Splendid Isolation

Here’s a fine tale of woe:

When I bought the safe, I chose a Sargent & Greenleaf electronic lock because it was much faster to open than a dial lock, and I was in and out of the safe a lot, so I appreciated the convenience. This time, however, I hit the combination, and the numbers beeped when I keyed them, but I didn’t hear the “wearnt-wearnt” of the locking bolt moving. Just a “wearnt” sound, and no movement.

No worries. Probably just needed to change the batteries. Swapped them out with brand-new Duracells, and the keypad beeps sounded fine, but I still heard just a single “wearnt” sound after the combination. And the handle wouldn’t turn. Hmm.

So in comes the Larry The Locksmith, who gives it a going-over, and:

“The lock mechanism is dead. Happens with the electronics. Sometimes they just quit. And we can’t get replacements these days because the boards are sourced out of China.” There weren’t any in the U.S., and there was no prospect of any becoming available for years.

End result?

…plus a locksmith’s bill for drilling and installing a new lock:  $1,100.

Not so convenient in the end, was it?

Here’s my problem with all this electronic shit.  Occasionally, it acts like a sheep.  It just says, “Ah, fuck it,” and dies.

My various safes all have keys, whether ordinary-looking keys (a.k.a. “pin-tumbler lock”) for the cabinets (ammo etc.) or for Ye Olde Gunne Sayffe, cam locks.

Here’s the secret about all this.  All safes are inconvenient and time-consuming to get into:  that’s just the function and nature of the beast.

But I’ll take fumbling with keys and their operation — cam locks are a royal PITA — over random entombment — via electronic locks — any day of the week.

My real choice would be an old-fashioned combination lock with a fallback key mechanism, but they’re finicky to work — almost as bad as one of the above — not to mention beastly expensive because they are, after all, precision machines.  Here’s the ultimate compromise, also from the abovementioned company:

Never forget:  if someone really, really wants to get into your safe, they will.  What you want to do is make it as time-consuming and difficult as you possibly can.

If you’re consumed by some fear that you might be attacked and have to go for the guns, then don’t lock all of them away.  Have at least one gun close to hand — bed, office, workshop, wherever you feel the most vulnerable — and deal with whatever problems this may cause.  (Small, inquisitive kids?  Teach them about gun safety, and either hide the guns or put them out of reach.  Whatever works.)

And finally:  don’t trust electronic technology to work faultlessly all the time.  Sometimes, old-fashioned mechanical just can’t be beaten.

Reader LowKey asks in Comments:

“Speaking of your “frankenpoodleshooter”, how are you finding the platform now that you’ve had some time with it?”

I need to give a little background before I answer the question.

I love shooting.  I love shooting just about more than any man I know.  Ever since I first pulled the trigger (RWS/Diana air rifle) back in the (very) early 1960s, I’ve loved shooting with a passion that sometimes worries me.  No other activity gives me the same pleasure that I get from pulling the trigger, feeling the recoil, watching the result on the target and doing it again and again until I get tired or run out of ammo.  This applies most especially to rifles, probably because of a youth spent shooting through a box of five hundred (500) .177 pellets in maybe a couple-three sessions each week in our backyard.  (I grew up on a fairly large piece of land, with plenty of open space and a conveniently-placed backstop — a tall rockery built along the bottom fence line to give us privacy from the neighbor, whose house had been built a little too close to our property boundary to my father’s liking.)

Instead of a weekly cash allowance like other kids got, my parents bought me a 500-round box of pellets each week for two reasons:  a cash allowance would have just resulted in me buying candy from the corner store, and because I pleaded and begged for that substitution.  I loved candy (still do), but between shooting and eating candy?  No contest.

That love of shooting, that connection between me and that long device of wood and steel held in my hands has never left me, and at this point I don’t think it ever will.  It pretty much doesn’t matter what rifle I shoot, really, but I prefer single-shot rifles (going back to the air rifle, maybe?), especially my treasured Browning 1885 High Wall in .45-70 Govt:

…followed by bolt-action rifles like the Mauser K98k and M96 Swede — which formed by far the larger part of my shooting experience from age 18:

…and only eventually semi-automatic rifles, even though I graduated from the Diana to a Winchester 63 (now Taurus 63) semi-auto .22 rifle:

…which remains to this day my all-time favorite .22 plinker.

Much, much later came the serious semi-auto rifles like the M1 Carbine, AK-47 and SKS:

…the last, incidentally, being my favorite semi-auto rifle to shoot.

Which brings us, finally, to the frankenpoodleshooter (see pic above).

Here’s how I feel about it.  It is a very pleasant gun to shoot, because the little .223 cartridge is far lighter than its 7.62x39mm Commie counterpart, it runs like a top (so far, after about 700 rounds), and it’s probably a great tool for its intended purpose (crowd control in, shall we say, riotous circumstances).

And that’s also its biggest drawback for me:  it’s a tool, nothing more, and I get no more pleasure shooting it than I get from operating a power drill.  Unlike the other rifles I shoot, it’s a basic shooting “platform” (I hate that term) rather than an extension of my body.

Whenever I’m shooting another of the rifles I love, I end the range session with a profound sense of regret — “damn, I wish I’d brought more ammo”, or “damn, I’d better get back home before I’m late for dinner”.  In other words, something really important has to drag me away from the thing.

I get no such feeling after a range session with the poodleshooter.  I own it because it was essentially a gift from two great friends, and because I wanted to shoot the same gun with them as they were shooting at the range.  It’s part of a fellowship, in other words.  But outside that?  It’s a tool, and I’ve never regarded any of my rifles as a tool, even the hunting ones.  Basically, one or two mags downrange, and I’m done with it.

I love my rifles;  I don’t love the AR-15, and it’s the very first time I’ve ever felt that way about a rifle.  That said:  if anyone were to try to take it away from me (and you know who you are), expect a little resistance.