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Welcome Relief
So now… wait, I thought it was Glueball Wormening that was going to cause catastrophe and WE’RE ALL GONNA DIEEEEE!
While climatologists fear skyrocketing temperatures, scientists are now warning that a “cold blob” in the Atlantic could trigger a global cooling event, among other apocalyptic scenarios, per an alarming study in Geophysical Research Letters.
Located South of Greenland and Iceland, this anomalous patch of ocean has seen temps dip by 1.8 degrees Fahrenheit since the 19th Century, Science News reported.
Coincidentally, this comes as the United Nations’ influential climate change committee has discarded dire temperature increase models spouted by doomsdayers on the Left.
Of course, now that Global Cooling Climate Warming Change© has been debunked, it’s time for Global Warming Climate Cooling Change© — warming or cooling, it’s important to keep us all in a state of climate-related panic, you see.
Speaking of states, we have Texas, frying basking in our typical July summer temperatures — and let me tell y’all, the idea of a little global cooling is not that unattractive a prospect right now.
Don’t You Just Hate It When…?
So yesterday I went back to the range because… well, I don’t have to explain it to y’all now, do I?
Gave the little Walther/Hammerli a good thrashing, just with .22 LR and not with the WinMag because… well, that’s a story for another time.
Anyway, all good things come to an end, and I hadn’t brought a semi-auto rifle or pistol along to finish off all the .22 ammo I had in the bag (I know, I know…).
So I decided to give the 1911 a little love and attention. so I packed the rifle away and reached into the gun bag for some practice .45 ammo, and came away empty-handed. Well, shit.
Never mind, thinks I, I ‘ll just pop off a couple mags from what C.W. calls my “EDC” pack-out, and call it a day.
Well, I came up short there, too. All I had was what was already loaded in the 1911… and instead of the two or three backup mags I typically carry, there was only one.
Well shit, Part 2. No way was I going to shoot off the only two mags I had (and go home with an empty gun? NFW, bubba).
So I blew through one mag at 50 feet (with quite a decent outcome: apparently I haven’t forgotten how to shoot the 1911 yet)… and went home with only the one mag in the 1911.
I felt naked. I mean: just one mag for my carry piece? [shudder]
(I should point that really, the 1911 is just to buy me time to get to the trunk, where all sorts of other options are available, but still.)
Anyway, instead of doing a little grocery shopping on the way back, I went straight home and took care of the (miserly) EDC pack-out situation. Then I went back out to do the extra shopping.
Lesson learned: check your EDC supplies before leaving the house.
Oh, and one more thing. It’s coming up to mid-July here in the Lone Star State, which means:
Thursday Landscape
Kingston, Ontario 2010
Range Report: July 4th Excursion
Not my range visit, but from deep in the mountains of Tennessee (greenest state in the land of the free — sorry), Reader Mike S. sends me this fine account:
Loaded up magazines, a 50BMG can of 5.56, and my AR into the truck and headed to the range.
First pleasant surprise came when checking in the office.
“Hey, Ruger guy!” It was a fellow I met a few weeks ago and showed him my Mk II Standard and Mk III 22/45. He’d just bought a Mk IV 22/45 from the range. It was a range rental but no one was renting it so … he enjoyed shooting mine so got one of his own. *happy dance*
Off to the firing line.
At one point there were 5 of us with ARs. One was full auto. We let freedom ring!
During reloads we swapped info ‘bout makes, models, modifications… gun stuff. And yes, I had the oldest model (AR15A2) with fewest mods (trigger and stock replacement) except for the youngest shooter who had a new AR. He took notes on what we said. His girlfriend was reluctant to shoot the rifles so … boyfriend took her to the pistol range to fire his 9mm. She didn’t like that one either so once again my 22/45 came into play. She didn’t like the light trigger but enjoyed the light recoil. The Volquartsen mods are perhaps too much for a newbie. When they returned my gun and mags they included a box of ammo. Nice touch.
As the sun slid between the firing line cover and tree line it got a tad hot (stop laughing you Texans!). The rifles weren’t cooling down either. So handshakes all around and off to home.
Damn good way to spend Independence Day.
I’ll say. And I have to say that as much as I enjoyed the story, what really got to me was the display of good manners by the youngins.
Maybe we’re not doomed.
Apex Stuff
I’m sometimes asked the best way to hunt dangerous game — specifically in Africa, where there are lots of things with teeth and claws and such, waiting for an opportunity to turn the next easy target into dinner.
Let me be perfectly clear about this: human beings are the ultimate prey for hunters like lions. We can’t run very fast nor very far, we have no sense of smell compared to, say, lions or leopards let alone antelopes, we don’t have sharp horns or hooves to protect ourselves or cause some kind of defensive injury to a predator, and we sure as hell can’t swim like a damn crocodile.
We are, in the animal kingdom, like marshmallows. Pork-flavored marshmallows, to be precise, just the thing to make lions sharpen their claws before putting on a dinner napkin.
So why do these dangerous animals think that we are the apex predators?
Because we don’t fight fair. As though fighting for one’s life, or hunting down food requires us to be all Marquis-of-Queensbury types; what foolishness.
Fuck that. If a pride of lions wants to target a few humans for brekkie, well… say hello to an A-10 Warthog or an Apache attack helicopter, and let’s see who’s really the apex predator, Fluffy.
The only reasons we don’t use our peak powers to hunt game are because the stupid government won’t let us, the weapons are a little on the pricey side (if you think .50 Browning ammo is spendy, try a depleted-uranium 20mm boolet). And lastly, we don’t use all that cool wizardry because it kind of messes up the trophy hides and meat somewhat. (Not much market for half-inch-sized hides and bloody slurry instead of steaks.)
So we’re stuck with rifles like this rather pretty Chapuis Elan Classique double rifle, in .470 Nitro Express:
For those unfamiliar with this beast of a cartridge, here’s a comparison to the 8x57mm Mauser (itself no slouch in the “killin’ things” business):
And speaking of hammer blows:
Of course, if you know what you’re doing, you’ll only need one or two blows to your wallet for that Cape buff or 600-lb Kalahari lion.
If you don’t know what you’re doing, refer to my “pork-flavored marshmallow” description above.