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Hey Dawg, I am all set up to do all the casting and lubing for most of the commonly used big lube projectiles (44-40, 38-40 DD, 32-20, 38 Slim, 38 Snakebite, 45 PRS, and others to be added as demand requires). I'm currently working on jumping through all the ridiculous legal hoops necessary to sell lead bullets, and hope to be able to offer Big Lube bullets for sale. Lube will be SPG as I work through my existing supply, but I have Springfield Slim's lube recipe, and will be transitioning to that quickly. Keep your eyes peeled for Dark Side Lead Co.

Capt. Baylor recently mentioned using a baking sheet under your shot shell loader to catch shot and/or powder when you miss a lick. I have set up my loaders the same way except I went a step further. At the lower right corner, I drilled a hole thru the cookie sheet and the top of the workbench. On the bottom side of the bench top I attached a jelly jar lid with a hole in it corresponding to the hole in the bench and screwed on the jar. When I have a spill, I just use a small paintbrush to sweep everything down thru the hole into the jar. You can use a metal mesh strainer to separate the powder and shot. If you always use the same powder and shot, you can reclaim them to use again. Lucky

Just released photo of 2 US Hunter Killer baloons on the way to intercept the Chinese Comiekaze.

The 87 is for people who hate themselves and believe they should be punished

I saw in the latest eMail blast from SASS that they have announced the 2023 Hall Of Fame Inductees. Congratulations to them all and a HUGE THANK YOU for all that they have done, and continue to do, for SASS and our Sport! 2023 Hall of Fame Inductees Santa Fe River Stan, SASS #36999 Captain George Baylor, SASS #24287 Misty Moonshine, SASS #83232 Dillon Precision Products It goes without saying that Misty Moonshine, SASS #83232, deserves to be in the Hall of Fame for all of her efforts keeping this ship afloat and moving forward. It's been a rough ride at times, but I see smoother sailing ahead. I personally witnessed her in action at a few of the conventions (back when those were a thing , I still miss them by the way...) and I can say that we are lucky to have her at the helm. Congratulations Misty Moonshine! As to Captain George Baylor, SASS #24287, well what can you say that he hasn't already said, done, and written about. I have been reading his articles in the Chronicle since I got started back in 2002 (damn, I still miss that old monthly news paper Chronicle!) and I even took a few classes from him at some of the Conventions. I have always enjoyed reading his writings, especially some of his travel adventures, and I learned a few things from him over the years. Congratulations Captain George Baylor! Dillon Precision Products, if you don't have one (or more) on your loading bench, I have no doubt there is at least one on your Christmas list. I would bet that more Cowboy Ammo has been loaded on their presses than probably all of the others combined! They have supported our Cowboy Action Shooting for as long as I can remember and I have never had a bad interaction with them. Great Products, Great Service, and Great People! Congratulations Dillon Precision Products! And last, but definitely not least, Santa Fe River Stan, SASS #36999. A finer Cowboy you will never meet, whether it be as a Match Director, Range Officer, Timer Operator, Rules Guru, or as he likes to say these days "I'm Just A Shooter". His dedication and commitment to the Cowboy Way and SASS, his efforts to expand Cowboy Action Shooting in Florida and the South East, and now in his position as one of the SASS Advisory Board members, his efforts have without a doubt earned him his slot in the Hall of Fame. Congratulation Santa Fe River Stan! (Wish it had been in 2022 so I could have witnessed the induction at the Awards Ceremony at Land Run!) Congratulations to All The Inductees! Well Earned and Well Deserved! Dogmeat Dad and Holli Docaday

Stolen from the internet “I was the flight attendant on a memorial day flight. Speaking with the passenger in the front row, I learned that the dog pictured, was Corporal Kiddy. She had just earned her retirement after 12 years with the U.S Marine. I made an announcement to congratulate her on her career. The cabin erupted into applause, upon hearing the sound the Corporal jumped on to the nearest lap to graciously accept.” ❤️ ❤️ ❤️ ❤️

It seems people, mostly your urban types, are putting in chicken coops in the hope that they will be able to have cheap eggs. Of course unless you’re selling eggs you won’t be saving a dime, due to the cost of keeping chickens. Now the local chicken rescue sanctuary (who knew there was such a thing?) is worried that they’ll be inundated with rescue chickens when people realize they aren’t saving money and can’t handle the maintenance. And I thought, “Turn your chickens over the the chicken sanctuary? Don’t you have a recipe book?”.

Last night while digging through a box of stuff that has been in storage for many moons I came across my old Swiss straight razor. This morning I went through all the steps to hone and strop it to get an edge that will split a gnat's hair. I still use Col Ichabod Conk's shaving soap so I lathered up and gave it a try. I'm going back to my 5 blade Gillette cartridge razor and hoping my right ear heals back before too long. (Damn shaky old hands.)

Nicely done. https://youtu.be/CktnubifzAI

Just got home from a place a half mile from my house where I had a breakfast burrito nearly as big as a football. (most of it is in my fridge for later...a couple of times over.) with a total bill, including tip, of $23.00. The menu is fairly large and the food is very close to excellent. This place has tables for about fifty people and enough stools to seat about a dozen more at a counter. There are maybe twenty five people, maybe more, working there throughout the day (open for 6:00am to 2:00pm every day). They are a smiling, efficient group in an area where "no one can find a job" and most businesses are advertising for help that they can't get. This place has a really low turnover rate. Most are women from twenty-five to fifty five and a few young men in their twenties and early thirties. All are smiling, happy, friendly, and very efficient. Parking is an issue because if you aren' there between 9:20 an 11:00 you are going to wait up to thirty minutes or more and you'll walk up to a half a block from where ever you find to park and they don't have a waiting room. It gets mighty cold outside this time of year, but it's worth it! I know several of the people who work there and I have found the secret: The owner is a lady who was a California surf bum who fell in love with the area and fell right in. She worked for relatives in a similar setting maybe five miles away (every bit as good in every respect) and started her own place a couple of years ago. She hires and trains every employee herself, demands a lot from them, treasures her patrons, and pays a decent wage. The whole place is aimed at making your meal top notch with large portions, really good food, and fairly low prices. Everyone there can do any job in the place, like today the cashier was out and about six or seven people were operating the register. One of the ladies told me that she takes home and average of $100.00 or more a day in wages and another $100.00 or more a day in tips. She also told me that everyone gets their birthday off a lot of other perks (like free or discounted meals depending on how many hours you work each day.) They have a fair medical plan (no dental). Caution: don't eat the cinnamon rolls or you'll 1. gain a ton and 2. become instantly addicted.

Early last month I asked for a suggestion or two on a mobile smoker Sassparilla Kid wanted to build. Well... it has the smoker, a 3' x 8' "Santa Fe" style grill, and a three-burner propane stove. Still to be installed will be a water tank, wash station, storage, and a few other odds 'n' ends. And paint ~ plan is for a high-heat, satin black "barbecue enamel." Even though it's not quite finished, tomorrow it'll get moved to our late pard Hank's family's ranch and this weekend will see its first use - cooking a pig on the Santa Fe side for his son's daughter's First Birthday Bash. A fair amount of "re-purposing" was accomplished. Although he fabricated the grill and the trailer from new material, the smoker was once a butane tank, the handles are sprint car torsion bars, the smokestack was two 3' lengths of scrap 6" pipe, and the wheels and tires used to be under his 4wd Toyota pickup. The crank wheel for the windlass on the grill is the old steering wheel from our 1964 Massey Ferguson 135 - it'll probably get a "suicide knob." Various other parts and pieces were re-formed from miscellaneous scrap. And thanks to everyone who offered up advice and comments! Started with a derelict 300+ gallon butane tank Hatches cut and first meat racks installed 5' X 10' sheet of steel becoming the Santa Maria style grill Fabricating the trailer (with electric brakes) Firebox (formed from a flat sheet) installed Firebox door Cutout for smokestack, and smokestack "hot glued" in place Coming together Ready for launching and final fitting. Note adjustable 2" stainless "pig spit;" rotisserie motor at back. Yum!

Most of us are too busy enjoying the actions of Tuco, Angel Eyes, and Blondie to really listen to the serious piece of music that Ennio Morricone wrote for Sergio Leone's classic film. Listen, watch & enjoy now the Danish National Symphony Orchestra performing this theme.

As well as it being Candlemas, it's also

I have lobbied for exactly this for 20 years. Specifically when a club I was a member of had a TG that claimed in public to have voted the clubs wishes; but in private bragged about his superior knowledge and voting as he wished - because he had a better understanding of the rules than club members. When the TG is our only interaction to rule making - it is frustrating to endure secrecy and hidden agendas.

Jobs College presents many challenges for young adults. The academic hurdles, of course. And the social battleground was something the high school band, athletics, 4H, and sock hops barely prepared one for. No, college life came with an entirely new set of objectives and life requirements. And some of those required something even more nebulous – responsibility! Why, we suddenly were responsible for, well, for ourselves! Although there were a few exceptions, most of us were responsible for feeding and clothing ourselves. Doing our own laundry. Grocery shopping. Buying our own clothes – although one fella, Bill, took this to a level foreign to the rest of us… it seems he had access to his dad’s account at Brooks Brothers. But even Bill had to work. Sorta. Bill was one of several guys in the frat who majored in Recreation, of all things. And a few of these fellas found employment in that field as playground directors, baseball umpires, brewery hospitality room staff, pizza waiters… and even security guards for some of the non-recreation guys. Hank did that for a while – security guard. Stationed in the giant pumpkin office at Fairyland, in Oakland. After hours. For a short period. That job lost its glamour the night he settled in with a bottle of Old Crow, and started playing Johnny Cash at full volume on the office phonograph machine. Without realizing that it was piped throughout Fairyland on the loudspeaker system and had Johnny serenading the entire neighborhood. At about 0130 in the morning. Hank and Half-Breed Pete both cooked chicken for the Colonel for a while. Evidently, they didn’t care for it, and both moved on after a few weeks. But I do recall them both telling me how if a few choice hunks of gospel bird hit the floor, they’d just get left there and kicked about until near the end of the shift. Then, they’d get picked up and tossed into the fryer, and added to the last buckets of the evening. O Yum! Hank later found gainful, full-time employment with Uncle Sam, marching and doing KP at Fort Polk, Louisiana. That lasted until they decided his knees were too shot from football injuries to march, much less slog through rice paddies. So they sent him home. Upon his return, he quickly found employment in a local abattoir and made more money than anyone else in the frat. Not an enviable gig! Now, Half-Breed Pete was another story. I won’t say that he wasn’t ambitious, but he did seem to consider his being Kappa Phi Delta “House Mother” as sort of full-time employment. His compensation was free room and board; “care packages” from home and occasional part-time, temporary jobs provided him with what spending money he had. Enough for essentials and a date every once in a while – a career philosophy he followed throughout his life. And then there was me. My first college job was on-campus, working for the college’s Audio-Visual Center. Yup… I was a projectionist. The kid who showed up and presented films for classes, back in the day when we literally had 16-millimeter sound projectors. This was a one-semester contract assignment, after which I could re-up or move on. Although it was interesting, and I got to see a lot of films I would have most likely never seen otherwise, I did have a sense of adventure that demanded something more. Ah well, I was young. And though the world may not have been my oyster, it was at least an adventure; I figured I’d muddle through. After all, I’d worked through high school – weekends working for an electric company (until a union rep ran me off); sanding and painting on a wealthy electrician’s yacht; summer job working for the Navy at their supply depots, and even the Post Office. I even worked for the Post Office during the Christmas break my first semester at State. I parked cars, shoveled stalls at the Cow Palace, washed dishes, passed out handbills…. But one of the most memorable short-term jobs I endured was Candlestick Park. Oh, Candlestick was a wonderful and fun place to visit, even though it tended to be a mite chilly. Actually, at times downright cold. The only baseball park I'd ever been where one would wear a parka and drink hot cocoa or coffee at night games. Still fun for spectators, but an absolutely AWFUL place to work. At least for the clean-up crew working after Giant’s games. Well, I’d gotten word that Allied Maintenance had the contract for cleaning the stadium and was hiring broom-pushers. Pay was at the handsome sum of seven bucks an hour and all the dropped change you could find, so I wasted no time in signing up for this plum and lucrative pursuit. Ah, but then, this is California. And just like back in 1849, the lure of gold turned out to be highly tarnished. First, unless we bought a ticket, they would not let us in until the bottom of the ninth inning – or the end of the game, whichever came first. After all, they certainly could NOT have these guys watching any baseball for free, no siree Bob! While the crowd was clearing out, we’d report in; when they were gone, we were released to start work – but only after a mad rush to the dugouts to swipe the team manager's lineup cards. Then we would set to. Each man was issued a barrel, a scoop, and a push broom. We'd select a section, start at the top and sweep each row to an aisle, sweep the aisle down, then scoop up the trash into the barrel... haul the barrel to the dump station. Mind you, this was back when the stadium was still open on one end, and it was WINDY! Often the wind would change directions, whip around and blow the trash back and we'd have to start over. And to keep it interesting, they'd turn the lights off; we'd literally work all night in the dark. If we were lucky, it would be a rare clear night with a full moon. That didn’t happen often, so we’d eat a lot of carrots and rely on the dim security lighting. Some of us would clip an Army surplus, right-angle flashlight to our belt. So there were two classes of workers - college kids and winos. You had to work a minimum of three hours to get paid (in cash!). The winos would work their three hours, collect their $$, and head to the liquor store. That left us kids with most of the work, so we did get in a bunch of hours. Often, we’d start before the sun set and finish up well after sunrise. But hey – you could make as much as eighty bucks! Of course, we would have to wait a few hours for the liquor stores to open. The job did get better when I met the fella in charge of cleaning the press boxes. During a chance encounter at a water fountain, we struck up a conversation. I don’t recall his name, but I discovered he was a cousin of Joe Tavaglione, one of my frat bros. He promptly drafted me to be his "assistant," which meant cushy duty! We'd clean the press boxes quickly, then avail ourselves of the sports reporters leftover beer and food - fried chicken, pizza, hot dogs, ice cream, and other savory treats. From that point on 'twas a fine time indeed! Sadly, baseball season always does come to an end. And for some reason, I decided to not stay on for football. The Forty-Niners would have to find another chump to clean up after their games – I was done. Candlestick was cold and miserable enough during the summer, and I had no intention of freezing my joints (and other tender parts) all winter. “Hey, Rocko!” said Fast Eddie. “I’m quitting my job in the mailroom at Western States BankCard! There’s gonna be an opening, if ya want it – I’ll put in a good word for ya!” So, I hie’d myself on down to the sprawling building near the wharf and signed on. Starting pay was a staggering four hundred and twenty dollars a month – and we got to work indoors, with heat and lights! Life was GOOD! That was a fun job; most of the crew were guys around my age, and we had excellent work habits. When we eventually moved to a new building, the ceiling tiles literally sagged in areas under the weight of all the collected beer bottles tossed up there after propping one open with a broomstick. Lunchtimes usually included a beer or two, or when we were feeling more sophisticated, a sub sandwich washed down with a screwdriver or even martinis, usually consumed while seated on the steps of the sewage processing plant around the corner. Then came the day when two “over martini’d” fellas decided to get into a fight over a piece of pipe. This pipe was used to squash down computer paper in the decollating machine. Anyway, these two were about to start hammering each other and the boss, an elderly gentleman of around fifty or so, was freaking out. Somehow, I had a flash of divine inspiration, and asked the two guys to “just hang on ‘til I get back!” With that, I rushed out to my car and fetched a hacksaw that I just happened to have in the trunk toolbox. I then amazed the two wannabe pugilists by using said hacksaw to turn that length of pipe into two. They were both happy, instantly resumed being best buddies, and the boss was so impressed with my not-quite Solomon wisdom that in short order he promoted me to “lead mail clerk.” Wow! The promotion even came with a raise, which I quickly declined. Seems it literally put me into a higher tax bracket and resulted in lower net pay. But that was okay – the boss pulled some strings, had the job re-classified, and I eventually realized an extra five bucks a week. Sadly, though, it ended the lunchtime martinis. Closest I could get after that was making large batches of rum- and bourbon-balls to bring in at Christmastime. But I was on my way! Sorta. I would have never dreamed that this would lead to a banking career, and that over twenty years later I would step down from a position as a department head and project manager with a vice-president grade with a major international bank. And sometimes I reflect on those carefree days pushing a broom at the no-longer existing Candlestick Park. That was a heck of a lot more fun than banking! I came, I saw, I lived

Stolen from the web…. On this day 1st February 1945 British fighter ace Robert Roland Stanford Tuck, shot down and captured on 28 Jan 1942, escaped from his prisoner of war camp, subsequently making his way through the Russian lines to the British Embassy in Moscow and then home. On January 28th, 1942, while on a low-level mission over northern France, his Spitfire was hit by enemy flak near Boulogne and he was forced to crash land. He was captured by German troops and spent the next three years in several POW (prisoner of war) camps until he made a successful escape on February 1st 1945. After spending some time fighting alongside the advancing Russian troops as an infantry officer he found his way to the British Embassy in Moscow. He eventually boarded a ship from Russia to Southampton, England Robert Stanford Tuck died on May 5th 1987 at the age of 70

As a TG I take the responsibility seriously. I gave my opinion, polled club members, and voted their preference. (Which was no to both) I do think TGs can & do influence the vote by the way they present it, but I think 99% (if not 100%!) would vote Their clubs preference.

I may not be “allowed” to shoot down the perv’s drone, but that doesn’t mean I won’t!!

No mention by the OP what 87 he's starting with. I don't recommend Chiappa's, they're built on the 10 gauge frame and are very bulky and heavy compared to an IAC or original. IAC's are the best bet for a gun that will should need minimal to no repairs, originals will need the chambers lengthened and have a host of other relatively common, but fixable, things that might be wrong. I'll mention the PW87 long enough to say, don't bother, they were the IAC rejects that someone decided to "repair" and sell, they reflect the less than $300 price tag for which they sold at the time. The Mod's. The Drop 2 was engineered by myself and Texas John Critter back in the 90's. It requires specific ammunition no longer commonly available and such, no one is doing it. Coyote Cap pioneered the Load 2 about the same time and Lassiters version (2 Shot maybe? The names only matter when talking about this stuff) I'm unsure of when it came about, but I believe he was messing with them around the same time, possibly a little later. I mention all this, because it matters. They all achieve a similar result, but in vastly different ways. The vast majority of IAC's with the what folks refer to as "coyote caps", are basically a little touchy for consistent, hard work, it WILL allow you to also load and use the mag tube, the same as the Drop 2 did. The "CAP special's"(carrier pictured above) had a different system and did not allow the use of the mag tube(or at least all I've handled wouldn't). Not a big deal for how we use them, but details matter. Lassiters version uses a different system, that also doesn't allow use of the mag tube, but is a much more consistent mod(of those still available) for the way we use the guns. For what he charges, I don't see it making sense to try it yourself and possibly muck up parts that are unavailable easily. There's welding and milling involved, on more than the carrier, he does work to the bolt and the chamber mouth that I know of. The IAC's can need other little things to run right and he may do some or all of those things as well. I suggest you talk to him. As I am no expert on his mod, still running my original version, I don't feel qualified to try to explain all he does.

I just got this original 1887. Made in 1895. It has been reworked at some point in its life. It is almost too pretty to shoot...I haven't figured out if I am going to modify it or just stare at it....

The entire back cover of the Guns magazine Old West 2023 annual is an ad for SASS. That couldn't have been cheap.

First Division Officer Hobbs was called to check the welfare of a 92 year old woman. Neighbors hadn't seen her for days & her dogs were outside. Officers introduced themselves, she told them she just got out of the hospital and was embarrassed she hadn't cut her grass. Officer Hobbs immediately went to work! She insisted on paying, however officers agreed to return for coffee and conversation as she admitted she gets lonely.

Cool engine noises, I'm far more a fan of the P47's R2800. And a reminder of just how big the P-47 really was.

* 2023 Shooter's Handbook clarifications: Rifle/Revolver ammunition may not be carried in a shotgun/shotshell loop. SHB p.4 (Ammunition Belts and Loops) - Leaving empty or live round(s) in a magazine, action, or carrier of the long gun in which it was loaded. - Leaving an empty in the chamber of a long gun. SHB p.22 (Minor Safety Violation (MSV) infractions) - The length or style of stock may be altered or replaced (e.g., a carbine style stock may be interchanged for a rifle stock and vice-versa). - Long gun stocks with a “pistol grip” configuration (e.g., “Mares Leg” rifle or “Terminator” shotgun) are not allowed. SHB p.34 (Stocks and Grips) Must be in a cartridge commonly available in revolvers. Examples include, but are not limited to, .32-20, .32 Magnum, .357 Magnum, .38 Special, .44 Magnum, .44-40, and .45 Colt. (Includes some semi-auto pistol cartridges, e.g., 9mm, 10mm, and .45 ACP). SHB p.37 (REVOLVER CALIBERS) - Uberti 1873 percussion revolver (not legal in Frontiersman Category or Plainsman side matches) SHB p.39 (OTHER APPROVED FIREARMS) Progressive Penalty – Procedural for the first infraction, Stage Disqualification for the second infraction, Match Disqualification for the third infraction. Example: failure to adhere to category requirements. Multiple infractions on the same stage are not cumulative. SHB p.44 (GLOSSARY OF TERMS)

2 years ago before I got into SASS, I had 1 (one) revolver that almost never left the safe.... then I got a couple for SASS, then I had to get a backup pair, then.... I don't know what happened...somehow I own 10?!

Yeah well ours are armed with long range balloon to balloon missiles with Kung Pau seeking warheads.

Chicken cops? I thought those were the guys that stood around outside the school, waiting for backup and orders, while the students inside were being shot.

So the green Comet, which is now in our night sky and hasn’t been seen since Forty Rod was a young fella, has had me anticipating getting the new telescope in operation and also cruising various astronomical resources. During this extensive research I found that I was born in the Year of the Rat, the moon is hollow, and that eclipses don’t really exist. Note: (Not all of my resources were perhaps fully vetted) This led to a small brain seed which grew into an Alpoesque query. Thus: Definitions 1. Comet - Basically dust and Ice. Cruises around the sun 2. Asteroid - Bigass hunka rock. Smaller than a planet but larger than the Kansas City offensive line. And if one should smack into us, could end LAWKI faster than melting Tesla batteries 3. Meteoroid - Also a flying space rock. Stays out there. 4 Meteor - A meteoroid the enters the atmosphere and flames on, aka shooting star 5. Meteorite - A meteor that makes it through the atmosphere, Greenhouse gasses, cow methane, and possibly the thin skin of the International Space Station, and impacts Mother Earth (the planet, not the magazine). The question, broken down into layman’s terms as best I could, is this: Part the first. If an asteroid enters the earth’s atmosphere and smacks into terra firma, is it then, A. an asterite?, and B. Would it really matter what we call it anyway if it destroys the earth? Part the second. If a meteoroid enters our Nitrogen based blue sky, doesn’t get burnt up on the way down but gets reduced to, lets say, the size of a 45 acp round and smacks into some unlucky Homo Sapiens or even politician standing in his yard, does it then be come a meteorite. If it is stuck in the cranium, thorax, or nether regions of the aforementioned biped, and hasn’t technically hit the earth…..is it technically a meteorite?? Do we need a new term? As an unrelated aside, while I was writing this I glanced up and saw a video on the news of a meteorite crashing through a house! I turned up the volume and found it was only a boulder though. So I turned off the news and put on a Thin Man movie. All answers to the above query will be considered, analized analyzed, researched, cross checked, and either discarded or filed in what’s left of my brain. Thank you all for your attention and consideration. I remain, Your Devoted and Curious Correspondent Utah Robert, esq Astrospeculationist, Retired

I bet she's a lot of fun at parties.

There is always a chance of resentment from some of those who get beat and it doesn’t matter who beats them. They’ll get over it or they won’t last long in our sport. Shoot what you like and enjoy! Randy

No no no ..... that's part of the dining experience.....it's to show that it was grass fed