling it, now, that WB demonstrated. I get that it is a game, and it belongs to SASS. Whether or not the changes will swell the ranks is yet to be seen. But don't belittle those who sweated and invested to make it what is is, so far. Cheers, FJT
    8 points
  2. First off - pure soft lead is 5 Brinnell hardness - good for black powder loads. Wheel weights NOW are about 9 or 10 Brinnell - almost right for low pressure loads like cowboy shooting uses. That's a "SOFT" lead alloy for pistols. Many commercial casters use from 12 to 16 Brinnell hardness (as if everyone is going to shoot loads at magnum velocities). Good for shipping, too hard (and too much antimony - AKA cost) for good shooting with cowboy loads. THAT is what I would call "HARD" pistol bullet alloy. COWBOY Smokeless loads work real well at 8 or 9 Brinnell hardness. Harder works, but you have to get the diameter sized right for your barrel, since harder lead won't be expanded when fired to make a loose fit into a tight fit, while softer lead (8 Brinnell) will bump up at the chamber pressures most cowboy loads make (maybe 8,000 PSI). That would be what I would call a SOFT alloy - it can be scratched with a thumbnail if you try hard. So, I use about 2/3 WW and 1/3 soft lead and get wonderful cowboy bullets at about 8 or 9 Brinnell, and because they bump up to fill the barrel and grooves, there's no leading with even homemade lube. I even shoot 9 Brinnell bullets in my .45 auto for Wild Bunch - feed perfectly and no leading. Many folks have had barrel leading problems when they start out shooting cowboy, and commercial casters are SO prone to sell them hard slugs rather than make sure the bullet diameter fits the groove diameter of the barrel, but those hard commercial bullets really make the leading worse. This has caused the trend of many folks now shooting polymer coated slugs - they just don't understand that a soft alloy bullet would save them money and prevent leading. But then, too, they sometimes get tired of cleaning lube out of their seating dies, and a poly coated slug eliminates most of that. So, if you have been making good 9 MM bullets that don't lead the barrel, soften your alloy a bit to get a little softer slug, and you will do fine. good luck, GJ
    6 points
  3. Okay, I mis-read! Yeesh, it's only the first time I've been wrong in the last.....oh.....3 minutes....
    6 points
  4. Shortcake and I are subs at a few rural schools. I found this letter on my desk when she got home the other day. Believe it or not, there are kids within 10 miles of your door who aren’t doing so well. We all wonder where our $$ go when we give to a charity. Find a school nearby and your dollars go right where they are needed. Hard to look at CAS catalogs when a teen down the road just wants to be warm on the school bus. I’ll get to the cowboy stuff next month.
    5 points
  5. After a long hiatus caused by COVID, a heart attack, then 4x bypass, I'm finally back to shooting again. It's been 15 months since surgery, so the Doc says I'm good for rifles and shotguns. A group of my lodge brothers shoot every Wednesday at a near-by indoor range. I can bring hand guns, rifles, shotguns, slugs, buckshot as desired... no 50 BMG (illegal in CA anyway). $26 per month, unlimited number of days for 1 hour per day, which is enough. This week was the 1911, the Alaskan 44 and Single Six Bisley 22. Next week will be the Redhawk 44 and GP100 and a different 22.
    5 points
  6. What most people don’t realize is that, as the older sister, Olympic was much more well known. All those superlatives we associate with Titanic — ship of dreams, floating palace, world’s largest moving object, etc. — were originally lavished on Olympic. In 1911, when she was launched, an entire issue of the trade publication The Shipbuilder was devoted to Olympic, with barely a passing mention of the other sister then under construction. Before the sinking Olympic was far and away the more famous sister and arguably the most famous ship in the world. Unlike her ill-fated little sister, Olympic apparently WAS unsinkable. She had three serious collisions in her career, the first of which (with the warship HMS Hawke) left her severely damaged but still afloat. The second such incident was in 1916 when Olympic turned and rammed a German U-boat that had tried to sink her; the U-boat attempted to dive but to no avail — Olympic’s propellers tore open the sub’s pressure hull like it was aluminum foil. The liner emerged from the encounter with a slight dent on her lower prow and a legendary reputation as the only civilian vessel to sink an enemy warship in World War 1. Finally, in 1934, Olympic collided with and sank the Nantucket lightship LV-117in heavy fog. Again Olympic escaped serious damage. Olympic transported thousands of troops to and from the theaters of war in WW1, earning the undying devotion of those who traveled upon her. They called her “Old Reliable” because she always brought you home. Others referred to her affectionately as simply “Oly.” Captain Sir Bertram Fox Hayes, Olympic’s longest-serving commander and a towering figure in British maritime history (he was in command when they sank the U-boat), called her, “The finest ship, in my estimation, that has ever been built or ever will be.” But alas, all good things must come to an end. The Great Depression hit the shipping companies hard, and by then Olympic was over 20 years old and showing her age. When White Star merged with Cunard she was retired. She was sent to the scrapyard in 1935. Fortunately some of her interior fittings and panels were preserved and can now be found in the White Swan Hotel in Alnwick, England. Below: RMS Olympic arrives in New York City to much fanfare on her maiden voyage, June 21, 1911. Britannic, third ship in the line was sunk in 1916.
    5 points
  7. If you don't hear from me for a while it's because I just sent this to my wife.
    5 points
  8. 5 points
  9. He could start a jewelry company. He has his first piece. The “Oh Sh**!” Pendant.
    5 points
  10. TWO MENS' GIFTS "I knew you were coming." The man was tall, tanned, his face weathered, as was his bald head. A few of the Brethren shaved their scalps into the monastic tonsure. The Abbott had no need; his hairline began to recede in his nineteenth year, and was only just slowing its retreat, now that he had nought but a band around the back of his head and over his ears. His visitor was silent; his tread had not been heard, not from the moment he'd dismounted. The Abbott turned, smiled a little, advanced and thrust out his hand. The pale eyed Sheriff gripped it: the two men held their grip a moment longer than was required, as each one looked deep into the other's soul. "Have a seat," the Abbott said, gesturing: he and the Sheriff sat. Watered wine was brought, decanted from a locally fired clay pitcher, into cut-glass tumblers -- a gift, the Sheriff knew, from the grateful wife of a successful businessman, after the White Sisters tended their family when the plague of measles swept through. The Abbott waited: he wore his patience the way he wore a cloak; just as silence cascaded from the Sheriff, patience rolled off the Abbott, for both men had seen much of the world, and much of what they'd seen, both together, and in their separate lives, were things they wished they'd never experienced. A light meal was brought in and laid before the pair. They ate in silence; a discreet watcher slipped in, silent on bare feet, refilled their tumblers, withdrew discreetly. "You had a bad one." Linn looked up, considered, then nodded, once. "I understand you were in the middle of the situation." "Turned out that way." Linn's voice was quiet, almost reluctant. "You knew them." "Most of 'em." "You could have stood back and let Digger handle the dead." Linn set his tumbler on the table, turned it slowly with just the tips of his thumb and fingers. "No," he finally said. "No, I knew 'em. 'Twas best they had someone they knew ... warn't much family left to ... tend 'em." "How many men could have done that, Linn?" Linn raised his eyes but made no other move. "How many other men would have taken one look and wet themselves and then run in panic just to see it?" Linn's expression was bleak, memories looking out through his pale eyes like ghosts crowding behind the window of an abandoned building. "You remember ..." The Abbott stopped, considered: he picked up a slice of sourdough, buttered it, then folded it and broke it in two, handed half to the Sheriff. The Abbott pinched two fingers into the salt cellar and sprinkled a little salt on his half: it was a newly acquired salt, evaporated from ocean water, and traded for by his quartermaster. Linn took the bread and hesitated, waited until the Abbott garnished his half, then both men raised theirs and took a bite. "Damn that War," Linn finally said. The Abbott nodded. "I have, many times," he agreed. Linn's expression was haunted; the Abbott had seen this before -- good men, strong men who'd lived their lives after the War, but when they wore a particular look, when they stared through the wall at something a thousand miles away, it generally meant a memory had arisen and enveloped their soul, almost like an invisible fog surrounding the sufferer. Linn looked at the Abbott. "I reckon you're right," he finally said. "Oh?" The Abbott's reply was carefully neutral. "No normal man could have done what I did." The Abbott nodded slowly, eyes half-lidded. It did not surprise the Sheriff in the least little bit that his boon companion from back during that damned War knew exactly what had happened, what Linn had done, the hell this pale eyed old campaigner had seen yet again. Word of misfortune and sorrow travels fast, and the Abbott took pains to have information brought to him. Linn suspected that was another result of the Abbott's having survived that damned War. "I thought I'd buried it," Linn said softly, his fingertips restless on the smooth wood tabletop. "I thought all those hard memories were long ... not forgotten, but ... I'd thought there was enough years' worth of dirt and leaf-litter fell on 'em to bury 'em." "And then they came rip-roarin' out of their six foot deep grave and all the rocks you'd piled on top to keep 'em buried." "That," Linn agreed quietly, "is exactly what happened." The Abbott nodded slowly, took a sip of his cool wine. "You were needed," the Abbott said finally. "Reckon so." "How many family was left to tend the needfuls?" "Just one ... just one girl, and her not half Sarah's age." The Abbott shook his head. "Dear God," he whispered. "Has she any family elsewhere?" Linn nodded. "Back East. Sent 'em a telegram. Sean and Daisy took her in, Daisy said she needed another woman t' keep all those wild Irishmen in line!" The Abbott chuckled, shook his head. "Sean is an impressive man," he said softly, "but Daisy is more than his match!" The Sheriff chuckled, nodded: the Abbott did not miss the smile that escaped the man's careful reserve. "I seem to remember hearing about her scattering strong men before her, and her armed with a wooden spoon!" Linn laughed this time, a good honest laugh: the black cloud hovering over him was shattered by now, and gone: "You should have seen it," Linn affirmed, "men that weren't afraid of the Devil himself, scatterin' like leaves before the williwaw!" "Heaven keep me safe from a woman's temper," the Abbott intoned in a gentle voice: Abbott and Sheriff both raised their glasses in hearty agreement, drank. "You went back into the Church after the War," Linn said thoughtfully. "Atonement?" "Healing," came the reply: "I went back to my New Orleans seminary, then I went West and found I was still needed." He looked at the Sheriff. "You were needed too," he said, "and you still are." "Yes," Linn agreed, "but at what cost?" " 'Who heals the healer', eh?" "Yeah," Linn said, his voice suddenly husky. "Everything ... set aside everything from that damned War and I've still ... waded through ... more grief ..." "You've handled grief and loss that would last ten men their lifetimes," the Abbott agreed firmly. "You have done that. No other man could have. You were tempered like a spring in the forge of war. Evil that War was, evil those days were and terrible were those bloody days and nights, but they prepared you for all that came after!" The Abbott leaned forward, looked very directly, very intently at his pale-eyed guest. "You're still needed, Linn. You've done more good than you realize." Linn smiled with half his mouth, reached up, tapped the middle of his own forehead. "I know that here" -- tap, tap -- "but it's harder to realize it here" -- his fingers lowered to his breastbone, tapped twice more. The Abbott rose, and Linn rose with him. "Forgive me," Abbott William said, "I have services." Two old veterans of more hell than living men should know, clasped hands again: one rode away on an Appaloosa stallion, returning to where he was needed, and another man, tall, bald, helped the White Sisters tend the sufferers in their small infirmary: he would lead the faithful in prayer and in song, he would direct the operation of the Rabbitville monastery, but he never forgot that every soul that came through the gates was a guest, and he never failed to greet each one with a gentle courtesy. Two men were needed, and two men served, according to their gifts.
    4 points
  11. I paid $140 for mine back in the 80's thru CMP. When it arrived at the post office the clerk was a little old lady who had to be in 80's she looked like the old lady in the tweety bird cartoons and could barely carry the box and put it up on the counter, she exclaimed " Wow that's heavy! What is it?" And I replied "A Rifle " And she started jumping around, arms in the air, screaming "You can't send guns through the US mail!" Over and over. I calmly told her to "look at the label......It's from the Federal Government !" She quickly calmed down. It was pretty funny, and I'll never forget the look on her face!
    4 points
  12. "Foal Slippers" - AKA "Golden Slippers" “When foals (zebras and horses) are born, their hooves are covered in a rubbery layer known as a capsule. This soft capsule covers the sharp edges of the foal’s untried hooves, protecting the mare in utero and as the foal travels along the birth canal. You have to be quick to snap a picture of the slippers as they begin to dry out and wear away the minute that they make contact with the air. During the foal’s first venture across the ground the soft hoof capsules are worn down to meet the level sole, revealing the hooves we are used to seeing."
    4 points
  13. What appreciation is required? Some guys rode their horses thru the drive thru at a 2nd rate burger restaurant. Nothing more - nothing less. No incredible social commentary - no amazing artistic composition. The BS is the entertaining part.
    4 points
  14. I have a older friend that is in a group that meets for lunch each week....they call themselves the ROMEOS. Retired Old Men Eating Out.
    4 points
  15. Use eight parts denatured alcohol to one part alcohol based shellac. Mix thoroughly and use a utility grade spray bottle to apply. It disappears quickly and dries in an hour or so. It’s fairly waterproof and when it dries it’s not very flammable, at least no more flammable than your hat was to begin with. Clean your hat well before you use the spray.
    4 points
  16. Wolff spring kit and go! You really need to check out a few of the other clubs. Briggsdale, Wildcat Ridge, Pawnee...these are the experienced clubs and they shoot year round. Phantom
    4 points
  17. Our intrepid cannoneer is about to get a broken leg. Or is set up for it if the gun was fired.
    4 points
  18. DINK. Double income no kids. DINKWAD. Double income no kids with a dog.
    4 points
  19. Dealer cost is just a bit over $800. So now y'all can know how much of a premium others are asking. This rifle should sell for around $900. Phantom
    4 points
  20. Practice with your spurs! Ladies don’t have to wear spurs in BW but I thought they were cool so I got some. I think I shot one stage in them then almost fell flat on my face just standing - they got tangled. I humiliate myself enough without help from spurs! Hugs! Scarlett
    4 points
  21. 4 points
  22. To my untrained eye it looks like someone did some spot rust removal and then touched it up with cold blue chemicals.
    4 points
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