Home Forums Hunting & Shooting Hunting Rifles Help: Ammo won't chamber!! (but brass will...)

John,
IIRC, I've loaded for 75 different chamberings between 17 hornet to 458 Lott.

Actually I operate within a narrow band of mediocrity. Don't do militaria or for the most part, metric calibers.

Although I've had several AR's, and my son has built a half dozen up to 458 SOCOM, I don't care for the aesthetics of what is termed the "modern sporting rifle" (AR platform). They can rival the accuracy of my best bolt guns, but I don't like the way they carry in the hand. or lie on the rest.

Also, I'm not much into the lever gun/black powder/cowboy action scene.

I don't load for shot-shells.

Just sayin!

As to KemoSabe, I get a kick out of Stick. He's got a killer wit and instinct, knows tons more than I do in regards to anything that has to do with rifles, and is an amazing photographer. I've told numerous folk, that he makes a great foil, and if it were not for BS, I'd not post half of what I do. It's a shame he don't play well with others. I'm told that was not always the case.

So keep those jibes n' insults coming KemoSabe.


Just add some fresh pix now and then......


Pretty Please, with sugar on top.

an I'll be sure to keep up my end.






















So here's a ditty for a guy that's witty!

BIG ROCK CANDY MOUNTAIN
Harry McClintock, circa 1890

One evening as the sun went down
And the jungle fires were burning,
Down the track came a hobo hiking,
And he said, “Boys, I’m not turning.
I’m headed for a land that’s far away
Besides the crystal fountains.
So come with me, we’ll go and see
The Big Rock Candy Mountains.

In the Big Rock Candy Mountains,
There’s a land that’s fair and bright,
Where the handouts grow on bushes
And you sleep out every night.
Where the boxcars all are empty
And the sun shines every day
And the birds and the bees
And the cigarette trees
The lemonade springs
Where the bluebird sings
In the Big Rock Candy Mountains.

In the Big Rock Candy Mountains
All the cops have wooden legs
And the bulldogs all have rubber teeth
And the hens lay soft-boiled eggs.
The farmers’ trees are full of fruit
And the barns are full of hay.
Oh I’m bound to go
Where there ain’t no snow
Where the rain don’t fall
The winds don’t blow
In the Big Rock Candy Mountains.

In the Big Rock Candy Mountains
You never change your socks
And the little streams of alcohol
Come trickling down the rocks.
The brakemen have to tip their hats
And the railway bulls are blind.
There’s a lake of stew
And of whiskey too
You can paddle all around it
In a big canoe
In the Big Rock Candy Mountains

In the Big Rock Candy Mountains,
The jails are made of tin.
And you can walk right out again,
As soon as you are in.
There ain’t no short-handled shovels,
No axes, saws nor picks,
I’m bound to stay
Where you sleep all day,
Where they hung the jerk
That invented work
In the Big Rock Candy Mountains.
….
I’ll see you all this coming fall
In the Big Rock Candy Mountains

….
The punk rolled up his big blue eyes
And said to the jocker, “Sandy,
I’ve hiked and hiked and wandered too,
But I ain’t seen any candy.
I’ve hiked and hiked till my feet are sore
And I’ll be damned if I hike any more
To be buggered sore like a hobo’s whore
In the Big Rock Candy Mountains.”


Laffin' x 2


GWB