Skychief
69 Cal.
I had a flattering surprise a few days ago. You see, a neighbor friend of mine presented me with a fine and immaculate vintage breechloading rifle. He would not take "no" for an answer.
I found time today to fire the rifle and admit that I was looking forward to it. My plan of really wringing it out proved short-lived.
After 3 shots and 3 resulting bullseyes, I cleaned it well and put it away.
I ate some supper and mulled over in my mind the cold feelings that I had for shooting the gun. I don't want to seem unappreciative of the fine gift, I am not. Quite the opposite. The gun will never leave my possession and I will always cherish it and the friend from which it was gifted.
I came to the conclusion that things came way to easy with little of myself put into the quick and great results that the piece gave me. The outing lasted all of 5 minutes.
With a couple of hours of daylight left, I grabbed my flintlock fowler and its accoutrements and shot some roundballs out of it. Such a different experience compared to the other piece.
I found myself forced to quit when Ol' Sol gave it up for the day and the gongs were too dim to see any longer. I didn't want to quit measuring charges, lubing and cutting patches, ramming home cast balls down her long spout. I didn't want to quit smelling that white smoke wafting in the air. I didn't want to stop working on my cheek weld and sight picture. I didn't want to stop working on my flint freshening technique. I didn't want to stop hearing that echoing roar that only black powder can make.
While I hadn't forgotten the many reasons why I'm so deep into these frontstuffers, I was certainly reminded of them this evening.
I think that maybe the biggest of these reasons may be the satisfaction of having so much of oneself in each and every shot.
Best regards and enjoy the smoke ya make, Skychief
I found time today to fire the rifle and admit that I was looking forward to it. My plan of really wringing it out proved short-lived.
After 3 shots and 3 resulting bullseyes, I cleaned it well and put it away.
I ate some supper and mulled over in my mind the cold feelings that I had for shooting the gun. I don't want to seem unappreciative of the fine gift, I am not. Quite the opposite. The gun will never leave my possession and I will always cherish it and the friend from which it was gifted.
I came to the conclusion that things came way to easy with little of myself put into the quick and great results that the piece gave me. The outing lasted all of 5 minutes.
With a couple of hours of daylight left, I grabbed my flintlock fowler and its accoutrements and shot some roundballs out of it. Such a different experience compared to the other piece.
I found myself forced to quit when Ol' Sol gave it up for the day and the gongs were too dim to see any longer. I didn't want to quit measuring charges, lubing and cutting patches, ramming home cast balls down her long spout. I didn't want to quit smelling that white smoke wafting in the air. I didn't want to stop working on my cheek weld and sight picture. I didn't want to stop working on my flint freshening technique. I didn't want to stop hearing that echoing roar that only black powder can make.
While I hadn't forgotten the many reasons why I'm so deep into these frontstuffers, I was certainly reminded of them this evening.
I think that maybe the biggest of these reasons may be the satisfaction of having so much of oneself in each and every shot.
Best regards and enjoy the smoke ya make, Skychief