CaptainKirk
54 Cal.
- Joined
- Feb 25, 2010
- Messages
- 2,248
- Reaction score
- 890
...and no, it wasn't one of those wildfires we keep reading about. No, the planets aligned and Cap'n made good on his previously idle threat to turn frizzen sparks into black powder smoke!
I packed up the Lyman Great Plains flinter I had bought off a member of this forum in...good grief!...2020!...and trundled it off to the black powder range, determined to put up or shut up. This time I brought a couple revolvers along for backup but as intended, never even pulled the case from my truck. It was all about 'Ol' Thumper' this time, and I didn't feel like spending the next three days cleaning BP guns anyway. All my rock-lock BP accoutrements were still in their bags since new including those big honkin' .530 round balls, and I spent Friday night unbagging everything and putting it in the gorgeous possibles bag Shotgun Dave had made me after I bought the rifle. I will say this much; I need to get way better organized for my next outing with Ol' Thumper, and I will. But, I digress...
Got to the range about mid-morning and set up. It was sure a relief being a member and only having to fork over 10 simoleons rather than the non-member $40.00 fee.
Having never fired a rock-lock of any size, type or form before (heretofore percussion only), I decided to start light with 70gr of Graf's 2F and a .530RB wearing a .010 pre-lubed pillow ticking hoodie. Down the old stove pipe with 70gr and the PRB, then one good snort of Null-B in the pan for good luck; tipped Thumper on his side and gave the stock a couple good thumps opposite the lock (to move the priming powder away from the touch hole), took aim at a steel gong down range about 50 yards, popped the set trigger and...
ka-BOOM!
Watching that gong a-swangin' in the breeze warmed the cockles of my heart, by golly!
Grinning like the proverbial Cheshire cat, I headed back to the loading bench just as my son pulled into the parking lot. While I swabbed the bore and built a second load, he dragged his kit over to the bench and unpacked his Pietta Sheriff 1851 brasser. I held out the freshly loaded Thumper and queried, "have a go?" He didn't need to answer and I didn't have to ask him twice. I told him just point at the yaller gong and let fly.
KWONG!!!!
Now there were two big steel-colored splotches in the lower left quadrant. Shooting bit low, and a bit left, was Ol' Thumper.
Now, I had previously stapled up four of my 'Targetz' rifle targets (www.targetz.com) but since I was getting some decent gong-y action I decided holes in paper at this moment in time sounded, well...boring.
So while he set up his loading stand and such for his Pietta, I continued to pummel the yellow steel plate. For shooting low and left, this thing was grouping quite nicely.
We traded off a dozen or better shots with it with nary a hitch other than the jaws needing tightening as the flint was moving around a bit, until the inevitable.
You know, that "thing". The one they say "If you never, you will. Eventually."
Don't ask how. I was really methodical in my loading process. In fact, I will still swear under oath in a court of law today that I never *cough, cough, ahem, er...*
Dryballed it.
Honest. I didn't. But I must have. Because after 3 consecutive 'klatches' (a klatch is the Most Heinous sound a flint makes as it strikes the frizzen with: a) no powder in the pan, or b) no powder in the barrel), I realized that Houston, we have a problem.
Now, I know I charged that barrel. But nothing was going on action-wise, so I decided to try to pull the dryball and justify myself when all the powder would come pouring out the muzzle after I pulled it. So I dug out the ball screw and within a minute had the ball puller screwed into the, ahem...dry ball.
There was only one problem. With only a few inches of ramrod poking out of the muzzle, there wasn't enough ramrod to get a good grip on. What I needed was a steel or brass ramrod with a T-handle or slide hammer on the end.
Wish in one hand and spit in the other, same results. Nothing.
So, with that failure staring me in the face, I had one option left. I unscrewed the ramrod from the ball, then opened the frizzen/pan cover and removed the vent liner. Now, I knew that vent liner would come out because when I first got the gun I had removed it and put anti-seize on the threads, being the clever fellow I was. It came right out. I gave the hole in the breech plug a couple squirts of Null B, threaded the vent liner back in, the primed the pan, crossed my fingers, and tripped the trigger.
Poof!
A rather sickly, anemic sound. But my son said "I saw flame come out the muzzle, Dad!"
Not wanting to call him a liar in public, I pulled the vent liner again and shone my mini StreamLight down the muzzle. "I see light!" he grinned.
I had him shine the light while I looked. By golly, I saw it too! The tiny Null B charge had done the trick.
Just about then the RO strolled over and said "Hot dogs are done on the grill if you are interested..." If? Boy howdy, take me to your leader!
After a hot dog and a bag of chips we resumed shooting if nothing had ever happened with nary a glitch the rest of the day, probably getting off another dozen or more shots before deciding to wrap things up. Besides, the bore was starting to get a bit coked up with fouling despite swabbing after every shot. No matter; mission accomplished! We had ridden the dragon and come out unscathed (other than my pride, a little) and left a freshly painted yellow gong looking like a high school kid with a primo case of acne. And that, my friends, is a Good Day At The Range!
NOTE: If you look closely on the bench, you will also see the Most Excellent 'Balls Bag' purchased from Two Feather here as well.
I packed up the Lyman Great Plains flinter I had bought off a member of this forum in...good grief!...2020!...and trundled it off to the black powder range, determined to put up or shut up. This time I brought a couple revolvers along for backup but as intended, never even pulled the case from my truck. It was all about 'Ol' Thumper' this time, and I didn't feel like spending the next three days cleaning BP guns anyway. All my rock-lock BP accoutrements were still in their bags since new including those big honkin' .530 round balls, and I spent Friday night unbagging everything and putting it in the gorgeous possibles bag Shotgun Dave had made me after I bought the rifle. I will say this much; I need to get way better organized for my next outing with Ol' Thumper, and I will. But, I digress...
Got to the range about mid-morning and set up. It was sure a relief being a member and only having to fork over 10 simoleons rather than the non-member $40.00 fee.
Having never fired a rock-lock of any size, type or form before (heretofore percussion only), I decided to start light with 70gr of Graf's 2F and a .530RB wearing a .010 pre-lubed pillow ticking hoodie. Down the old stove pipe with 70gr and the PRB, then one good snort of Null-B in the pan for good luck; tipped Thumper on his side and gave the stock a couple good thumps opposite the lock (to move the priming powder away from the touch hole), took aim at a steel gong down range about 50 yards, popped the set trigger and...
ka-BOOM!
Watching that gong a-swangin' in the breeze warmed the cockles of my heart, by golly!
Grinning like the proverbial Cheshire cat, I headed back to the loading bench just as my son pulled into the parking lot. While I swabbed the bore and built a second load, he dragged his kit over to the bench and unpacked his Pietta Sheriff 1851 brasser. I held out the freshly loaded Thumper and queried, "have a go?" He didn't need to answer and I didn't have to ask him twice. I told him just point at the yaller gong and let fly.
KWONG!!!!
Now there were two big steel-colored splotches in the lower left quadrant. Shooting bit low, and a bit left, was Ol' Thumper.
Now, I had previously stapled up four of my 'Targetz' rifle targets (www.targetz.com) but since I was getting some decent gong-y action I decided holes in paper at this moment in time sounded, well...boring.
So while he set up his loading stand and such for his Pietta, I continued to pummel the yellow steel plate. For shooting low and left, this thing was grouping quite nicely.
We traded off a dozen or better shots with it with nary a hitch other than the jaws needing tightening as the flint was moving around a bit, until the inevitable.
You know, that "thing". The one they say "If you never, you will. Eventually."
Don't ask how. I was really methodical in my loading process. In fact, I will still swear under oath in a court of law today that I never *cough, cough, ahem, er...*
Dryballed it.
Honest. I didn't. But I must have. Because after 3 consecutive 'klatches' (a klatch is the Most Heinous sound a flint makes as it strikes the frizzen with: a) no powder in the pan, or b) no powder in the barrel), I realized that Houston, we have a problem.
Now, I know I charged that barrel. But nothing was going on action-wise, so I decided to try to pull the dryball and justify myself when all the powder would come pouring out the muzzle after I pulled it. So I dug out the ball screw and within a minute had the ball puller screwed into the, ahem...dry ball.
There was only one problem. With only a few inches of ramrod poking out of the muzzle, there wasn't enough ramrod to get a good grip on. What I needed was a steel or brass ramrod with a T-handle or slide hammer on the end.
Wish in one hand and spit in the other, same results. Nothing.
So, with that failure staring me in the face, I had one option left. I unscrewed the ramrod from the ball, then opened the frizzen/pan cover and removed the vent liner. Now, I knew that vent liner would come out because when I first got the gun I had removed it and put anti-seize on the threads, being the clever fellow I was. It came right out. I gave the hole in the breech plug a couple squirts of Null B, threaded the vent liner back in, the primed the pan, crossed my fingers, and tripped the trigger.
Poof!
A rather sickly, anemic sound. But my son said "I saw flame come out the muzzle, Dad!"
Not wanting to call him a liar in public, I pulled the vent liner again and shone my mini StreamLight down the muzzle. "I see light!" he grinned.
I had him shine the light while I looked. By golly, I saw it too! The tiny Null B charge had done the trick.
Just about then the RO strolled over and said "Hot dogs are done on the grill if you are interested..." If? Boy howdy, take me to your leader!
After a hot dog and a bag of chips we resumed shooting if nothing had ever happened with nary a glitch the rest of the day, probably getting off another dozen or more shots before deciding to wrap things up. Besides, the bore was starting to get a bit coked up with fouling despite swabbing after every shot. No matter; mission accomplished! We had ridden the dragon and come out unscathed (other than my pride, a little) and left a freshly painted yellow gong looking like a high school kid with a primo case of acne. And that, my friends, is a Good Day At The Range!
NOTE: If you look closely on the bench, you will also see the Most Excellent 'Balls Bag' purchased from Two Feather here as well.
