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  2. Alaska is the only state I haven't been to, so I've got an Alaskan cruise booked for September. And right smack in the middle of it, my youngest daughter's first baby is due - my 6th grandchild.
  3. Nope, stage can be restarted if a round hasn't left the barrel. The embarrassment should be enough to teach the lesson.
  4. It was a great match. Every stage different but not too difficult. Entertainment at its best. We will be back. The first thing everyone involved with the match wanted to know was did you enjoy it. If there was something you did not like what was it? We met a lot of Cowboys not met before and saw an equal number of old friends. Did I mention we will be back! PS Many thanks to Fast Eddie and a GREAT crew. Kid Rich and Shirttail Bess
  5. One reason we shot 6 one day and 4 the next was that the weather forecast for the second day had an increased chance of rain. So they hoped to avoid being in the rain as long. We were blessed that it stayed dry, although a bit warm. Plus in the past, it has been a hassle for so many to finish 5 on the second day, get the scores done, prepare for the banquet, dress for the banquet and have fun. There are a few other factors as well, but I am not sure of them. And some do benefit from a lunch break, especially in hot or cold weather - in fact some cannot last without a break for over 5 stages, especially. So unfortunately it is a no win either way.
  6. It doesn't say in the OP, but apparently the rifle action was open (AND it was empty). Penalty should be that the shooter has to load all guns ON the clock... that'll learn em!
  7. I've got a pair of stainless NM Vaquero's but they are 3.75" not 4.62". I'm still on the fence with them but I've considered trying something new... They have Montado hammers, rosewood grips, Wolff spring kits already installed and have sequential serial numbers. Work great, just not quite sure they're my cup of tea. If I cant talk the son into them, they might be available. They've only been used in 3 matches and have a round count around 90 each.
  8. The all star episodes might just be him the way he’s going. It’s going to take someone special and a big mistake or two by him for him to lose, IMO, of course.
  9. Up for sale nice brown leather belt with conch Measures 46 1/2 inches long ,fits waits size 34-36 maybe a 38 $ 140.00 shipped. Measure from buckle to center hole 41 1/2”
  10. When I was young, we did make our own black powder in small batches. There is a standard formula that works fine. The ingredients were readily available then but became more restricted a couple years later, especially salt peter. But some of the problems are getting the right wood and making good fine powdered charcoal. Then getting all three ingredients to a good consistency - and then mixing them properly. It would take too much machinery for most of us and would not be economical. (I believe some makers use a method using liquid for all this and then drying it, but I may be wrong there.) And as mentioned, with a good powdered form, the products are not only flammable, but explosive. And are very easily ignited - not a burn but an explosion.
  11. Okay, obviously I’m new to the whole CAS party, but from what I can figger and cipher, stirring in the ‘shooter gets the benefit of the doubt’, etc., I kinda see it as this: - gun goes bang, piece of steel goes ping, short of the shooter fessin’ up you can’t really say he WASN’T shooting at that piece of steel, but just mistook which one to shoot at. That makes it a P. - gun goes bang, nothing goes ping — THAT’S a ‘clean miss’. But, I’m still learnin’ my way around the ranch here, so take whatever I say with a big grain of salt.
  12. Linn Keller 1-17-11 I have no idea what my black horse's antecedents were, but I blessed them: he must have been born to the high country for he labored steadily through the deepending snow, and we made our way to Shorty's livery. From the livery I waded through the drifts to the back door of the Jewel. Once I got there I looked for something to clear snow off the steps: finding none, I kicked the snow aside as best I could, figuring to borrow a broom from within to finish the job. A large black head popped up out of the snow with a welcoming whuff and I stopped. "Bear Killer," I said, "what in the world are you doin' here?" The Bear Killer made kind of a yow-wow-wow mutter and wallowed through the snow, shook himself and produced a wonderful cloud around us both: I laughed and rubbed his ears, least until he flinched and growled and I bent over to take a closer look. "Now holt still," I said, and he did, but with ill grace. "Daggone, now," I said, "you been in a fight, haven't you?" Bear Killer swung his head away and muttered. "Well, hell, come on in, it's cold out." I opened the door and motioned and Bear Killer hobby-horsed up the steps, acting kind of stiff. I knew Daisy kept a broom just inside her door. As a matter of fact she had it in hand and she was preparing to address the Bear Killer: rather sternly, I surmised, for her look was not welcoming: we were both dripping snow onto the spotless floor, and then Daisy parked the broom against the side wall and said "Hold still now," and gently took the Bear Killer's face between her hands. "Ye'll need that cleaned up," she said matter-of-factly. "And ye'll need a bite'a summat." Her hands went back along his ribs. "Ye've likely been carousin' an' picked on somebody yer own size." I raised an eyebrow and contemplated the Bear Killer's size. It would take a young bear to match his bulk, but I was not about to say as much: Daisy was fearful of neither man nor beast, and I doubt not she might address Lucifer himself with a cast iron frying pan, if the cloven hooved cur had the sand to show up sometime. "Come now," she said, standing, and the Bear Killer followed her, docile as a lamb. I shook my head, remembering the red-eyed, white-fanged warrior that launched himself for a fighting grizzly's throat. "Don't just stand there," Daisy threw back over her shoulder. "Clean up yer mess! Men!" She turned away and I could hear the splash of water as she continued grumbling. "Come in here an' get ma floor wet, an' he leads this puir animal astray! Lilely 'twas --" She leaned back and called after me. "And what's this about a floozie?"
  13. Very nice, completely stock Ruger stainless , fixed sight single six (short grip) 32 H&R mag. No box, no paperwork $750.00 shipped to your FFL
  14. Linn Keller 1-17-11 Firelands grew, as do all settlements, but it grew with a grateful lethargy: families came and went, people came, stayed a little, moved on; those that stayed enjoyed varying degrees of prosperity or poverty, most times dependent on their level of personal industry. One young couple had distinguished themselves with near-invisibility; they were polite, quiet, but unremarkable, so much so that when the young wife was out of sight for a couple of months, nobody much took note, until she reappeared with a babe in arms and a husband fairly strutting as he walked beside her. The lad grew as babes do grow, rapidly and in spurts, until the lad was walking, then running: there were times when he tripped over the grain in the wood floor, but most times he was steady enough on his feet that he made the rounds of their house with a little boy's enthusiastic alacrity. Little boys are curious creatures and prone to explore, so when the lad came in from the cold with his Mama, and in one unguarded moment -- well, a moment that lasted maybe ten heartbeats -- still bundled against the cold, he slipped out the un-secured door, and was gone in the swirling snow outside. He laughed at the cold brush of snowflakes on his face, charged down the boardwalk, his rapid pace hushed and muffled by snow old and new: the snow smoothed the contours, concealed the steps, and the wee lad discovered the world was no longer solid underfoot, and he tumbled into the alley between his house and the next. The snow was deep enough, and soft enough, that his landing was without injury nor even discomfort: his delighted laugh was carried away by the spinning wind, the same miniature cyclone that was drifting the alley rapidly shut. He got up and ran again, grinning, ran back alongside the house and behind the next and up through a yard and back down a little path, until he was thoroughly, gloriously, completely lost, and the wind filling in the furrowed path he'd slogged through the snowfall. The lad began to tire after a while, and was beginning to chill. The sound of a restless horse caught his young ears and he turned and plowed slowly through the more than belt-deep snowdrift, toward the sound. Somehow he knew horse meant hay and hay meant soft to lay down, and in his young world, laying down meant being warm, and all the above was starting to sound pretty good. He found the stable -- wonder of wonders, a board was sprung far enough to admit his small self! -- and he crawled into the still, dark interior. There was enough light to make out the massive, looming shadow that was the resident equine: the boy knew it to be a horse, but he found himself caught by something in his path and fell headlong into a soft pile of hay. Flailing arms and chubby fingers found a blanket as he fell: reflexively, he seized the blanket, trying to break his fall, and ended up covered in hay with a blanket over top. He pulled the blanket around him, burrowed into the hay and in a few moments was getting warm. Something plopped on top of the blanket and a furry, whiskered face bent close to his own: two faintly glowing eyes blinked at this newcomer, and the lad reached up, giggling, and stroked the barn cat's fluffed-out fur. The boy accepted the world as he found it, and he wondered not that the cat curled up with him: his hand stroked the cat's long fur, and he sighed and smiled as the cat washed the back of his hand with a rough tongue. He was laying down, and he was warm, and the cat's purr was relaxing, and he did what little boys do in such moments. He closed his eyes and was almost instantly asleep.
  15. I have a Pioneer Gunworks Super Short Stroke kit, and a Cowboys & Indians anodized Aluminum Carrier, 100.00 for the short stroke kit and 50.OO for the Carrier, shipping included. thanks for looking!
  16. On a scale of one to 10, where 1 was the safest and 10 the least safe. Reloading ammunition would be a 1.5 Making your own black powder would be a 1000. Yes 1000 The reason there are no laws on the books in Illinois is that it has not occurred to your state idiots (legislators) that anyone would attempt it. Ask you son if he wants to have his name associated with the law banning the home manufacturer of black powder when he levels the house and possibly the neighborhood. Given that Black Powder is considered an explosive I bet there is a state law banning the home manufacture of explosives.
  17. Linn Keller 1-14-11 "Pa, I don't reckon I'd ought." Kentucky-blue eyes regarded the youngest Daine, and the look was not approving. It was not often the younker spoke up ag'in his elders: in the past, when it happened, it generally resulted in a rather painful chastisement: this time, though, the lad thrust his jaw out and assumed the same stubborn expression of his elders. "You heard th' wolves las' night," he said sullenly. "You don't want 'em in the pigs an' neither do I." Blue eyes shifted, left, then right. "The boy's right." "He's goin' t' school." "Young eyes an' young ears,an' he kin out shoot you." "No he cain't!" the elder Daine flared. "Now by golly I'll bet you cash money he kin!" came the shouted reply. What had been an unofficial council of elders dissolved into a shoving, shouting clot of humanity: the youngest Daine slipped out of the throng, went over to his Pa's rifle, leaned ag'in the shed: bending over, he packed a snowball, packed it tight, then curled his lip and whistled. Grey-bearded and skinny, black-bearded and just as skinny, old and almost old, every man Jack ceased his contesting and drew back, looking to the source of the alarm. The youngest Daine launched the snowball as near to straight up as he could, with all the power of his young arm: fetching up his Pa's rifle, he took quick sight and slapped the trigger. The Daine clan prized their long, octagon barrel flint rifles, and maintained them in fine shape: this rifle had been made by a master of the art: its lock was fast, the main spring strong, the frizzen of a high carbon alloy that threw sparks fit to scare a man: with a sn'BAM! the rifle squirted a finger of white smoke into the mountain air and the snowball blew into powder. The entire male population of the Daine clan stood and considered what they'd just seen: snow-dust fell around them and on them, and they regarded the slender lad with his Pa's rifle, longer than he was, held two-handed like he might hold his firstborn child. Silence grew long as the echoes of the flint rifle's report diminished in the distance. Finally the eldest Daine spoke up. "Boy, you like them pigs?" "No, sir," came the instant reply. "I like pig meat." "Good 'nuff." The eldest Daine nodded. "You got a rifle t' fit ye?" "No, sir, but I'll make do." The boy's father conferred with the eldest Daine; their conversation was quiet, too quiet for the lad to make out, until finally the two turned and faced him squarely. "Ye'll use yer brother's rifle until yers is done." It took a long moment for the full significance to sink in. Once it did, the lad grinned broad and bright. He'd wanted his own rifle for quite some time. He had just earned his rifle. Even if he had sneaked a handful of shot into his Pa's rifle instead of the patched ball.
  18. I'm going to pile on with the "It's too dangerous to make your own black powder" crowd. Use it, load it, fine. No problem. Reloading is a breeze and as long as you pay attention to what you're doing you'll be fine. But you can do everything "right" while making black powder and still blow yourself up. Some years back a man and his son were making black powder to put in shotshells for blanks. The end result was their house was burned down and the man died. I don't recall the injuries to his teenage son. Really not worth the risk IMO. FWIW I shoot BP in cap and ball pistols as well as loaded into shotshells and cartridges for my rifle for SASS. Store bought. More consistent than home made and a lot safer. Tell your son, legal doesn't mean it's safe. Black Angus McPherson
  19. If you get one where the train is flying upside down I hear they are worth a fortune...
  20. Linn Keller 1-13-11 Burning red eyes regarded the clearing. The moon was cold, the stars bright: Bear Killer's breath steamed as he breathed, quietly, easily: he was high on the mountain, well away from home and hearth, far from civilization and the veneer of domestication. Wild blood burned hot and wild passion seared his belly. In the distance, silver muzzles pointed toward the cold, uncaring stars and sang an ancient song, a lament, a celebration, a challenge: one wild throat, then another, picked it up, and Bear Killer was the child of generations and eons of wild blood. He licked his chops, the taste of blood fresh and good on his tongue: his kill was not yet cooled, enough of it in his belly to satisfy him: he would return to it over the next day or two, until it was finished, unless something bigger and meaner came along to dispute his claim. Part of him hoped that would happen. Bear Killer's throat vibrated, his ribs quivered: his breath was quicker now, and his ears came up, then laid back, flat against his black-furred skull. He took a deep breath, planted his backside against the snow and thrust his own muzzle toward the black zenith. The steam of his breath carried his howl into the sky, joining that of the wolf pack.
  21. A friend of mine always carried a snubbie Ruger .38. He bragged on it every chance he got. I asked him how often he practiced with it and he said "Enough". We went to an indoor shooting range and he pulled it out to shoot it and it was locked up tighter than a drum. He couldn't pull the hammer back. He would never say what happened. I think he never maintained it. Until after that day, anyway.
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