I can now join the ranks of the rock locks. Here it is, a 45 caliber Jaeger flintlock imported by Euroarms from Bresica Italy.
Granted it is not a high quality rifle, but it does fire reliably, looks good and cost little. I couldn’t afford the cost of a quality rifle. Besides I didn’t want to invest in a quality rifle before I found out if I enjoyed this type of shooting.
The gun arrived Monday afternoon parcel post. I bought it off of GunBroker. It was my first purchase on that site. Since the flintlock falls firmly in the antique arms exception I did not have to bother with any FFL hubaloo. Amazingly, this week turns out to be one of the two weeks a year I am home instead of traveling about the countryside.
My son called me at work, “Dad, your gun came.”
“Well don’t open it I would like that honor.”
“umm..” I can just see him rolling his eyes up to the ceiling.
“You opened it didn’t you?”
“Well..”
“At least don’t take it out of the box and get your grubby fingerprints all over it.”
“umm..” Again with the eye roll.
“Well, try not to break it”
“Ok dad.”, he cheerily exclaims.
He’s a good kid and quite responsible so no worries.
It was tough concentrating on work the rest of the day. When I got home I immediately took it completely apart to clean and lubricate all the parts. I decided this was necessary when I looked down the barrel and to my surprise found a dead spider and several years worth of dust. Not to mention the frizzen squeaked. While cleaning the barrel a little light surface rust was removed but the barrel does not look pitted and the cleaning patch ran smoothly. A good lube job before reassembly and I can start learning about flint placement.
In my excitement, prior to the guns arrival, I purchased several flints. Predictably, they were all the wrong size. They were all much bigger and would not fit in the jaws of the cock not to mention much to wide. I experimented with offsetting them but they were also much to long. So I either have to wait until tomorrow when I can stop and buy the proper size flint. Or I could try my hand at flint knapping. I know nothing about knapping nor do I have the right tools. So dejectedly I place my new flintlock in the safe and”¦
To heck with waiting where is that hammer.
Like I said I don’t have proper tools or any idea how to go about knapping, so its bash and pray time. All of a sudden there are flint chips flying all around the kitchen. Oops, that was probably not the smartest idea I’ve had all day. I had better get out the vacuum cleaner before the wife gets home. Surprisingly, I actually got a piece approximately the right width. A little trimming off the back and it looked like it would strike the frisson the prescribed 2/3 of the way up. I mounted it, fussed around, and pulled the trigger. Sparks! Wow. Where’s that powder. A few grains of 3F in the pan, close the frizzen and”¦ click.
“Hey dad, wasn’t there supposed to be a flash and a puff of smoke?”
That kid may just have to watch it if I ever get this thing working. I fussed around with the flint some more and tried again. Four attempts, and several ignored comments from the peanut gallery latter, and I had my flash. There is nothing like the smell of burning black powder. The real stuff not that synthetic manure. OK its now time to charge the barrel. I carefully, so as not to waste a single grain, poured 20grains of 2Fg down the muzzle, followed by a few cleaning patches, no ball this time just a blank charge.
Charge the pan, close the frizzen, pull the trigger, Fah Whump, Giggle with Glee.
“Lets do that again.”
That kid is starting to make some sense, maybe I won’t shoot him. Several blank charges latter I find myself reaching for a ball. What the heck, the rifle seems to be working well.
“Hey son, stand here and hold this target for me will you?” “What did you call me?" "You ungrateful little”¦.”
I normally shoot my percussion 45 caliber at short ranges with 45 grains of 2Fg. So I decide a light load of 35 grains shot into the backstop will suffice for a starter. CRACK! A ball makes quite a different sound. I can’t wait to shoot this in the daylight when I can actually aim. (The benefits of living in the middle of a corn field 2 miles from anyone else).
On the whole it was a good beginning. Now it is time to clean, again. I had forgotten how good bore butter smells. I got everything cleaned and put away (including all the flint shards) before the wife got home. She just is not as excided about this new gun as I think she should be. As a matter of fact, her comments about my new gun and certain male appendage were down right insulting.
The next day I stopped and bought several flints of the correct size and shot a few more rounds into the backstop. Any excuse you know. It was still dark so aiming will have to wait till the weekend.
Granted it is not a high quality rifle, but it does fire reliably, looks good and cost little. I couldn’t afford the cost of a quality rifle. Besides I didn’t want to invest in a quality rifle before I found out if I enjoyed this type of shooting.
The gun arrived Monday afternoon parcel post. I bought it off of GunBroker. It was my first purchase on that site. Since the flintlock falls firmly in the antique arms exception I did not have to bother with any FFL hubaloo. Amazingly, this week turns out to be one of the two weeks a year I am home instead of traveling about the countryside.
My son called me at work, “Dad, your gun came.”
“Well don’t open it I would like that honor.”
“umm..” I can just see him rolling his eyes up to the ceiling.
“You opened it didn’t you?”
“Well..”
“At least don’t take it out of the box and get your grubby fingerprints all over it.”
“umm..” Again with the eye roll.
“Well, try not to break it”
“Ok dad.”, he cheerily exclaims.
He’s a good kid and quite responsible so no worries.
It was tough concentrating on work the rest of the day. When I got home I immediately took it completely apart to clean and lubricate all the parts. I decided this was necessary when I looked down the barrel and to my surprise found a dead spider and several years worth of dust. Not to mention the frizzen squeaked. While cleaning the barrel a little light surface rust was removed but the barrel does not look pitted and the cleaning patch ran smoothly. A good lube job before reassembly and I can start learning about flint placement.
In my excitement, prior to the guns arrival, I purchased several flints. Predictably, they were all the wrong size. They were all much bigger and would not fit in the jaws of the cock not to mention much to wide. I experimented with offsetting them but they were also much to long. So I either have to wait until tomorrow when I can stop and buy the proper size flint. Or I could try my hand at flint knapping. I know nothing about knapping nor do I have the right tools. So dejectedly I place my new flintlock in the safe and”¦
To heck with waiting where is that hammer.
Like I said I don’t have proper tools or any idea how to go about knapping, so its bash and pray time. All of a sudden there are flint chips flying all around the kitchen. Oops, that was probably not the smartest idea I’ve had all day. I had better get out the vacuum cleaner before the wife gets home. Surprisingly, I actually got a piece approximately the right width. A little trimming off the back and it looked like it would strike the frisson the prescribed 2/3 of the way up. I mounted it, fussed around, and pulled the trigger. Sparks! Wow. Where’s that powder. A few grains of 3F in the pan, close the frizzen and”¦ click.
“Hey dad, wasn’t there supposed to be a flash and a puff of smoke?”
That kid may just have to watch it if I ever get this thing working. I fussed around with the flint some more and tried again. Four attempts, and several ignored comments from the peanut gallery latter, and I had my flash. There is nothing like the smell of burning black powder. The real stuff not that synthetic manure. OK its now time to charge the barrel. I carefully, so as not to waste a single grain, poured 20grains of 2Fg down the muzzle, followed by a few cleaning patches, no ball this time just a blank charge.
Charge the pan, close the frizzen, pull the trigger, Fah Whump, Giggle with Glee.
“Lets do that again.”
That kid is starting to make some sense, maybe I won’t shoot him. Several blank charges latter I find myself reaching for a ball. What the heck, the rifle seems to be working well.
“Hey son, stand here and hold this target for me will you?” “What did you call me?" "You ungrateful little”¦.”
I normally shoot my percussion 45 caliber at short ranges with 45 grains of 2Fg. So I decide a light load of 35 grains shot into the backstop will suffice for a starter. CRACK! A ball makes quite a different sound. I can’t wait to shoot this in the daylight when I can actually aim. (The benefits of living in the middle of a corn field 2 miles from anyone else).
On the whole it was a good beginning. Now it is time to clean, again. I had forgotten how good bore butter smells. I got everything cleaned and put away (including all the flint shards) before the wife got home. She just is not as excided about this new gun as I think she should be. As a matter of fact, her comments about my new gun and certain male appendage were down right insulting.
The next day I stopped and bought several flints of the correct size and shot a few more rounds into the backstop. Any excuse you know. It was still dark so aiming will have to wait till the weekend.
Oh well, at very near three score and ten, second childhood et all. :grin: 
