Sunday Mornin' Coming Down

We awoke this morning to more rain, which continues to come down in a steady drizzle. That's a sound with which we're all too familiar, these days.

Yesterday was sunny for the most part, against all odds and in stark contrast to the weather forecast which called for another all-day 'rain event'.

Yesterday may also have been the last day of fall's fading glory. The colors are going fast, along with the leaves. Friday seemed to be the peak of the color, here, but it rained all day. Any peek of sunshine made the leaves glow but didn't last long enough to capture pictures, which came out dull and drab.

If the rain lets up at all, Older Daughter and I are headed to the range this morning. The centerfire rifle line is covered (and heated, for that matter, not that we'll need it today) but the rimfire line is not. She only has a .22, at present, but today we'll discuss things such as at what distance she wishes to shoot, whether for hunting or just target practice, etc. As I recall, at least one of the ammo manufacturers (Remington, I think it was) lets you compare two different calibers side-by-side by using ballistics tables.

That's on the agenda for this morning, so we'll see what the results are.

All y'all have a great day, and thanks for stopping by.

Old-and-Busted vs. New Hotness

Y'all will remember I recently wrote about the Bushnell scope on my Weatherby rifle where the reticle disintegrated.

It got even worse, later that day, and the next time I got the rifle out, the reticle lens had come completely loose & was rolling back & forth in the body of the scope.

Here's the reticle lens, up against the ocular lens. Double-plus ungood.

This morning, I mounted the new Nikon Prostaff scope, so now all that's left is to head to the range. It's raining steadily at present, so I'm hoping to head out early tomorrow, when perhaps the Wet Bunny Range won't be quite so wet.

(Oleg Volk has nothing to worry about...)

I realize I may have to adjust the fore-and-aft placement once I get to the range, but at least it's a start.

My First Rifle (for .22 Week)

In 1950 my parents married, and my dad purchased a Stevens .22 rifle. It was a single-shot, bolt-action piece with a rear sight adjustable for elevation, but not windage. Those rifles sold for around $13.00 at the time, if my research is accurate. Unfortunately, he's gone now, so I can't ask him. (I really wish I could. Dang it - got some dust in my eyes.)

The bolt had a knob on the back which had to be pulled back to cock the firing pin. Then and only then could you pull the trigger & fire the rifle. Then you opened the bolt again, which ejected the empty casing. And as Duke mentions in comments (below), if you failed to pull the knob all the way back, it would slam forward and fire the round.

When I turned six in 1961, we went out to the lot behind my grandpa's barn, and he set soup cans on three wooden fence posts. We talked about safe handling, which involved his version of what we know now as The Four Rules*. Handing me the rifle, he said, "If you can knock any of those off, you can keep shooting." I got the third one, and was able to exhale again. With a grin that likely stretched ear-to-ear, I accepted another small handful of cartridges, and walked over to set the cans back up.

He and I would drive to land owned by his friends, and take turns shooting at targets we'd set up, or something we'd find when we got there. One instance that comes to mind was the summer before I graduated from high school. There was a brown leaf on an otherwise green tree, across a shallow valley; we took turns shooting at the base of the leaf until one of us was able to clip it from the branch. I don't remember which of us finally hit that twig; I only remember how much fun we had.

About ten years ago, my oldest daughter had the chance to shoot the rifle, and she liked it as much as I did. Her grin was just as big as mine, too. That old rifle's gone now (a whole 'nother story, there) but the memories remain.

It says "Springfield", but I swear the old Stevens (made by Savage) looked just the same.

* The Four Rules:

1. All guns are always loaded.
2. Never let the muzzle cover anything you are not willing to destroy.
3. Keep your finger off the trigger until your sights are on the target.
4. Be sure of your target and what is beyond it.

Back from the Range ... Bleah

It's my own darned fault. I hadn't uncased the rifle in ... okay, I can't remember the last time I was there. I think it was several months ago... but whatever the length of time, it showed.

I've struggled to find a comfortable position for shooting the scoped rifle at Wet Bunny, as the benches seem very low to me. In a fit of semi-desperation, I bought a folding bipod. Of course that threw the scope way off from its previous settings.

My first three shots were about 3" high, and an inch to the right of center. No problem, I thought, and dutifully adjusted the scope accordingly. Nope. Now too low, and placed shots an inch off center again, at both 3 and 9 o'clock.

The elevation is now correct, about 1.25" high at 100 yards (meaning spot on at 200 yards). I need to go back and work on keeping the thing centered so it doesn't wander from left to right.

Like I said, my fault: lack of practice, and probably one too many cups of coffee this morning. But mostly lack of practice.

One other note: it's caribou season, and the range was WAY busy. I was about #6 in line, and not only did the rifle range have someone at every position, but there were another dozen folks waiting for a turn (I don't recall seeing shooters standing in line before). So when I realized I wasn't going to do any better, I took my stuff and my leave.

A Tale of Two Rifles

Guffaw in Arizona posted this morning about his long affinity for an old revolver (Go. Read.), and that reminds me of a story. You just knew it would, didn't you?

When my parents married in 1950, Dad purchased a brand-spankin' Savage .22: a single-shot, bolt action rifle with iron sights. He handed it to me on my sixth birthday in 1961. My first lesson included a version of The Four Rules, and ended with me shooting old tin cans off of fence posts. The grin which formed that day hasn't really ever left, with one exception.

In 1974, the skipper of our destroyer decided that we all should qualify on various firearms. The first one they handed me was an M-14, far more powerful than anything else I'd shot up 'til then, and instructed me to shoot at the large coffee tin* floating off the starboard side. The shiny silver container would be easy to hit, if it were stationary. There was no hearing protection offered, at all.

The waves were in the two-foot range, that day, and I don't think I hit the tin at all. A large part of that was the hammer blows to my ears from the report of the M-14. I had no qualms about pulling the trigger, iron sights were no mystery, and I'd shot squirrels, so moving targets weren't an issue either.

But when I fired the first shot, I found out what real muzzle blast was all about. I fired five shots, and it was four hours before the ringing in my ears subsided. I later described it as being somewhat like being slapped in the head with a brick.

Later on, we fired 1911s, M-16s, and an M-60 used as an anti-aircraft weapon. But on those days, I had my ears stuffed with as much cotton as I could wad up & shove in there. It helped ... a little ... and I've been religious about using hearing protection ever since.

20 years ago, my dad gave me that old Savage .22, and I put it in the gun locker and promised it to my older daughter, when she was ready. Some years later, when things were not going as well, it was part of a wholesale sell-off of weaponry ... a long, sad story which I'll not relate. But I still owe her a rifle.

However, she's learned some things, too. When I most recently spoke with her about that, she said, "Never mind a .22, Dad. Can we get something with a little more oomph?" And so we will.

That's my girl.


* Navy coffee tins, in those days, were 12 to 14 inches square, and 18 inches tall, with polished sides.

Sunday's Range Report

Dang, the wind was cold out there.

Jenny and I met at the Wet Bunny range this morning. It was 13 degrees according to the thermometer outside the range office door; winds were 10 mph, with gusts going much higher. Wind chill was 4 above to an estimated -10.

I took along the rifle rest & spotting scope I received from my wife and daughters for Christmas, and a different type of stick-on spot from the ones I'd been using. Since I was out of the "shoot & see" black spot which leave yellow craters, I opted for bright orange spots of 3" diameter. The lack of markings on the spots made it much easier for my aging eyes to pick out my shots.

The 60x spotting scope made it child's play.

The rest is a lightweight plastic type, offering good support, but the lack of mass meant that it had to be repositioned after each shot. The soft plastic feet simply wouldn't grip the metal range tables at these temperatures. Next visit will require a different approach, including a sandbag or two.

My initial shots on this 100-yard range were high and to the left. I don't know whether the scope was bumped, the new rest required more of an adjustment to my hold, the optics were still adjusting to the air temps, or the fact that I hadn't taken the rifle out of its case in nearly six months. I suspect it was mostly the second and fourth factors. Especially the fourth one.


The wind was vicious on skin, and I had to keep stopping to warm to my hands. In fact, even now - 90 minutes after leaving the range - fingers are still tingling a bit.

As I grew accustomed to the rest, my shots moved closer to the center of the target, although remaining left of center. (There's that "bumped the scope" thing.)  My .270 has an internal five-round magazine, so it was easy - toward the end of the session - to see which group was which.

It pleases me greatly to report that the penultimate group was within a 1.75" spread (the five holes spread just above center), and the final group of five was less than an inch, with all five holes touching each other. That's the U-shaped group at 11:30 on the orange spot. Fantastic! Let's do it again, just to confirm it wasn't a complete fluke.

Whereupon I reached into the range bag and discovered I'd run out of ammo.

I know, I know: I should have put on a fresh target and kept going, but I also should have taken more than 40 rounds with me. Next time, I'll take more. If it's warm enough to feel my fingers, I'll dial the scope toward center, too.

Did I mention it was cold?

We had good time, meeting some new shooters, and some more experienced ones. Interestingly enough, all the arms were small-bore. In fact, my .270 was the largest caliber I saw there today. There was a .22, another .270, and a couple of EBRs in .223.

After the range, we stopped at Borders for hot coffee, and to catch up on conversation.

It was the best kind of day - shooting, good conversation, good friends.

Thursday Afternoon Ramble

This morning's temperature was 16 degrees, and there was some frost - but not too much. We're experiencing our annual round of various automotive door latches that release but won't latch when closed (car) ... or won't open at all (truck tailgate). The cans of WD-40 and lithium grease are getting a workout, and all things will calm down. Eventually. It looks like I may have to try removing the interior panel from the tailgate, to get access to the latch linkage & mechanism.

The fun just never ends. *grins*

The afternoon temp has rocketed ... rocketed, I say ... up to 36, although it will probably climb another couple of degrees by dinnertime.

We'll take the car to be re-shod with its winter tires tomorrow, but I will not be waiting for it, this time. We'll just pick it up again, after work ... as I should have done yesterday. Live and learn. It never took that long before, but I don't do "hostage", so I won't give them the chance to keep me there again.

A couple of readers have been e-mailing suggestions for the lady who had the close call with grizzlies, last weekend. I forwarded all the remarks to her ... just so you know. :)

It's a sunny afternoon, if cool, and I'm planning some recoil therapy on Saturday. Guess I'll get my rifle down & make sure it's ready for the exercise.  Y'all have a great afternoon/evening!

What to do, what to do? (updated)

It's Saturday morning. The temperature is 26, and the skies are mostly clear, with some haze & clouds drifting slowly up from the south. We'll probably get near 40 degrees again today, but the high of the day doesn't happen until around 8 p.m. It'll be in the mid-30s for most of the day.

So ... what to do? The day is before us; we have no projects or plans, and likewise no clue what to do with ourselves. Cabin fever has set in, in a BIG way, and we'll looking forward to hitting the trails again. Just as soon as the remaining foot of snow & ice is gone. (insert dramatic sigh)

We have gift cards for one of the fancier eateries in town, and that's a possibility. Beyond that, who knows? Something will turn up; it always does.

I'm miffed just a bit about the previous post (doggie peeves) ... it had really nice graphics; emphasis on had. I had copied & pasted from an e-mail, and everything looked great. Then I deleted the e-mail, and all the graphics disappeared. I was unaware that there was any sort of link between the message & the post. Live and learn.

I'll probably clean & oil my rifle today, among whatever else we do. Still haven't made it to the range, and have no excuses, other than general sloth. But I want to try out the new sandbag rest, and see if last season's difficulties with the flat-tipped 150-gr. rounds still don't want to load. The ballistic-tipped, pointy li'l 130-gr. rounds went in just fine, so we'll see.

Y'all have a good day. The sun is shining in my face now, and it's time to go enjoy it.

Update: It's clouding up fast, the winds are increasing, and the weather service says we have a 60% chance of a rain/snow mix. Okay, fine. I didn't want to go shooting anyway. Stupid weather.(grumble, mumble, mutter)

Update #2: AJD and Richard were kind enough to forward the e-mail again, so the previous post's pics are restored. Thank you, gentlemen.

Monday & Weekend Observations

It's hot. Okay, it's very warm.

For Anchorage, it's going to be hot today, tomorrow, and Wednesday all week. I don't expect any sympathy from folks in the Lower 48 - and deservedly so. Temps that leave us panting for breath would constitute a cooling trend in Missouri, where I used to live.

Just the same, temps around 80 degrees, with high humidity, are forecast for most of this week. That's quite hot, for us.

To put it in perspective, we usually have highs in the mid-60s, with very low humidity. That's near the upper limit of our tolerance for warmer weather, after seven months of winter with temps as low as minus-20s.

We don't have A/C, except in large commercial buildings. When you live in a place where 75 is considered a hot summer day, A/C is almost unneeded. So the evening hours, when the temp has hit its peak for the day, will result in a bunch of people laying around, tongues lolling, with as many fans blowing as possible. Or we could all throw ourselves into Cook Inlet and refuse to come out of the water until the temperature cools back to normal.

* * * * *

I did a little rifle shopping on Saturday, and found a Savage model 111 in .270 for $420. This includes a 3x-9x scope. Of course, there was no ammo to be had. The ammo shelves at Sportsman's Warehouse were 98 percent bare. I looked over the few boxes that I could find, and saw that they had only .454 Casull. Nice, but not helpful. There were one or two boxes of pistol ammo in strange calibers, but no rifle rounds to be seen.

Taking a deep breath, I asked the clerk if they had any ammo behind the counter, or in the back, to match any of the rifles available. What the heck; something is better than nothing. But no, sorry, they had none.

Wal-Mart had some .223, but it was gone. Both stores had birdshot shells in .22 LR, and some 12 ga. skeet shells.

I'm hoarding my last thousand rounds of .45ACP, which makes me reluctant to go back to the range. I have a problem with paying the $9 fee, only to fire 20 or 25 rounds & go home.

* * * * *

Otherwise, the weekend was strangely quiet. The neighbors had mostly gone camping, and we didn't hear the usual 'banana republic revolution' of fireworks that usually accompanies the holiday. There weren't more than three dozen reports, all Saturday night. Very unusual.

I also noted that the celebrations surrounding Independence Day were more subdued than in years past. It seems the majority of people are waking up to the state of affairs in this country, and it has sobered them. 'Bout time.

* * * * *

Several of my Lower 48 friends have asked for our take on Sarah Palin. Frankly, we're as curious as anyone else. I find her reasoning that the complaints having paralyzed the Governor's office to be quite credible. However, my wife & I also feel like she's abandoning us; it's a difficult thing to accept, because we believe in her ability to get things done. We are being a bit selfish, I admit. In a way, we don't want to share her. But ...

Even given her ability to come back from the political dead (she's done it a couple of times), it's hard to see how this can do anything except feed the Lower 48 perception that she's a political lightweight. Many hardcore conservatives, here, think it's a huge mistake.

A wise friend once told me "if you are following God, truly following, there will come a time in your life when you do His bidding - and EVERYONE will think you're out of your mind." (The Bible teaches that God's ways are not our ways, and His thoughts are above our thoughts.) If He's to be God, they'd have to be!

This may be such a time, for Sarah.

Governor Palin has made a career of overcoming steep odds and proving the unbelievers to be wrong. Don't count her out. She's not done yet!