After Action Report

We arrived to a brisk cool wind and gray skies. Perfect weather for a day at the old farm. Pirate Jim and I arrived first and the first course of action was to build a fire. I wore a heavy black hooded sweatshirt and still the chill seemed bone deep. Out with the lighter.

So, I made a small campfire. Thankfully Pirate Jim had thermos of good hot coffee.

Our plan of the day was simple. Finish a bit of light construction on our 'shooting shed.' Remember the flood of last July had taken our shed, and well, slapped that sucker to the ground. We've since improved the shelter, enlarged it and now it needed shooting benches and gear tables. After, we'd spend the rest of the day on the firing line.

When the rest of the crew arrived we stood around the fire and chewed the fat. We had a good long heated (all agreed on the issue) debate about gun control and the actions of the fools in our nation's capital. Then we set to work. Above Senior and our resident hippy, Rebel, as they measure and cut lumber.

When six men work in harmony it doesn't take long to finish a task. We used scrape lumber salvaged from the old structure and from long discarded piles left at the farm and before long the yell, 'the range is hot,' was accompanied by live fire. It felt so damn good.

In this next picture notice the pair of legs just beyond the open ammo can. The ammo can belongs to me and is filled with nine millimeter Luger...the open puke green range bag and legs belong to my friend, Duke. Keep your eyes on the range bag....I had plans.

We intend to cover the two boards, our new bench rest, soon. The Ruger LC9 is my new, and very inexpensive, baby and she was put through her paces. She functioned very well indeed.

Above, as the men worked, Senior and Pirate Jim took it upon themselves to paint target stands on the range. According to them they 'zombiefied' the range. Our long term goals for the range are to build stations for combat shoots. Between continued improvements on the Boar's Nest and the range we have a heavy workload. (I used the word, range, four times. Shameful.)

Below, a random selection from my gun safe. Even though it hurt I ran thirty rounds of 5.56 (yes, I own many evil thirty rounds mags) thru her. Oh, the pain. With every shot I kept a tally of cost. Still, it sure was fun. 

Ah, the prize in sight. Duke's range bag. Look very carefully...see the old Smith .38.

Now, notice how its stocks are visible above the rim of the bag. As MLK said, I have a dream.

Duke is easily distracted. One can point towards a rare bird or offer him a bottle of water or ask him a question, and poof, he's deep into a fog.

Notice how the Smith has worked its way to my side of the bench. The ammo can gives concealment. Step two was a complete success. Sorry for the blurry picture but I was, you understand, in a hurry.

In the meantime, Senior prepares his Ruger 10/22 for a workout. He has a tendency to 'tactical the heck' out of his firearms. You should see his childhood Red Rider. It has a light and siren. Thing is, his stuff works. The purple velvet bag belongs to Pirate Jim. He slurs his speech. But, that's fine. He's also our medic and a damn good one. He'll hit you square between the eyes at four hundred yards then save your life.

This next shot is of ShooterSteve's station. He's far too alert for one to gather needed items.

Now we have Pirate Jim's range bag. He'd just broken out a very nice Ruger MKII, which reminded me Duke owned a nice MKI.

Just a box of ammunition. For those of you new to the gun culture guess its purpose. 

Duke's Ruger...isn't it pretty. Yes, its blue is worn, but it has the patina of grace which makes it a beautiful piece of history.

Duke's Ruger in my range bag. He'll never miss it....

He's so easy. Once, when his back was turned I used forefinger and thumb to pinch a couple of extra 1911 mags. Don't tell him...

(boys and girls, I do not recommend you pinch items from range bags when the owners of said bags hold fully loaded rifles and handguns. Wait until they reload. The above demonstration is for training purposes only.)

Stephen

The Weekend In Pictures

Walked outside a few minutes ago to feed our cat and noticed one of my banana trees is about to give birth to a nice batch of baby bananas. Me, all smiles.

Our weather is, fair. Has been for a week or so; clear dry days with highs in the lower eighties. I can't wait until the weather improves. Beautiful weather, to me, would be a rainy windy day with a high of about forty-five.

*****

As promised here are the pictures from our group workday. I'm sure many of you remember our retreat suffered from a very bad (historic) flood. The aftermath and clean-up has taken many months of hard work. Overall we have been very lucky. Many of the area residents lost the homes. We count our blessings.

All my friends arrived early and by the time I appeared (remember, I work for a living) had accomplished much. They had repositioned the outhouse and the old travel trailer adjacent to the Boar's Nest. We use the trailer for storage.  Senior sleeps in the outhouse. He's funny that way....

I was greeted by the younger crowd with their usual gang related hand signs. Class tells. Senior is the dude hiding his face. Kids...what can I say. We need them for the heavy lifting and comic relief.

Above, another shot of Senior hard at work on a bag of Mountain House.

Our 'shooting shed' was destroyed by the flood and needed to be rebuilt. After lunch we tackled the mess the flood left behind and after several hours of hard work we had the structure replaced. We'll complete the project next month. Above Duke hard at work. I've posted this picture of Duke for my lovely friend, kymber.

Above, Senior and Pirate Jim. If you're ever in a jam these are two guys you'd want in your foxhole.

As an aside we've decided to build a three gun range....should be fun.

We have a beautiful retreat.

Above, a very special young man. This is the son of my best friend, Pirate Jim. His name is Brandon and Brandon is special because he's closer to God than you and I. We're lucky to have him. He's a very hard worker and gives out hugs whenever or wherever they're needed. Brandon senses when a person is in need of support and without question walks over and 'hugs.' He always leaves me with a smile. In this picture he's inspecting the installation of one of the structures load bearing supports.  That 'log' took five grown men, and Senior, to place. Sucker was heavy.

Here we have ShooterSteve. He's shooting nails into a stud behind this old set of school lockers we've just placed. We use the cabinets for range storage such as targets, tape, sand bags and spare hearing protection. We had to dig them from beneath the old collapsed structure and as you can plainly see they've seen better days.   

That's it folks. It was a good day. Now, I need to get to work.

Take care.

Stephen

The Gang & The Gunshow

Just now home from church and fried chicken. Sweet Wife is happy. This is the third time in a month she's tricked me into attending a brick and mortar church.  I've been a good boy- didn't say a word during any of the services. I simply slipped my Kindle out and read, elbow or no elbow.

*****

Yesterday was fun. Our group gathered at a local gunshow. The cast of characters included, yours truly and my Sweet Wife. (At first she declined. Then she was informed our good friend, Jacked Up Glock Mom planned to escort her husband, Senior Chief, so Sweet Wife quickly changed her mind.) Along with our other best friends, Pirate Jim, and Rebel, we had a six pack.

Two of our group missed out - Duke, away on vacation, and Shooter Steve. Shooter Steve is a newly wed and has yet mastered the ability to check his email so missed out on a great gunshow and lunch. He's young and I'm sure in time he'll learn.

We gathered at the door of the venue at 0900, after of course, we disarmed. Ironic isn't it...one must first unload their concealed weapons to attend a gun show. So I walk inside with two full magazines attached to my belt.

The ladies went left, the guys right.

Gunshows smell good, at least to me. The scent of oil and wood and leather fills the air. I love the racks of old firearms and the bits and pieces of gear and spare parts, cleaning rods and brushes and countless AR grips. Old slings and trench knives with the odd sun bleached olive drab ammo pouches.

We took our time, ambled along. The prices were very high, almost ridiculous. I've attended many shows in my lifetime, more than I can count, and I've never seen prices reach such levels. Most, I dare say, high retail.  My expectations of a deal died quickly. My want list was small when I approached the door, it quickly shrank. The list included a lower, a few spare AR parts, perhaps some ammo along with .50 caliber ammo cans, and books.

I scored on three out of five. I did find a Ragnar Benson.

As you can see above, I also found a Spikes lower. I did find a few PMS lowers but the dealer was a pawn shop owner and was awful proud of his inventory, so I passed.

My good friend, Pirate Jim, stumbled across a nice M1. He's a collector of vintage military rifles. Its a fine disease. He paid and took his new baby home. Sweet Wife said of Pirate Jim, "He's so sweet. Look how he's holds his rifle. Just like a baby." I thought, 'Well heck yes, why shouldn't he.'

Above, Pirate Jim stands next to a display of gun culture themed books.

At one point Rebel and I came upon a display of private arms. I've noticed over the last few years dealers will proudly display 'private sale' signs on their booths. Loop holes be damned. I've also noticed their booths are knee deep in business. As we checked out this dealer's inventory Rebel spotted a nice little Revelation pump .410, the prefect little squirrel weapon. He and the dealer bickered a bit and Rebel walked away with a fine little Mossberg built shotgun. Pump .410's are fairly scarce. Revelation was a Western Auto store brand.

Above a display of .300 Blackout barrels and lowers. Local manufacturer. Senior Chief's next AR build.

At one point, as I filled out a 4473, Rebel walked over and asked if I wanted a piece of action in a bulk ammo can purchase. Said, yes. The dealer wanted ten dollars each. We checked each seal, stacked the cans, and smiled all afternoon. I walked away with five.

I'll take a step into dangerous territory - ready....never, ever, take your wives to a gunshow.  As I've said, I took my time to stroll up and down each aisle. I was happy...then, the women began to complain. They're hungry. Their backs hurt. Their feet were sore. I've yet to take in half the show. Guess what.

We ignored them. Above, Pirate Jim and his new baby. Displayed on the table, Rebel's .410.

Then, the women came back and slapped us. Above, my Sweet Wife. If you look closely you'll see she has a little AR-15 ink pen, a gift to me. She's clutches other secret booty. I've found it best to hold tight to my wallet.

And, above, my wallet next to a sack which holds a .22 conversion kit. Notice the price.

The women finally won. The gang followed Rebel's jeep to lunch. During lunch the rain's began to fall.

I'm rich with friends.

Stephen