David Bradshaw
Blackhawk
- Joined
- Sep 11, 2012
- Messages
- 933
To shoot is spiritually healthy. Regular. As a pistol shooter you are a musician. You have an instrument, play it. Call it Affinity or HARD WIRING, it is real.
Lately packing an old, nickel plate, Smith & Wesson Model 29, 8-3/8-inch barrel. Rides in a laced holster I water-molded decades ago; leather better all these years than a whole lot of skins made yesterday. The kind of leather you can swim in a river when you climb out, holds its shape. So I rubbed the holster with Pecard's Leather Dressing, getting my hands hot rubbing it, and set it to bask on the dashboard of the truck a few days this summer. Now, it's a happy holster.
To pretend to be READY, I take a shot now and then. Two shots a day is better than three. This is how it works. 200 yards into the west pasture there is a 4-foot granite boulder, surrounded by smaller rocks. A heavy gauge aluminum spaghetti pot sits atop the rock. A stainless steel milk can sits on a stone to the left. An other aluminum pot to the right. Various small stones, invisible to unscoped eyes, are set up for the smashing by rifle fire.
The idea is to take a poke at the spaghetti pot----with iron sighted revolver, pop it with a forty-four. Nearly always a breeze nibbles from 9-to-1 o'clock, mostly 10-to-11. This slant of wind easily drifts a .44 magnum 1-2 feet at 200 yards.
To dope wind, trees clouds grass are trusted only so far. To shoot wind, one must read its breath on their skin, face, neck, back of hands. In the northern hemisphere the sun is always south. Sunrise southeast, sunset southwest.
Lucky lately, getting off two shots per day. But when it's bad, it's really bad;. Like I need a cylinder-full to wound a spaghetti pot? Burning off ancient ammunition, a box of this, a box of that. That's where things get queer. Good sight dope and random ammunition may travel parallel, but they seldom cross.
The pallet of fall is upon us. Holstein heifers paint black & white dots across a camouflage landscape of green tan brown orange red yellow.
Between the M-29 red ramp and a plain black sight, in the hunting field, there is no choice. Red ramp wins.
David Bradshaw
Lately packing an old, nickel plate, Smith & Wesson Model 29, 8-3/8-inch barrel. Rides in a laced holster I water-molded decades ago; leather better all these years than a whole lot of skins made yesterday. The kind of leather you can swim in a river when you climb out, holds its shape. So I rubbed the holster with Pecard's Leather Dressing, getting my hands hot rubbing it, and set it to bask on the dashboard of the truck a few days this summer. Now, it's a happy holster.
To pretend to be READY, I take a shot now and then. Two shots a day is better than three. This is how it works. 200 yards into the west pasture there is a 4-foot granite boulder, surrounded by smaller rocks. A heavy gauge aluminum spaghetti pot sits atop the rock. A stainless steel milk can sits on a stone to the left. An other aluminum pot to the right. Various small stones, invisible to unscoped eyes, are set up for the smashing by rifle fire.
The idea is to take a poke at the spaghetti pot----with iron sighted revolver, pop it with a forty-four. Nearly always a breeze nibbles from 9-to-1 o'clock, mostly 10-to-11. This slant of wind easily drifts a .44 magnum 1-2 feet at 200 yards.
To dope wind, trees clouds grass are trusted only so far. To shoot wind, one must read its breath on their skin, face, neck, back of hands. In the northern hemisphere the sun is always south. Sunrise southeast, sunset southwest.
Lucky lately, getting off two shots per day. But when it's bad, it's really bad;. Like I need a cylinder-full to wound a spaghetti pot? Burning off ancient ammunition, a box of this, a box of that. That's where things get queer. Good sight dope and random ammunition may travel parallel, but they seldom cross.
The pallet of fall is upon us. Holstein heifers paint black & white dots across a camouflage landscape of green tan brown orange red yellow.
Between the M-29 red ramp and a plain black sight, in the hunting field, there is no choice. Red ramp wins.
David Bradshaw