I hope mine is as nice looking, I'm picking it up today, then I'll post a picture
CVA Mountain Rifle
- Thread starter griffiga
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Come to think of it, the .54 Kit I built back in the 80's didn't have one either. I ran on to a story I wrote about using that rifle at a rendezvous to win a Lyman Plains Rifle. If you want a good laugh, read on.
It was a warm Saturday morning in August of 1989 and the Fourth Annual Jed Smith High Mountain Rendezvous was just getting underway. The unique black-powder shooting match was held at the customary location on Cedar Mountain near what is called Deer Valley.
Arriving late we noted that the shooting had already commenced. The staccato gun fire shattered the crisp morning air as I toted my rifle and shooting gear toward the registration stand. Leaning the rifle against a tree, I reached into my pocket and laid the usual five-dollar entry fee on the table in front of me. Looking around for Josh, I patiently awaited my receipt and my shooters number.
"That’ll be another 15 dollars,” said the grizzly bearded man from behind the table.
"Twenty dollars! Why that's highway robbery!” I blurted out without thinking, then shaking my head thought to myself, “It’s always been five dollars.”
“This year's prizes are far better than last year's,” he assured me then added, “Among all the other prizes, there is a three hundred dollar Lyman Great Plains Rifle to give away to some lucky winner.”
I wouldn’t have plopped down twenty bucks if it wasn't for Joshua, my eleven year old nephew I'd brought along to be my gun-bearer (though he hardly packing it at all). He must have had blind faith in me because it sure seemed like a more-than- generous donation. I grabbed my number which was stamped into a raw piece of leather and ambled slowly away from the registration stand. All I could think of is what Sheila, my wife, would say about paying twenty bucks to shoot my gun.
The judge at the first station took my registration number and pointed out the first target, a yellow metallic rabbit positioned haphazardly on the hill sixty or so yards away. After loading my rifle, I took careful aim and gently squeezed the trigger. A loud roar was followed by a billowy cloud of white sulfurous smoke. I heard the definite clank of the projectile arriving at it apropos destination. I smiled to myself.
"Hit!" called the judge as the score was recorded. Feeling somewhat elated at having hit the first target, I fumbled in my pouch for everything to reload my gun. “Dang, I should have better organized this stuff,” I thought, but since I was in a hurry I didn’t think about it until now.
The next target was some distance further, so I dumped an extra dose of black powder down the muzzle "just to make sure". What I failed to account for was that shooting uphill, bullets tend to fly high.
"Miss!" the judge called after the smoke cleared. I couldn't believe my bad luck, I'd overshot the target by at least a foot! Then pointing in another direction he went on.
"This here next target is the one that'l qualyfie ya fer the rifle⌐⌐if yuz kin hit it." the judge sneered with a grin. "What target?" I asked, straining my eyes to see where his crooked finger was pointing.
"You mean that microscopic flake of orange way up there?"
"Yup, only five people have hit her so fer this'mornin and we've been a shootin fer over three hours!" he declared.
Since I over gunned the last target, and the range on this one was ever greater, I remained with the same charge of powder. That small orange flake of metal disappeared as I tried to align the sights on it. The reason being that the front site on the rifle was much larger than the target at that range. I again pointed the gun at the spot, and when it became invisible (due to the front sight covering it), I gently squeezed the set trigger. "I'll be damned, it's a hit!" said the judge, "He's qualified for the rifle shootout!" He hesitantly wrote my name down on the list of names to compete for the rifle.
The rest of this competition was a complete comedy of errors. I could not settle on one particular load that would perform well in the rifle. How frustrating it was to hit the difficult targets and miss the easier ones. Needless to say, my score at the end was a lousy six out of a possible fourteen! It was a good thing we ran out of targets before I ran out of patience, or rifle, shot pouch, and all might have accompanied the projectile across the meadow.
Josh sensed my frustration as he also concluded it might be a very long day. "At least you hit the one that counted." he encouragingly said referring to the rifle qualifying target.
"Yeh, but I sure made it easier for the following shooters by pruning away all the limbs! I said as Josh chuckled, “Let’s go back to the tent and warm up those hamburgers we brought.” “Good idea,” I added still disappointed in myself.
“Maybe they'll refund your twenty dollars for trimming the trees for them!" Josh laughed, trying to lighten the mood.
It was just after one o’clock when we reached the tent. What was I going to do with four hours until the final shoot off? Josh managed to gather a few sticks while I rustled up some kindling. The hamburger was precooked so all we had to do was throw them in the fire once I could get it burning.
"This rule sheet they handed out at the registration stand says we're not supposed to light any fires out here, only in the main camp area." Josh pointed out after the burgers were about ready and the fire was dying down.
"Oh, that's just for those half-witted morons from the big cities that go off and let their fires burn up half the forest!" I exclaimed. "I spent all last summer fighting fires caused from those simpletons." Glanced at the .75 caliber hole at the end of my Brown Bess Musket, I went on, "just let them come and tell me to put this fire out!" I was obviously still fuming over my poor shooting exhibition.
The hamburgers were practically burnt by the time we dragged them from the smoldering ashes, but we were too tired and hungry to care. With lunch out of the way, settling back in the tent on unrolled sleeping bags was a welcome relief. I was tired, but couldn't rest. My mind was trying to figure out why my shooting had gone south. It wasn’t a new gun and I had shot it a lot over the years, but for the life of me I couldn't remember the exact load used to do so. Past black powder shoots saw me placing second several times, and taking first once.
Along with the .50 caliber Thompson Center Hawken rifle I'd been shooting, and a Brown Bess smoothbore musket, I had a CVA Mountain Rifle of .54 caliber. I had picked it up on a clearance rack for $75 from the local sporting goods store. It was in kit form and I put it together in a couple of evenings. It still had the shiny barrel since I hadn’t had the chance to utilize the Birchwood Casey Plumb Brown I'd picked up. Once I arrived home, I realized that I also needed a torch to apply it properly. It wasn’t like the “cold blue” I’d used on guns before.
Since the range wasn't being used at the time due to kid’s games and the tomahawk throw, I decided to take the CVA out for some practice. The wind was blowing harder and a heavier .54 caliber round ball might perform better than the lighter .50. I had just built the rifle from a kit and had barely fired a half dozen rounds out of it, but I had to do something as by now I was desperate. My only other option was to throw rocks to which I would have probably scored better the first round.
Before long I was hitting the targets without any problem. A smaller load of 50 grains of black powder worked well on anything under 40 yards, and 60 grains took care of the rest. Those targets I had missed earlier were receiving rough treatment now. Certainly I could have beaten the nine points that took third place. Confidence restored, I returned to the van to find Joshua asleep. Glancing at the half empty container of candy my wife forgot to take out of the van, I knew he hadn't been sleeping long. "My stomach hurts," he muttered holding that portion of his body. "I'll bet it does," I replied, replacing the lid.
"How'd the gun shoot?" he asked me, still holding his stomach.
"I got her shooting right where she's pointed, not bad for a seventy-five-dollar special from the Sunset Sports bargain table!" I responded. "I just have to remember how much powder to use." I'd assembled the gun on in a Saturday afternoon and upon closer inspection, looked like it too!
The next hour or so was spent lounging on the sleeping bags inside the van, or wandering through the wooded area around. The amount of tissue paper scattered behind trees and rocks told me that others were aware of this area also. As the time of the shoot drew near, my stomach began to knot up as well. Temporarily, I eased my mind by blaming it on hunger. Josh walked over to a lean-to set up by some of the local Native Americans. In addition to the jewelry they were selling, there was also fry bread. At two dollars apiece, along with the cost of registration, it was clear to me why the shoot was called the "High" Mountain Rendezvous.
Swallowing that dry fry bread without water wasn't easy. What little water we brought was gone. Soda pop was selling for over $1.00 a can, so the fry bread was concocted to be as dry as dust, but it at least filled my stomach enough to settle the jitters.
“If they run out of hard targets, I know where they can find some more – for two dollars apiece!” I chuckled. The bread definitely would make a louder "clang" than the targets they were using.
The sun was slowly sinking behind the crest of the trees as the time for the shoot off drew near. I refilled my powder horn, precut more patches and checked all my other paraphernalia, mainly to keep my mind on course. I didn't want to get halfway through the shoot only to run out of shooting supplies. Once gathered, Josh and I started toward the shoot but not before Josh noticed a black spot on the ground. Upon further examination, the black spot turned out to be a good quarter pound of black powder someone had spilled after losing their horn plug.
“Somebody is going to find out soon that their powder horn is empty.” I thought to myself as the cool breeze blew against my face. It was then I turned just in time to see my nephew, Josh light a match. I was in the act of warning him of his bad decision when we were adorned by bright lights, intense heat, and a big "WHOOSH". All this, of course, in the midst of a great cloud of sulfurous smoke. Josh leaped back with a startled yell. Luckily, he came out of it all with only a few singed hairs and a newly gained respect for black powder. By this time we had gathered the attention of a large group of onlookers gazing at the spectacle, meanwhile, I was searching around for a spot of my own to hide - I didn't know this kid!
We made it the rest of the way to the site of the shoot off without any more mishaps, and after sighing in, moved over to the first target. The target was the metallic form of a deer to which someone had tied some tree limb antlers on it. Although relatively large and seemingly easy, we had to shoot at the target from inside a crudely fashioned log hut which heavily favored smaller shooters. A combination of recent back surgery, my tight breeches, and a window too low to rest my gun on, contributed to a miss. I didn't feel so bad after everyone shot, because the only one that hit it had his gun go off accidentally. In other words, it was a lucky shot to say the least.
Target number two was a little round pole swinging freely from an Aspen branch some distance away. I was the only one to score a hit on this target and Josh informed me that I was tied for the lead! I just looked at him and smiled. I don't think he knew there were eight more targets go, but at least he was optimistic. We walked up around a little hill to the next point and stopped. The target was a small metallic squirrel visible only if you crouched down and peered under some branches. With much dismay, we learned that this was the position in which shooting had to occur and resting against the tree, or on knees wasn't allowed. We had to shoot hunched on the balls of our feet which for me would be very difficult, to say the least.
Swaying like a metronome in a windstorm, I pulled the trigger when the rifle crossed paths with the target the third or fourth time. The gods must have smiled down on me as I did hit it. Likewise, two other shooters did as well. We were to shoot number four target from the same spot, but we were allowed to stand and shoot over the branches if we wanted. It looked like a simple shot. Turns out, it was by far the simplest of them all. Most everyone hit it but myself. Overconfidence set in and I choked! I tried to avoid eye contact with Josh as we meshing in with the crowd and moved over the to the next target setup. A large bear figure was placed behind a log exposing only the head. It was a good hundred yards away. I was hoping to be the last shooter on this target. I wanted to see how the breeze, which was blowing a bit harder by now, would affect the shot. My hope was short lived, as they called my name first. Taking a deep breath, I walked up to the line, capped my rifle and pushed my last bit of bad luck out of my mind. After hearing the reassuring "thunk" of a target well hit, I gave Josh a wink to let him know I was still in the running. One by one they stood in line and shot but only a few connected. On contestant cussed his rifle as if it had a mind of its own, and another walked behind a bush and swore. The sound of his words very much audible above the breeze in the aspen leaves. I tried not to notice but Josh looked at me and laughed.
All were busy swabbing or reloading rifles as the next challenge was revealed to us - a large wash tub, or “gong” hanging in a tree across the meadow one hundred and fifty yards away! Although I'd hit such targets before, the wind had increased substantially by now making it a far more difficult shot. I loaded up a good eighty grains of black powder, maybe even a little extra, I don't quite remember. Shooter after shooter stood up to the line and shot with no avail until my turn came. Holding to the left most edge of the tub to compensate for the wind came from the east, I released the trigger. "Miss!" called out the judge, "you hit just to the left edge of it". I guess the wind didn't play as much havoc as I suspected on that big fifty-four caliber ball as it hit right where I had aimed. I stopped cussing my bad judgment when nobody else hit it. Turning to see where we were to go next, Josh informed me I was tied with two others for the lead. He had been closely monitoring the judges score card ever since that first shot.
The final series of targets were just down the hill and a bit to our right. A quail and a coyote, both about 100⌐125 yards distant, presented no problem to me and I picked up two more points. At this series of targets, one of the three tied for the lead, bowed out, but not to gracefully as several harsh words were said to have been heard over the crowd. With two targets remaining, I had five points, another had four, and the last one only three. I think one or two others may have had three also, but the contest basically came down to the two of us.
When it was my turn to shoot, I stepped up and drew bead. As bad luck would have it, I missed as did everyone else except my closest competitor. One of the judges thought he heard a hit and after a minor debate, he was given the point for the time being. After the final target, they would walk up and check it for any sign of a hit. As no one else had hit it, there would be a definite mark on the fresh paint.
The tenth and final target was very difficult. It was a cougar, left unpainted as to blend into the surroundings. The judges informed us that it was a full hundred and eighty yards. Shot after shot was called a miss until old Mr. “Target-in-dispute” scored a hit. It now stood at five all, and if the ninth target showed any slight sign of a hit, six for him. The pressure was tremendous and I was shaking like a dog passing razor blades. I tried to forget that I was shooting for a rifle in an effort to keep myself cool, but it didn't work. Later, Josh said I appeared very calm approaching the line to shoot, but I assured him he must have been sleeping. Once my rifle stopped trembling I squeezed the trigger, and after what seemed like twenty minutes I finally heard the judge call out, “hit”. I was so relieved. All that stood in the way of a win now was that dreaded ninth target. In the past when I'd had to shoot for a tie, I'd choked. I just knew that somehow or in some way they were going to find some slight mark or scratch which would discredit my victory. After several minutes of very close inspection by "Mr. Dispute", the win was truly mine. "Congratulations", the judge said, "You put on a mighty fine shooting exhibition". Smiling, I walked back towards camp through a line of on looking spectators wanting to shake my hand.
I don’t know what was sweeter, winning the rifle or knowing that I beat out shooters with a $75 CVA Mountain rifle kit I’d hastily thrown together just days before. Many of them were packing custom guns that cost ten times that amount or more.
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Greg Blackburn
40 Cal.
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So did you buy it?
A friend had one, he shot bullets even with the slow twist. Weren't very accurate but he killed a deer with one of those combos.
A friend had one, he shot bullets even with the slow twist. Weren't very accurate but he killed a deer with one of those combos.
I just picked it up. I'm at work so I'll take it home and clean it up a bit then take some pictures. Turns out it belonged to this guy's father. His father was an avid mountain man and attended most rendezvous around here through the 60's, 70's and 80's. He went by "Doc" and I actually remember shooting with him. Back in the day, 4 or 5 of the local mountain man groups would meet every 3rd Saturday. They would keep track of the top scores over the course of the season and the winning group got to keep the trophy. The following shooting season they would try to defend their title or pass it on the new winners. Everybody brought a prize to put on the blanket as well. The first time I went and shot with them, I did really well and several of the groups (including Doc's) wanted me to join theirs. I considered myself at the time a "free trapper." Anyway, the gun hasn't been used since Doc passed away which was 15 years ago. With all of the history behind it, I can't figure out why his son wanted to part with it. He also gave me 100 round balls, 1 pound of Pyrodex (ya I know), and a nice hand-made leather cover for it that his dad had probably made (or had made). All said and done, I'm tickled pink. I really miss them old days. I wish I could go shooting with everyone on this forum, that would be fun. I wonder if we could have a "virtual shoot" over Zoom or Teams? LOL
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I have no idea where mine was made (.58 caliber), but it couldn’t shoot any better! Going to check when I get home!
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Excellent story my friend.
Sort of sounds like you were destined to have that rifle!
You have a parallel history with its original owner. Many fond memories of back in the day.
Happy for ya!
Thanks for sharing.
Respectfully, Cowboy
Sort of sounds like you were destined to have that rifle!
You have a parallel history with its original owner. Many fond memories of back in the day.
Happy for ya!
Thanks for sharing.
Respectfully, Cowboy
Thanks Cowboy,
Like I said before, it would be so much fun to be able to shoot with all you guys. Wouldn't that be a blast? (pun intended).
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Tasbay
40 Cal
The 45 & 50 cal ones had patch boxes , the 54 & 58 cal ones did not.
I got it cleaned up and it looks pretty good. Should I shine up the nose cap or leave it dark?
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WOW!
That’s a Beauty for sure.
I’m glad you shared your story my friend. Very touching and inspirational indeed.
Your rifle lives up to that story. I’m glad you’re the owner. Definitely destiny at its very best my friend.
One on this forum I’ll remember.
Thank you for sharing the story and congratulations on your new rifle.
Respectfully, Cowboy
That’s a Beauty for sure.
I’m glad you shared your story my friend. Very touching and inspirational indeed.
Your rifle lives up to that story. I’m glad you’re the owner. Definitely destiny at its very best my friend.
One on this forum I’ll remember.
Thank you for sharing the story and congratulations on your new rifle.
Respectfully, Cowboy
Did you find out?
Awesome! Great story and excellent deal. Looking forward to reading more on your journey with it. Thanks for sharing with us
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On a side note, that Case looks like it is nearly worth the cost of the gun!
.On a side note, that Case looks like it is nearly worth the cost of the gun!
The nose cap, dark or light? If it looks like an even dark color, I would leave it dark. If "Doc" made it dark and I wanted to keep this done to recall "Doc's" legacy in muzzle loading, it would stay dark. Being fundamentally lazy, I would leave it dark.
I was a bit surprised when he gave me the case as well, added bonus I guessAwesome! Great story and excellent deal. Looking forward to reading more on your journey with it. Thanks for sharing with us
On a side note, that Case looks like it is nearly worth the cost of the gun!
The nose cap looks like it be made from horn...
appalichian hunter
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Leave it the way it is and when at the range if asked about the rifle pass on the story, there is great story line with that rifle and it deserves to be talked about, also I would make a note of the history and how you became the owner for future references. Great purchase.
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My understanding is that those without patch boxes were sold as "big bores" Polecat
firestick
40 Cal
Yes they were.
