Can you handle another M1 Carbine post?

Well tough, because I found another one.

This World War Two vet is another US Carbine, M1, and it was made by the Winchester corporation in either late 1942 or early 1943.

It also has the undated "W" stamped barrel that Winchester guns came from the factory with, so the barrel is likely original to the rifle.

Not import marked, and not refinished...as a matter of fact, even though the barrel still rates a "2" on the gauge, the rifle has a fair bit of wear on it, even for a 70-something year old fighting tool. It's almost as if it didn't quietly retire from service at the end of World War Two and/or Korea...and it didn't.

In the 1960's, the City of Detroit purchased a number of these carbines for their police department, one of only two big cities to do this. They issued them to their officers and the carbines rode the trunks of police cruisers and spent time in armory racks until 187 of carbines were finally sold for surplus to Zanders Sporting Goods for $75.00 each according to the stories. (This also apparently included some rare Irwin Pederson-produced guns...sigh.) They were then offered to the public and snapped up quickly. I missed out back then but I've been looking for one ever since and I finally came across one at a decent price...actually less than Zanders likely sold it for back then.

And how do I know it's one of those? Simple. DPD carbines have two distinctive markings that set them apart from the rest of the 6,000,000 or so carbines out there. The first is the DPD precinct and rack number stamped on the heel of the stock:

11th Precinct, rack #7. Back in the 1960's, the 11th was at E. Davison and Conant, so the gun is an east-sider. As an old west-sider when I lived in Detroit, I guess I can learn to overlook that though.

The rifle also bears a DPD inventory number on the side of the receiver, just barely visible at the wood line. Detroit assigned numbers sequentially to all of their firearms back then.

The number is 14444, which puts it right at the end of the bloc of the known inventory numbers for the city's carbines: 14267 to 14452.

So this is one of those Detroit guns. Can't say 100% but she probably pulled riot duty in 1967 in addition to whatever else it was used for. Heck, maybe it even crossed paths with my Detroit PD-issued Smith and Wesson Model 10. The city sold these off back in the 1990's too, for $15.00 each to another wholesaler.

Haven't had a chance to shoot this critter yet, but that time's coming and a range report will follow. Meanwhile, looks like come the leftist revolution, I'm ready to head back to re-take Detroit in style.

Has a round bolt. Only two of my carbines have round bolts. I wish this old gun could talk, because it's probably got some stories.

It followed me home...guess I gotta keep it.

So I ducked into this little pawn shop on the way home from work today, and what did I find but a box of beat-to-shit guns with a magic marker sign that said "make offers". There were 9 long guns in the box, all rifles and shotguns, mostly single-shot and all rusty.

Then there was the one that stood out. I almost missed it because it was shorter than the rest and the box was tall. It was in behind the others in the corner of the box, but I recognized the front sight as soon as I saw it.

"What's the story on this box of guns?" I asked the shop clerk, a little Vietnamese woman. She didn't know, but she called her husband over. He was the store owner and he told me that a woman had just brought them all in and that they were her late father's guns and she just wanted them gone.

"He sure didn't take very good care of them," I said, starting the tire-kicking dance. How does someone let guns get like this?

"She said they were in his house when Katrina knocked it down," he told me. "She just wants them gone."

"No prices?" I asked.

He shrugged. "Make offer. We talk."

And eight of the nine were clearly trash. One definitely wasn't, but I had to play it careful. And to be fair, I love this game.

"Some of these might have been nice once," I said.

"Yeah, yeah..." he said, walking off. "You find ones you like, bring to counter."

Damn. This is easier when they actually want to make a sale. But I don't think this guy really cared.

Still...I pawed at the bunch for a while, picking them each up in turn so as not to give away the fact that I'd already decided that I was not walking away without a particular one. Then after a few minutes of acting disgusted (not hard with the junk in that box), I casually reached for the one that had caught my eye:

I pulled it out and tried to act disinterested as I turned it over and over. I could see him watching me, so I did my best to look like I was really on the fence on this one. Finally I sauntered up to him and showed it to him. "Let's talk about this one," I said.

"That one is good," he said. Real good. Best one in the box."

"That's not saying much," I replied. "It's still pretty beat."

"Five hundred dollars," he said.

"You told me to make an offer," I replied. "How about three? I mean, look at this thing."

"You funny. You should have TV show. That deal at five hundred. You pay five, you take home."

Great. A sarcastic Vietnamese guy. But he's not stupid, and it wasn't really that bad. Sure, the metal was all patina and in need of some TLC but the wood was real nice--probably replaced at some time since the storm but still pretty much correct. I chiseled at him a couple more times and at one point I actually went to put it back in the box as a bluff, but he either really didn't care or he was better at this than I was. And truthfully, I'd have paid five, but now I had time invested in the game too and I had to score at least some victory, even just a little.
Besides, this was fun.

"Four Fifty is really the best I can do," I said. He gave me that look that said that he was tired of me, so I added the magic word: "CASH."

"It's really all I can do," I said.

He thought for a few seconds, then agreed. I gave him forty bucks as a deposit before he could change his mind then I ran across the street to the ATM machine to get the rest.

So one Form 4473 and a NICS check later, I took my new business machine home.

Yep. $450 and fifteen minutes of dickering nabbed me a pretty shopworn but complete and apparently functional IBM-manufactured M-1 carbine.

The metal needs a serious clean-up and it does have a tiny import mark so faint that it just looks like a scratch on the bottom of the barrel, but it's easily worth what I gave for it, and I suspect that he didn't pay that much for the whole box of them so I don't feel bad about snagging the deal.

Time to rack it with the others. I'll start working on it this week-end.

Found in the Back Corner of the Gun Safe

An old friend of mine...

A Maadi AKM.

Back in the early 1990s, not long after a cloud had come over the land in the form of the election of one William Jefferson Clinton, a small group of us began to plan in earnest for the possibility of bad times. Now this was just a group of guys who liked to hike and camp and shoot, but the constant push out of Washington back then for more control over our lives, and more gun control and gun bans in particular, caused our regular hiking/camping trips to take a more serious tone, a "what if" tone.

We all knew that we could survive if need be, either as individuals or as a group, but we also knew that to operate as a group--a small unit, if you will--that we'd be best served by standardizing around one fighting rifle in particular.

Now that only makes sense, you say as you read this. If we all have the same rifle that shoots the same ammunition from the same magazines, it vastly simplifies logistics and training in every way. However the choice of which rifle to choose became the subject of many discussions around a campfire and many trips to the range, for each of us had our own preferred rifle, and in true American individualistic fashion, weren't any of us looking to admit that ours might not be the best--and only--choice for the group to adapt as primary.

And yeah, the fact that we were all young guys, none of whom could afford to buy another new rifle and all of the accessories that make it work, definitely factored into the equation.

One friend was a die-hard AR guy, having bought his back when your only real choice was to buy a new Colt AR-15A2 or a used Colt AR-15A1. They all came with 20" barrels--standard or heavy--and nobody else was making them.

I was equally adamant that the Springfield Armory M-1A was the only sensible choice, both because of it's accuracy and it's 7.62mm round, and because I already owned one.

A third member, just to be contrary, was heavily into one of the newer imports onto the American shooting scene, the AK-47, a rifle still new to American shores that shot ammunition that was not made here yet.

We argued, we compared, we took our respective rifles on many camping trips and hikes in which their various attributes--and flaws--came to light, but it wasn't until President Clinton and the Democrats passed one of their first attempts at banning the AK-type rifles that we all rushed out to buy our own, just because "weren't no one going to tell us what we could or could not have. 'Murrica!"

This ugly little stamped-metal AKM from Maadi of Egypt cost me $179.00 new, if I recall properly. It also came with a ridiculous "sporter" buttstock designed to give it more import points, but that stock went by the wayside just as soon as I could order a correct laminated "orange crate wood" stock and pistol grip for it. (That was perfectly legal back then, but the Democrats were just getting started.)

Surprisingly for me, because I was something of a "gun snob" at the time, I fell in love with the ugly little critter right off. It was a lot lighter and more compact than my M-1A, being almost a foot shorter and nearly four lbs. lighter, to say nothing of the weight of all of the extra magazines that we mindlessly schlepped around back then.

Note that as newbies, our "basic load" was determined by a simple formula:
1.) Buy a large ALICE pack.
2.) stuff it with as much gear in the way of canned food, camping gear and ammunition as possible, packing it until you could only lift it off the floor and shoulder it with difficulty.
3.) Adjust weight by removing as much non-gun stuff as you thought you could live without.

Until we learned better, this method ensured that we would always be cold, hungry, wet (if it rained) but well-armed, and if nothing else, we slept great at night because we were wiped out from hauling hundreds of rounds of rifle ammo up and down some wicked terrain "just in case".

Now I will own up to briefly switching to an M-1 carbine for these trips, as they were the lightest, smallest rifles out there, but I got tired of hearing "nice pistol" or "what's it going to be when it grows up?" every time I unslung it.

(Cost me $129.00 back then. Shoulda bought dozens.)

Yeah, we were feral men, and we lived under a code in which the weak and the non-conformists were mocked, and those weak enough to be mocked into conforming were mocked for that, too. As I recall, this ultimately resulted in us going on week-long winter camping trips along the shore of Lake Superior IN THE WINTER, just because...well because no one wanted to be the one wuss who suggested that we not do it, or suggest that we not do it again after surviving the most recent such trip. We all would have voted for that, but we'd have still mocked whoever dared propose it. So no one proposed it and we went every year for years, until that notable year when each of us brought his wife or significant other and the chicks all put THEIR feet down on about the third day and screamed "This lunacy stops NOW and we're all going HOME!"

Ah, but I digress.

Back to the AK.

For many years, this AK was my companion on camping trips into Michigan's northern woods, usually the Upper Peninsula. it was light, fast to employ, it hit reasonably hard and was effective at the ranges afforded us by northern Michigan terrain, and while it never fired a shot in anger, it did fire thousands of rounds into "hostile" cans and bottles, old junk cars, and countless other targets of opportunity as we guys trained and just plinked with our AKs. Mine even showed it's mettle one winter when a couple of us broke through some thin ice on a snow-covered creek that we hadn't even realized was there. My rifle went to the bottom along with my pack when I jettisoned it, and when it was snagged and dragged out some time later after I'd warmed myself and dried my clothes around a hastily-built fire, it fired off it's entire magazine without a hitch after I merely shook the water out of it. (Try THAT, AR fans!)

Of course times change. Eventually all of my friends married away, (and to be fair, I almost got trapped myself back then), and married guys with new families can't go out and run around the woods every week-end, so the trips came to an end. The AK, not terribly handy as a target rifle when I transitioned to Hi-Power match shooting, went into storage, and though it pokes it's head out of the safe every now and again, it's been years since it's chambered a round.

Methinks I need to do something about that, and soon.

A friend of mine here has a nice new Ruger Mini-30 that he just acquired. I'm thinking that we'll need to get out to the range soon, if for no other reason than for me to show him what kind of rifle that the 7.62x39mm round was actually made for.

Patriot's Day. A Good Time Was Had By Most.

So in commemoration of those brave Americans who stood their ground on Lexington Common in 1775, the day that the "shot heard round the world" was fired as British troops sought to seize American cannon and powder stores in Concord, Old NFO, Proud Hillbilly and I went out to the range to burn some powder of our own.

We got out there a bit before noon, and the place was packed, notably with a group of yammerheads who took much delight in sitting on the 25-yard pistol range and firing AR-15s as fast as they could jerk the triggers. Here's a tip, AR guys: If you put out half a dozen sporting clays on the berm 25 yards away and three of you empty your thirty-round magazines as fast as you can at them, and when you're done most of the clays are STILL THERE, you're doing it wrong. Just saying.

But it was M1 Carbine day for the three of us. Jim had a wonderful old Winchester that seemed to have missed most of the upgrade modifications, PH had her post-war carbine, and I brought my CMP Rock-Ola carbine, just because I wanted to fit in. I also brought out my Remington Rolling Block .50-70, and we fired off the few black powder rounds that I'd loaded up for it. I've got the load down pretty good--now I've just got to adjust the rifle's sights to it. (And that .50-70 sure gets your shoulder's attention after a few rounds.)

Then Jim and I fired a few rounds of .22LR for effect, me with my trusty old Ruger 10-22 and him with a sweet vintage Colt Woodsman and his Savage .22 rifle.

Next, we switched to pistols for a bit. I had my Uberti SAA and Walther PPK out, Jim had a beautiful Colt Match Target .38 Special, and PH...Eh. Just a Glock. (But she shoots it well.) ;-) But by the time we started shooting these, a rather large group of what looked like college kids showed up and the range staff put them on two pistols and two AR rifles on either side of us. It was immediately obvious that none of them had shot before, so, after we did our duty to new shooters and coached a few of them, we called it quits for the day and adjourned to a local restaurant for lunch.

My rifles:

Top to bottom: Remington Rolling Block, Model 1871 made for NY State Militia; US Carbine, .30 M1 made by the Rock-Ola Corp.; Ruger 10-22.

My pistols:

Uberti Cattleman, .45 Long Colt (top) and Walther PPK (bottom).

Ah, that PPK. Packs a delivery like a brick through a plate glass window, or so sayeth Ian Flemming when he had James Bond issued one in Dr. No.

It was a much-needed relaxing day out for the three of us, and a great way to celebrate Patriot's Day.

So who didn't have a good time today?

Well when we got back to my house, Murphy met us at the door. Alone. Where was Belle? I called, but no Belle came. Quickly, Jim and I looked around the house. No Belle. Damn, she was in here when we left. Where could she have gone?

And then I heard something whine and scratch at the inside of the closed bathroom door off the kitchen. Yep. Poor Memphis Belle had managed to get in there after we'd left, no doubt to raid the dog food bag that I keep in there or to sample the kitchen scraps in the trash bag that was in there. (Both bags were in there specifically to keep them away from two dogs, BTW.) Well Miss Belle managed to knock the door shut while she was in there, trapping herself quite nicely. She may have been in there for up to four hours, and let me tell you, she destroyed the place during that time. The trash? Scattered everywhere. Dog hair and paw-prints? Everywhere. There were scratches on the inside of the door and paw-prints in the bath tub, up on the top of the toilet tank, and even on the sink. I even found claw marks on the window sill five feet off the floor as Belle apparently climbed on the toilet in an unsuccessful attempt to try to get out the window. Poor girl. She was a little upset when I finally sprung her to say the least. But she got over it quick enough when she saw her new friend Jim there and her and Murphy both jostled each other to get some petting from him. I'm still mad at her though. And I'm blaming Murphy for it, too. I can't prove it, but I'm sure that he was somehow at least partly responsible.

Now I'm off to clean guns. Have a great Patriot's Day, everyone.

A Memorial Day well spent

Memorial Day. What a great day to head out to the range with some old military veterans that have "been there and done that" in defense of this great country.

Of course I mean old military firearms, but I suppose we can include my shooting buddy, too.

A famous blogger and former military aviator came out to do some shooting. Murphy sure was happy to see his old pal again.

"Hey! It's him! He's back!"

We hit the range and broke out the rifles first. I had this Harrington and Richardson M1 Garand that I got from the CMP back in 2000. As far as I know, this it the first time I've actually shot it.

It has a February of 1954 barrel that gauged almost new at both throat and muzzle. This more than made up for a stock that looked like someone had thrown it down a flight of stairs.

It shot fantastically, too. Much better than I did. It's rear sight had to come up 14 clicks to hit point-of-aim at 100 yards, but once set, it was all sweet spot and joy.

Old NFO had himself a Garand too--a National Match job that was just beautiful to behold. (He's like Batman, folks...he's got all the really neat toys.)

Next, I broke out the 1903A3 Springfield.

This one is a Smith Corona-manufactured rifle built in 1943. (Yep, the typewriter people. Go ask your parents, kids.)

I think I last shot it at Camp Perry back in 2002. It was a CMP return from Greece, and like the M-1 above, it shot well, only issue being a somewhat loose stock that allowed the action to shift slightly with every recoil. It made for a weird feeling shooting it but it still kept every round on a paper pate at 100 yards. I think that, since it's still in it's old Greek stock, that it's going to get some glass bedding to tighten things up. Then we'll see what it's really capable of.

Then it was M1 Carbine time.


This one was manufactured by the Underwood Corporation in 1944. (They made typewriters, too.) I got this one from the CMP back in 2001 as well and I've never shot it until today. It shot great, but it's not exactly "left-hander friendly"; I got popped in the head by so many ejected cases that I still have a sore spot hours later.

Old NFO had a early-model Winchester carbine that he was shooting that could have come out of a time capsule. It was most impressive. I'm really hoping that he posts pictures of his way-cool guns on his blog when he gets home (Hint, hint..)

Everyone else on the range seemed to have some AR variant but none of them carry the cool points of these old war rifles.


Of course there were pistols too.

In keeping with the military arms theme, I brought out my old Colt 1911 and Smith and Wesson Model 10 "Victory", both military issue.

The 1911 was stock World War One military, apparently departing US Military custody and control before any of the 1911A1 upgrades were performed on it.

Sadly, this vet was a bit under the weather. While firing the first magazine, the extractor broke. Big sigh. But those are easy to come by and replace, and being an internal part, the pistol won't look any different once the old one has been swapped out.

Next, I shot the Smith and Wesson "Victory".

This one also has a military history. I got it from the estate of a doctor about 15 years ago. Per his daughter, he'd obtained it while a military MD in the South Pacific during World War Two. According to the story, a Marine pilot gave it to the young doctor as the island that they were on still had plenty of Japanese soldiers in the jungle around the airfield. The doctor brought it home with him after the war and kept it in his office until he passed. I acquired it from the daughter through a mutual friend, and it still had six corroded .38 Special cartridges in the cylinder when she handed it to me for inspection. It also has the appropriate stampings:

GHD is the initials of Guy H. Drewry, US Army Ordnance Dept. Chief Inspector. His initials were used as the acceptance stamp for all military pistols produced between June 1942 and July 1945.
This pistol astounded me.
I think I've shot it once, maybe twice since I bought it. It's been a safe queen and sometime wall-hanger for the last decade and a half, but right out of the gate, it proved that it was dead on with this target shot at 25 yards, standing.

This pistol was not blessed with a crisp, smooth trigger like most old Smith and Wessons so I never figured that it could be much of a shooter. Wow, was I wrong. I spent some time chasing an empty soda can around the 25-yard berm, rarely missing it. Then I gave it to Old NFO, who also bulls-eyed his own target with it every shot but one. This pistol's great. Come the bad times, I'll have no qualms about pressing this one back into service.

Of course there were more cool Old NFO guns. I shot his Ruger single-action .45 Long Colt a few times and now I've just got to have one. (Thanks, guy!) I'd been on the fence mulling one for a while but shooting his knocked me right off on the "must buy one" side. (Sigh...)

After shooting, we grabbed a couple of burgers at Five Guys and then headed out to the airport. What better way to commemorate Memorial Day then a flight over Antietam Battlefield in Maryland? On this battlefield, on one day--September 17th, 1862--22,717 men were killed, wounded or went missing. America has never seen a slaughter of it's young fighting men equal to that before or since.

Old NFO grabbed some pics while I flew. Again, hopefully he'll post them. In the meantime though, here's some I took a couple years back when I was there on my bike.

I gave him the plane a couple of times, and he proved that he's still got it. He's the first passenger that I've ever felt comfortable enough with to take some pictures of my own while he flew.

And old Navy aviators never lost the knack for finding bad guys in the water apparently, because the first thing we found was a fishing boat that was sneakily hunting fish in that closed quarry near The Lair--the one that's supposedly so "off limits" to trespassers.

We also spotted what looked to be four vehicles back in the verboten zone, but on closer examination of this picture, there were really five.

Old NFO is such a great Naval Aviator that he can catch bad guys afloat even in land-locked West Virginia. Of course he's been at it for a while. Here's a pic I found of him back when he was first starting out in the Navy.

I think that's him in the hat. The guy with the mustache is Orville Wright.

Heading back into the airport, we overflew the local KOA campgroud. Looks like lots of RV space, in case someone currently in Texas who reads this blog and travels in an RV might be temptable.

Back at the airport, we found this way-cool Taylorcraft tied down in transient parking and naturally we thought of someone that we know.


It's fabric-covered! I think it uses a Briggs and Stratton motor, or maybe it's one of the earlier hamster-powered ones. In any case, it was neat to drool over for a few minutes.

Fun is finally over. Now I'm home, with a ton of guns to clean. But it was a great day with great company and I look forward to doing it again.

Lest we forget the real reason for the day though...

It's coming...I can feel it.

Just wait. Any day now, Obama and Congressional Dems will put down their "I hate the Constitution" coloring books and decide that, because of the Oscar Pistorius murder case, there needs to be a new law against amputees having guns.

Should they try it, I would like to be the first one to put a foot in their asses.

Obama quietly hoses gun owners. Few notice.

Thankfully, the Korean press wasn't as silent on this outrage as the American press was.
The U.S. government is opposing Korea’s bid to sell thousands of aging U.S. combat rifles to American gun collectors.

By Jung Sung-ki

The U.S. government opposed South Korea’s bid to sell hundreds of thousands of aging U.S. combat rifles to American gun collectors, a senior government official said Thursday.

The ministry announced the plan last September as part of efforts to boost its defense budget, saying the export of the M1 Garand and carbine rifles would start by the end of 2009.

The U.S. administration put the brakes on the plan, citing “problems” that could be caused by the importation of the rifles.

The problems the U.S. government cited were somewhat ambiguous, said an official at the Ministry of National Defense on condition of anonymity.

“The U.S. insisted that imports of the aging rifles could cause problems such as firearm accidents. It was also worried the weapons could be smuggled to terrorists, gangs or other people with bad intentions,” the official told The Korea Times.

“We’re still looking into the reason why the U.S. administration is objecting to the sale of the rifles and seeking ways to resolve the problems raised,” he said.

Critics say the ministry pushed to sell the firearms in a hasty manner without enough consultation with the U.S. beforehand, as calls were growing to increase defense expenditure.

The Seoul government sought to sell the outdated U.S guns back to the United States.

A total of 86,000 M1 rifles and another 22,000 carbines were to be sold, as the weapons have been mothballed for about five decades in military warehouses. The per-unit price of the M1 rifle is about $220 and the carbine is more than $140, according to the ministry.

Firearms accidents? Terrorists and gangs? Please... That crap sounds like it was written by Josh Sugarman or Sarah Brady personally. Unsafe? They were sure safe enough for our troops to use all over the world from World War Two up into the early 1970's. And criminals? Criminals don't want old, hard-to-conceal rifles like these. The only ones who do want them are American target shooters, military history buffs and collectors. These weapons flowed freely into our country without a problem during the eight years of the last administration and everyone was happy. But Obama is in a tough spot here. He promised his left-wing supporters that he'd enact new national gun control laws like the ones he supported in Illinois if they put him in office, but since then, he's read the mood of the people and realized that we're not in the mood for any more gun control, especially while he's still in the White House and his party is busy crashing our country. But Obama is and always has been anti-gun, and this move was a way for him to keep 100,000 pieces of shooting history out of the hands of American citizens, ideally without anyone noticing.

Well we're noticing. The question now is what we're going to do about it. Spread this around, gunnies...it may be too late to undo this screw-job, but at least we can hold the responsible guy and his followers accountable and rebut their claims that Obama isn't out to take our guns away.

Training Day

It was 90 degrees in the shade today, and there was no shade at all on the range where I go to train.

I had the place to myself this morning, so that meant that I got to set up a real nice multi-position shooting course to run through. I put several 5-gallon pail targets downrange at various distances, from 10 meters to 90 meters (sadly, that's all the room there is here) and parked my truck perpendicular to the targets midway between a large rock on one side and an orange and white ex-construction barrel on the other side. A bit forward of this line--between the truck and the barrel--was a smaller dirt berm. Downrange of the barrel there was the remains of an old table that I put several empty drink cans on. They'd be my final targets. Then I set about to practice my cover and transition drills with the Uzi submachine gun, Remington 870 shotgun and H&K P7M13 pistol.

The drill ran as follows:

1. Starting from a seated position in the truck, exit the truck and engage two of the targets with the primary weapon (Uzi or shotgun).
2. Run to the rock. Taking cover behind the rock, engage two targets from there.
3. Run back to the truck. Kneel behind the tire and fire around the front bumper. Engage two targets.
4. Run to rear of truck and use it for cover while engaging two more target pails.
5. Run forward to the berm and go prone behind it. Roll out and engage any two visible targets left.
6. Get up, run back to the barrel, and drop the Uzi (it's on a sling) or set down the shotgun (it doesn't have a sling) and transition to the pistol. Using the barrel as cover, clear the table of the cans.
7. Reload as necessary during the run, but without stopping. If the primary weapon jams or goes completely empty before getting to the barrel, transition to the pistol and finish the course.

Sounds easy, right?

Hell...

Anyone can just stand and shoot static targets like drink cans, but when your heart rate is up and your chest is pounding, you're out of breath, and the sweat is just flowing down your face and into your eyes, hitting those same little cans can be a vexing exercise, indeed. Add in the heat and the rough terrain, and well...you've got reality staring back at you. And that's the idea; real-life gunfights don't take place on 15-meter indoor pistol ranges.

I ran this course eight times--three times with the Uzi, four times with the shotgun, and once with an M1 carbine. I stumbled once while running with the Uzi and fell on top of it, and I'm extremely grateful that Uziel Gal put a grip safety on that thing as the muzzle nailed me hard in my ribs when I hit the ground. (This is why we don't run with our fingers on the triggers, people.) But I got right back up again and finished the course.

With the Uzi and the carbine, there was just one mag change required midway through each run, but with the shotgun, I had to constantly strip rounds from the sidesaddle and stock tubes to top off the gun or feed through the ejection port as I ran. That's an essential fighting shotgun skill that few people practice adequately.

During the four shotgun runs, I fired 65 rounds of buckshot and slugs, and when I finished the last run, I actually burned my hand on the barrel, it was so hot. But those 870s, like the Uzis, just keep going.

Only twice out of the seven runs was I able to clean all of the cans off of the last stage with one shot per can. Every other times, I was shaking and muffed one or more. But that's why we train--to get faster, smoother and better.

When I finished, I went down to check out of the range. The desk staff was shocked to see that I was soaking wet and covered with sand. "What were you doing out there?" they asked.

My prosthetist asked the same question half an hour later when I showed up in his office for another "emergency" repair. Once again, I'd torn through the neoprene sleeve holding my leg in place by repeatedly kneeling and going prone on it. And once again, I was reminded that my leg wasn't designed for this sort of abuse. But until they come out with one that is, I guess I'll keep tearing this one up. Screw it--that's why I have insurance and plenty of spare sleeves and other parts for it at home. But for now, I guess that I probably should go out and try to find some knee pads that'll fit over it.

Oh well...other than a burned hand, a few cuts and scrapes, and some bruising in my ribs, I'm feeling great. Confidence is high.

So what'd you do today to make yourself a better you?

My lifesaving tools.

I met history today

I hit the range today for my weekly practice session. This time, in addition to a handgun, I brought out one of my M1 carbines because I needed to test a new load I'd worked up. I'd been reloading the .30 carbine rounds using surplus W820 powder, but I finally used the last of that up and have to switch over to Hogdon's H110, which I absolutely love for my .357 loads.

The carbine I was using today is the top one on this rack, A 1943 General Motors, Inland Division manufactured rifle.From top to bottom by manufacturer: General Motors Inland Division, Rock-Ola Jukebox Company, General Motors Saginaw Steering Gear Division, Underwood Typewriter Co., and Winchester Repeating Arms. (This last one I recently sold to Aaron over at The Shekel, and I still miss it. At least I know that it has a good home where it will be treated well.) All but the Inland have come to me over the years from the Civilian Marksmanship Program (CMP).

As I got to the range, I groaned and cursed when I saw a couple of trucks already parked by the firing line. The main reason that I shoot on weekdays is because I want the range to myself; I don't want to share with the typical target shooter or hunter that belongs to this club. Many of them are seriously rigid about the club's policies regarding rapid fire, drawing from the holster, and other things that I routinely do for practice. This club is run by a cadre of old men who seriously believe that guns exist only to poke holes in paper or put a deer in the freezer, and any sort of realistic training or practical shooting is frowned upon heavily. I know this well, having been talked to by the caretaker/rangemaster numerous times over the years simply for practicing basic tactical pistol and carbine drills. (Shooters aren't even allowed to shoot standing, kneeling or prone on the rifle range--they have to shoot from the benches only. So much for Hi-Power rifle practice.) But despite my frequent brushes with their inflexible rules, they keep renewing my membership, and they've gotten a bit more tolerant of me after all this time. I also do my part by restricting my tactical training to the weekdays when I'm alone on the lanes.

But now...Sigh. Other people. Dammit. Grumble, grumble....

Seeing as they were on the pistol range, I went over to the 100/200M line to test the .30 loads. I burned up about half an hour there and used up the test ammo, and then some guy with a benchrest rifle showed up (these folks are about the worst range nazis, IMHO) so I called it a day on the rifle line and headed over to the pistol line, figuring that maybe the shooters there would be finished soon and I'd wait them out. I still had some .30 left and a pistol to work with.

When I got over there, one of the shooters was just packing up, leaving one old man, who was shooting a 1911 .45 from the 25M line. I decided that unless he was going to be totally unreasonable about me getting a bit closer to the target and working from my holster, I could get along with him. As I set my gear up on the bench, including my carbine, he stopped and turned to check me and my guns out, like most shooters tend to do. Then he set his pistol down and came over to look at my carbine. "I used to have one of those," he said.

"Oh, yeah?" I replied. I like talking guns about as much as I like shooting them.

"Yep," he said, looking at the carbine, then looking at me. I motioned for him to go ahead and pick it up, which he did. He pulled the bolt back and locked it then held it up so that he could look into the chamber. "Carried one of these in Korea back in 1950." I noticed that his range gear was covered with Marine Corps stickers, and I figured that he probably had some stories that he could tell.

"How'd you like it?" I asked.

"It was great to carry when things were going good. Nice and light and easy to shoot." He hefted it a bit, as if he was recalling the weight of another carbine long ago. "But after the first night that the Chinese came, I never wanted to see one of these again. I threw it on a pile of damaged guns and took a BAR instead. Now THAT sonofabitch was heavy, but it got the job done when the Chinese came back." He set the carbine down. "If I'd still had that thing when they came back, I probably wouldn't be here today."

"That bad, huh?"

"I guess the rifle's fine normally. I liked it before. But we had the automatic versions and mine got all fouled after a while and I didn't have time to clean it so it started jamming up. And the bullets just weren't getting through whatever the Chinese were wearing. It wasn't stopping them."

We talked for quite a while, and he was more than willing to tell some of his stories. I'm not reprinting them all here because they're his, but they were something. I've read about such things but this was the first time I heard it first-hand from someone who was there. This old man was right up there near the Chosin when the Chinese attacked, and he walked almost all of the way back out under fire in one of the coldest winters on record. I'm still in awe hours after hearing him talk about it.

Before he left, I offered him my carbine and the last magazine of my ammunition. He thought about it for a minute, then he took the rifle and inserted the magazine. Shouldering the rifle, he rapid-fired it off-hand, emptying it in about ten seconds and putting every round on the target nicely. Then he cleared it, and handed it back with a smile.

"I still like these things for shooting," he said. "But I'll stick to my .45 or an '06."

I like my carbines too, and I still think that--within their limitations--they make an excellent defensive weapon. But who am I to argue with a little old white-haired man who was once a participant in some of the toughest fighting in the history of the United States Marine Corps.? I've got nothing that even comes close to that.

And my new friend shoots on weekdays too, so hopefully I'll see him again soon.

Why I carry guns when I hike and camp

It was many years ago, probably around this time of year, when two friends and I decided to go camping at a remote National Forest campsite up in the Great North Woods. For whatever reason, We had it all to ourselves. No one else was there.

We'd had a good day hiking and fishing and as night fell, we'd just built a fire on which to cook dinner when three men walked into the campsite. They came right up to the fire and told us that we were on their land and had to leave. They were also armed, each having either a pistol or a long gun.

Of course we were nice, friendly city guys, so we politely told them that they were mistaken, as this was a National Forest site in a National Forest. And when one of the men repeated that this was their area, my friend even offered to get the map out and show them the no-doubt inadvertent error of their thinking.

That's when one of the men put his hand on his pistol and said that he didn't care what any map or campsite sign said, this was their territory, and it we weren't gone in half an hour, we wouldn't be leaving at all. With that pronouncement, the three of them turned and left.

We mulled that threat over for about seven seconds, then we doused the fire, loaded our gear back on the truck, and abandoned the campsite. After all, they had real guns and our only armament consisted of an old .22 rifle that one friend had brought along for casual plinking.

We ran into town and stopped at the local sheriff's office. Coincidentally, a deputy and the state DNR officer were both there. We told them what had just happened, and they looked none too surprised. This had apparently happened before. They told us that we'd likely run into either poachers or dope growers, that there were both in the area, and that we'd done the right thing by leaving quickly. We suggested that they go up and catch these guys, since we knew roughly where they were, and the officers told us--no doubt accurately--that they'd never be able to find those guys in the dark forest. They also told us that we were lucky that the bad guys had only decided to scare us off.

We drove all the way back home that night, aware of the fact that we were only alive because those three rednecks had decided not to kill us. And we swore "never again".

Immediately thereafter, I began carrying my Springfield Armory 1911 into the field with me. It gave me a bit more comfort, especially when camping alone at night, but it lacked range to engage targets a bit further out, and the seven-round magazines weren't exactly what I considered to be optimum at that time. So I did exactly what the US Army did in World War Two--I supplemented (or sometimes replaced) the 1911 with this M1 carbine made by General Motors' Inland Division.This little carbine gave me a bit more firepower and range, and at only 5.5 lbs., it wasn't much of a weight penalty on a backpacking trip. Of course back when I bought this little critter, they were only about $129.00 and you could get them at stores like Woolworth's. Yes, that was the good old days, pre-Bill Clinton. And I loved to hike the back country with that little carbine. I always carried plenty of ammo and had a lot of fun plinking at targets of opportunity in areas where I could legally fire it and when it was safe to do so.

Eventually the M1 carbine was itself replaced, this time by a lightweight Bushmaster AR-15 rifle that I personally built with a collapsible stock and 16" barrel. This was a custom job back then, as the M-4 rifle hadn't been adopted by the US military back then and the short carbines really hadn't caught on with law enforcement or civilian shooters yet. I carted this around for a bit, fully confident in it's ability to handle whatever needed handling, but never entirely comfortable with the image that it projected to others that I met on the trails. Firepower is nice, but I wasn't going to war. So eventually I switched again, this time to a lever-action .357 Magnum rifle, usually paired up with my Smith and Wesson .357 Model 66 revolver. I spent a whole summer hiking the Rockies in Colorado carrying this pair, and it was nice knowing that the compatibility between them allowed my to cheaply plink or shoot to save my life with either gun without having to worry about which rounds went to which one. The pistol was good for closer in, and the rifle's longer barrel gave me increased range, accuracy and knock-down power if and when I needed it.

I stupidly sold the rifle a few years back when I needed the money--and I've regretted it ever since--but I still have the revolver and it will never be sold. This one accompanies me on hikes regularly these days, or sometimes just into town when I have to go to the store. I know that I can trust it, and it packs sufficient punch to end almost any problem. And now when I go afield with a pack, I tend to tote a rather shopworn but trusty Winchester Model 94 .30-30...pre 1964, or course. It's light, compact, and reaches out just as well as any of the more modern-looking rifles, but without the "assault rifle" or "Rambo" image. This is a working rifle but one that non-gun people tend to associate with cowboys like John Wayne, Henry Fonda or Chuck Connors--it doesn't alarm people or make them uncomfortable. It's also a lot cheaper than an AR-15 is these days even though it fulfills the same role comparably. Like I said, I'm not looking to take on a whole band of terrorists--I'm more concerned these days with wild animals like mountain lions or bear. Of course if Bubba and his banjo-picking cousins want a go, or Juan and his illegal-alien dope-grower crew take issue with my presence, they're quite liable to learn that it's not the rifle that matters as much as it is the rifleman. I don't look for trouble when I hike the back country, but if it finds me, it'll find me ready and capable and equipped with the tools I need to do the job.

And of course Lagniappe says: "Don't forget your best hiking friend!"