David E. Petzal - The Gun Nut

Floyd Paterson, the former heavyweight champ, had a chin of Dresden china and probably spent as much time on the canvas as he did on his feet. Muhammad Ali had a chin of iron, and absorbed some of the most savage beatings in ring history without going down. He could be decked only rarely, and knocked out, never. How come? No one has an answer.

So it is with recoil. Some people can take a ton of it and walk away with a spring in their step and a song in their heart. Others run shrieking for the ice bag and the Ibuprofin if they fire anything bigger than a BB gun.

It doesn’t seem to relate to body size. I know small guys who can shoot horrendous rifles with no trouble, and immense humanoids who swoon at the sight of a .30/06. As a rule, the upper limit for most rifleman is a .41-caliber cartridge such as the .416 Remington or Rigby. Both fire 400-grain bullets at 2,300 fps or so. When you get up to the .458, with 500 grains at 2,000 fps (or a little less) and about 60 foot-pounds of recoil, most people would rather not, thanks. And with bigger cartridges like the .458 Lott and .450 Dakota 500 grains, 2,300 fps), even the toughest riflemen grow pale and begin to tremble.

The worst-kicking rifle I’ve ever used is the .378 Weatherby. It comes back at you so fast you can’t roll with it, and it’s the only rifle I’ve ever sold because I feared it.

The worst thing you can do if you want to learn to shoot a big rifle is use a Lead Sled. The way you learn to take a punch is by getting punched. The way you learn to handle lots of kick is by getting kicked. The Lead Sled absorbs just about all the recoil, and prevents you from becoming a manly man. (If you are a woman, this is obviously not a consideration.) Take your whupping and learn to live it.

Anything interesting going on? No? Anyway, one of the questions I get pretty often is on barrel life. The only thing I can tell you for certain is that no two people agree on how many rounds you can put through one before it’s worn out. But before we get to actual numbers, here are some factors to consider:

Very few barrels are actually worn out. Most die hideous, unnatural deaths from cleaning-rod misuse and neglect.

The hotter your barrel is when you shoot, the quicker it goes. For this reason, the barrels on prairie-dog rifles usually go quickly.

If you handload, the higher the pressures your loads generate, the hotter the flame that goes up the barrel, and the quicker you visit the gunsmith.

Stainless-steel barrels probably last 20 percent longer than chrome-moly.

There are two kinds of accuracy. First is absolute accuracy. That is the very best your rifle will do when it’s new, before it starts to deteriorate. This is of concern to target shooters, benchresters, and varmint hunters who need the smallest groups they can get. The second type is useful accuracy. A big-game rifle barrel that grouped an inch when it was new and will now do 1 1/2 inch is still perfectly useful.

So, with all that said, here are some estimates on how long a barrel will last:

.22 Long Rifle: The lowest estimate I’ve ever seen is 10,000 rounds. I’ve seen some estimates go as high as 500,000. I think the question here is academic; you’re not going to wear one out, period.

.224 centerfire: Probably a maximum of 4,000 in small rounds like the .222, to a minimum of 2,500 in big cartridges like the .22/250.

.270 Winchester: 3,000 or so.

.30/06: I recall seeing 5,000 somewhere respectable, maybe in Hatcher's Notebook. I’ll go with that.

7mm and .300 magnums: 1,500 to 2,500.

Great Big Magnums (.30/378, etc.): 1,500.

I gave up worrying about barrel life years ago. Shoot the thing and enjoy it. There are so many people making wonderful barrels that when you do need a new one, it will likely be better than the original.

As has been pointed out by those of you with long memories, I wrote a piece 13 years ago about the then-looming assault rifle ban. The story was unpopular with a lot of people, but nowhere in it did I endorse the ban, as some are claiming. I note that none of you have seen fit to haul up the many, many times I’ve said critical things about Senators Clinton, Schumer, Feinstein, and of course our beloved former President Bubba. But then it seems that most of you who are visiting here don't read this blog, or Field & Stream, or what I've written to defend the Second Amendment over the years.

Here’s some other relevant information: When I wrote it, black guns were not nearly as important a part of shooting as they are now. We can’t afford to sacrifice them, just as we can’t afford to sacrifice .50-caliber rifles (which I wrote about positively a couple of issues ago in a story called “Way Out There”).

In case you’re wondering, I’ve been using black rifles since 1965, when I hunted woodchucks with one of the very first AR-15s sold commercially by Colt. I’ve worked over many a prairie dog town with one AR variant or another, and if Les Baer were to send me one of his rifles (a heavy barrel flattop in .223, please), I would not send it back. I currently own an M1A. I don’t know if that qualifies or not.

Most important, you shouldn’t construe any of this as an apology. It isn’t. But it is the last thing I’m going to say in this space about the Zumbo matter.

In case you just emerged from a coma and have not heard, the shooting world is agog over a blog posted by Jim Zumbo, former contributing editor at Outdoor Life, over the weekend of February 17. In it, Jim stated that any semiauto rifle with an AR or AK prefix was a terrorist rifle, had no place in hunting, and should be outlawed for that purpose. Then, courtesy of the Internet and all its blogs and chatrooms, the roof fell in.

The speed with which Zumbomania spread, the number of comments it drew, and the rabid nature of same were a revelation. Overnight, this thing became as big as Janet Jackson’s clothing failure or—dare I say it?—Britney Spears’ shaved head. Jim Zumbo is now as employable as the Unabomber, and Sarah Brady will no doubt adopt his comments to her own gun-control purposes.

For the last several days I’ve been visiting all manner of blogs and chatrooms, which has reminded me of when I used to deliver used clothing to the local mental hospital. I’ve tried to make some sense of it all, but because the waters are still full of blood and body parts continue to rain from the sky, I haven’t come up with any Great Truths. Lacking that, here are some Lesser Truths.

What Jim said was ill-considered. He’s entitled to his beliefs, but when a writer of his stature comes out against black guns, it sure as hell does not help our cause.

Even so, Jim made an immediate apology. He did not equivocate, or qualify, or make excuses. He acted like a gentleman and said he was wrong, and he was sorry. Apparently this is not enough anymore. We now live in the era of one strike and you're out.

For 40 years, Jim has been a spokesman and ambassador of good will for hunting. Through his tireless efforts as a teacher and lecturer on hunting and hunting skills, he has done more for the sport than any 250 of the yahoos who called for his blood.

Jim has paid dearly for what he said. He has lost his blog and his association with Remington. Cabela’s has suspended its sponsorship of his TV show; and Outdoor Life has accepted his offer to sever ties. To all the chatroom heroes who made him unemployable, I have a word of warning: You’ve been swinging a two-edged sword. A United States in which someone can be ruined for voicing an unpopular opinion is a dangerous place. Today it was Jim’s turn. Tomorrow it may be yours.

If Sarah Brady is smart—and she is very smart—she will comb through the same blogs and chatrooms I’ve been reading, excerpt some of the most vicious and foul-mouthed entries, print them up, and distribute them to Congress. Then it will be interesting to see how the men and women who wrote that stuff enjoy seeing their efforts being put to use by every anti-gunner in America.

Stay tuned.

Editor's Note: Read Dave's response to your comments here

A friend of mine who can really shoot (He is both a Distinguished Marksman and Distinguished Pistol Shot) recently had laser surgery on his eyeballs, and after I complemented him on his new, glassesless self, we got into a discussion on aiming with iron sights.

"One of the things I've learned," he said, "is that if you take a deep breath and let most of it out, you've got about 7 seconds' worth of oxygen to press the trigger. Take longer than that and your sight picture will start to blur, because the first thing that goes when your brain isn't getting enough oxygen is your vision. If you do blur, take a couple of deep breaths and start again."

A couple of days later, I was giving some shooting instruction to a couple of beginning shooters, and one complained that her eyes were blurring. "Take a couple of deep breaths," I said.

Damned if it didn't work.

The second tip is for handgunners, from the same source. If you're not thoroughly hydrated and you do any amount of handgun shooting, your hand will swell to the point where it becomes a problem. And you can't guzzle a quart of water before you step to the firing line; you have to get it into your system 24 hours beforehand.

"You end up with a full bladder all night long," my amigo says, "but it works."

Having seen him shoot, I believe him.

One more military blog and then I'll let it go for a while.

A friend of mine used to work for the ad agency that handled the Army's recruiting advertising, and we used to argue about it, my point being that the ads missed the main benefits of joining the service. There are three:

One: Military training is the best in the world. Whatever they teach you, you are going to know in your bones.

Two: If you have any aptitude for leadership, you'll find yourself with more real responsibility in your early 20s than you would have in your mid-30s as a civilian.

But the most important is, you will get to meet a born leader or two. I'm talking about the kind of officers or noncoms whose troops will follow them to the death - literally. This is a very, very rare type of human being, and one that you don't find in civilian life. The outstanding example in U.S. military history is Robert E. Lee.

If you are curious about what such leaders are like, I can refer you to three sources. The first is a short novel, Mr. Roberts, written by Thomas Heggen in the late 1940s. Second is a long novel, Once an Eagle, written by Anton Myrer, and published in 1968. It so successfully depicts the career of an ideal leader that it is used as a text by the Army.

But the most vivid is the HBO movie, Band of Brothers, and in particular the performance of a young British (!) actor named Damian Lewis (left), who portrays Major Dick Winters (right, in photo). Lewis is absolutely uncanny in capturing the personality of an officer who was not only a hero (he won the DSC at Normandy) but literally worshipped by his men.

The service has its share of officers and noncoms who are time-servers, incompetents, and are unworthy of their rank. But it also has men like Dick Winters, and if you have the luck to serve with one, it can illuminate the rest of your life. I had the great good luck to know two such officers: LTC (later COL) Charles Brauer, and COL (later MG) Howard Lauderback.

Thank you, sirs.

When entrusted with the education of a new shooter, I try to point out three great truths about successful marksmen:

They handle a gun—any kind of gun—with a minimum of movement. If you watch them at work, there doesn’t seem to be much happening.

They are able to shoot fast. They have taken to heart the Gunsite adage that “A good fast shot is better than a slow perfect shot because you’re not going to get time for the slow, perfect shot.”

They don’t jack around with their guns. They accept the fact that if they miss, it’s not the gun, it’s them.

 
Back in my formative years, I left several fortunes in the hands of gunsmiths who were constantly diddling with my rifles and shotguns. I wanted them lighter or heavier. I wanted the stocks shorter or longer. I wanted a new trigger. I wanted a new chambering. I wanted different sights. In the end, I doubt if any of it was even remotely worth the money.

I began to catch on to this when I was shooting registered trap, and noted that the guy who won everything at the shoots I participated in used a plain-vanilla Remington 870 pump. He beat the hell out of all the guys with Perazzis and Berettas and Kriegfhoffs. He did not own choke tubes, never adjusted his comb height when he shot yardage, and did not get a release trigger or any of that stuff. All he did was break targets.

I once asked “Smoker” Smith, the Brit was the world Sporting Clays champion back in the 80s, which choke tubes he used.

“’Ow the ‘ell would I know?”, he said. “And it doesn’t make any difference anyway. The bloody things have been rusted in place for years.”

A number of bloggers have questioned the wisdom (and in some cases the sanity) of people who spend megabucks on the kinds of guns that you can buy at the SCI Convention. It may not make them feel any better, but in many cases expensive guns are an extremely smart investment. And sometimes, even good factory guns do right well.

Back in the 1960s, gun writer Mason Williams had a collection of 6 Super Grade Model 70 Winchesters in calibers from .257 Roberts through .375 H&H. They were all pristine, and at the time he bought them they didn’t cost a lot of money, but today they would be worth a bundle.

Truly fine guns always appreciate. In the mid-1960s, Abercrombie & Fitch (back when it really was A&F) imported a set of five Holland & Holland shotguns, .410 bore through 12 gauge, stocked from the same tree and housed in a rosewood gun cabinet lined with bleached Scottish deerskin. The price was something like $150,000, which was fantastic money for the times. One other set was made, and no more. If either of them should come on the market, what would be the asking price? I am assured by an eminent seller of shotguns that it could be a million dollars.

In 1980 I ran across a Westley-Richards droplock double rifle with barrels in .300 H&H, .375 H&H, and .458, that was stocked for a southpaw shooter. The price was $30,000, which I didn’t have, but if I had bought the rifle it would now be worth $85,000 to $100,000.

Some guns fetch big bucks even though they don’t deserve to. The Winchester Model 21, which is by no stretch of the imagination a fine gun, brings very serious money, and the engraved and inlaid versions command princely sums, even though the engraving and inlaying is done at a third-grade-art-class level.

And some fine guns don’t appreciate at all, most notably the synthetic-stocked working rifles. Even the best of them are never going to get your money back, or even close to it, no matter how nicely they’re put together.

The other night I happened to tune in to the climactic last scene from the 1953 western classic, Shane, which starred Alan Ladd. When Shane first came out it was treated with great solemnity as an “adult” western, as opposed to all the dopey kid westerns that Hoppy and Roy and Gene made, and it was taken as a gritty example of the Old West as it really was. That was in 1953. Seen through 2007 eyes, it plays a little differently.

Prior to the last scene, the hero/gunfighter Shane has just engaged in an epic brawl in a barnyard, and having emerged victorious, rides into town for a midnight confrontation with the evil gunfighter Jack Wilson (played by Jack Palance) and the evil ranchers who hired him, the Ryker brothers. (Jack Wilson, by the way, is true to life--a vicious thug who shoots defenseless sodbusters for fun and profit.)

So the scene is set: It’s midnight, thunder rumbles in the Tetons. Wilson sits at a table slurping coffee, and in walks Shane wearing a spotless fringed-buckskin suit, a silver-concho gunbelt, a tooled-leather holster, and a nickel-plated ivory-handled Peacemaker.

Now, no gunfighter in the wild, wild west ever dressed like this. They looked either like vagrants (Billy the Kid) or undertakers (The Earps). Moreover, Shane has just been in a brawl in a barnyard., yet his outfit is spotless. I invite you to roll around in a barnyard and see what happens.

Shane then calls Wilson “a low-down Yankee liar.” Of all the insults I doubt never got hurled in the Old West, this ranks at the top. “Needle-d****d rabbit f****r” would have had the ring of truth to it, however.

Then they slap leather and shoot. But in the real Old West it would never have gotten this far. Wilson would have taken one look at Shane as he entered the saloon and spit his coffee all over the table.

“Oh my God,” he would have choked, “who buys your clothes? Where did you get that outfit? Oh, spare me.”

The Ryker brothers would have been giggling hysterically, and Shane would be too embarrassed to draw.

Red-faced and furious, Shane would have slammed out of the bar, mounted his horse, and headed out of town, pursued by child actor Brandon DeWilde, who played Little Joe and followed Shane around screeching in a manner not equaled until 2006, when Dakota Fanning spent 90 minutes screeching at Tom Cruise in War of the Worlds.

Faster than the eye could have followed, Shane would have whirled in the saddle and drilled Little Joe right between the horns.

“Loudmouth brat,” he would have muttered, and ridden off into the darkness.

But it was 1953. What did we know?

A couple of years ago we stopped reviewing books in Field & Stream the magazine because readers did not respond, at least in the numbers we would have liked. However, since it’s obvious that our bloggers are people of taste and culture, here are my literary suggestions.

The first is a must-have, and is the 11th Edition of Cartridges of the World, edited by Stan Skinner and published by Gun Digest Books. Volume number one was written by Frank C. Barnes, came out in 1965, and set a benchmark for general usefulness. Its latest incarnation is 552 pages long and costs $30. If you don’t have a copy you live in Outer Darkness. 888-457-2873; gunlistsonline.com

Number two is optional, but a dandy nonetheless. It’s called Dangerous Game Rifles, is published by Countrysport Press, and is the work of Terry Wieland, who is a writer of the first order. It’s an elegant book of 344 pages, and contains 160 black and white and 23 color illustrations. The attraction of this book is twofold—it’s about how these highly specialized guns and cartridges work (and why some of them don’t work) and it loaded with information you just don’t see anywhere else. I can’t remember when I last read a book about guns and most of it was brand-new to me.

This is a far different book than Craig Boddington’s excellent Safari Rifles, which is the other definitive work on the subject. Craig writes about hunting and which guns are best for what. Wieland’s book is about the guns themselves. One compliments the other.

You don’t have to have a copy, but if you do it’s safe to say that you have less taste than the beasts of the field. It’s $40 from 800-685-7962; countrysportpress.com