Back in 1885 a fella named John Blanch, gunsmith extrodinaire in the King's Realm, built a dandy little rook rifle for the social elite. The original owner is unknown, and the path it took when it immigrated to the New World is lost in the fog of history. In any case it is stocked with the finest of english walnuts, 32 lpi checkering, a 28" barrel and folding express sights. All told it weighs in at less than 5#, even after being resurrected by a noble fellow in Yellow Jacket, Co. You see, somewhere along the way the Brits decided that Rook Rifles were a threat to domestic harmony and decreed they be destroyed or bored out to .410 smooth bore. Its engraved chambering, .297-250 C.F. was one of the Morris cartridges, low power lead shooters used in similar capacity as the more well known .22 RF today. Sadly that was lost, but the gun saved, even if in shameful service as an inelegant shotgun of questionable value. Horn buttplate, side lever break action, virtually all of the original blue still present.

Fast Forward to 8-04, just before the Windy State became thus known. A local gunsmith offered a "1840" ML of some .40 caliber for sale on the internet. I had toyed with the idea of such a peice for some time, and the gun appeared in excellent condition. I contacted my friend in Yellow Jacket and asked if he would take a look at the photos. Well, he knows guns, not the internet! His wife however is 'puter literate and accepted my email link for David to look at. Because of me he had his first surfing experience that day, and what followed was a 30 minute "read" on the gun. It weren't what it was purported to be, but it was old, and overpriced. Then came the magic words, "I didn't know you were interested in old guns...lemme send you some pictures."

Well, you guys may recall the photos I posted back then of the Rook Rifle and the Whistler SxS .410 hammer gun, both of which reside in my vault. David had installed a liner in the barrel of the Blanch gun and it was reborn as a .25-20. Always wanted one of those...

A fella known to you all as Ned, er, N.S. Sherlock got into the spirit of things and I received a supply of the finest cast bullets I have ever seen, soft alloy, gas checked flatnose profile from a Lyman mould, 70 grains IIRC. Thanks for that buddy! I know you were curious about how they would shoot etc. Well, all of this stuff arrived(guns), arrived just in time for evacuation for Hurricane Charlie, the bullets just after. Just in time for Hurricane Francis. Then there was Ivan, and Jeanne... but I digress. There were higher priorities then, suffice it to say.

FF to present: A few nights back I found some time to fiddle with some of that. ALL of my loading stuff is tucked away waiting for my lard ass to finish the enclosure downstairs and pipe in some environmental control. Thus my loading activities have been somewhat constrained for the last year. Not entirely eliminated, just requiring vast motivation to do any of it, and having forseen this turn of events I had wisely loaded enough ammo prior to leaving Ga. to smite most of the crats east of the Mississippi River Basin. However, there sat Mr. Blanch, saying quietly, "Can I now, huh, can I can I can I?!?!" Having some experience with the infamous Hornet and downloaded SG ammo I decided that there was a suitable comparison between the two that the TLAR(That Looks About Right) method of reloading would suffice. Hazards to historical antiques notwithstanding I proceeded to put 2.3 grains of Bullseye in a primed case, then gently seated one of Ned's bullets with a gentle twirl of the vice handle(all between cushioned surfaces I might add) until the grease grooves(2) and the driving bands(3) were seated beyond view in the somewhat longish neck of a virgin case. Nice package I thought, virgin bullets, cases, chamber and bore. It slipped into the chamber perfectly, the barrel locked up with a soft "thunk" when I closed it, and a soft voice sighed blissfully. I promised to let him speak later in the night, after the blue hairs were asleep. I knew it would be a quiet and short speech.

Now, I was standing on the balconey surveying my domain in the moonlight, waiting for another marauding 'coon that has been raiding my trashcans nightly. I had picked up 10# of fresh Gulf shrimp yesterday AM and saved the heads, all of which were waiting for His approach. You may think 'coons like corn, but it ain't nothin' compared to what they'll do for fresh(?) shrimp heads on a cool winter evening. While I was casting about in the abcesses of my mind I began to consider the moon. Very clear evening, and it hung about 30* above the horizon, just past the first quarter. Now I gotta say that whoever it was that set up the phases of the moon had been buryin' their head in the barrel for a spell. The first quarter ain't, nor is the last. I looked up last night and judged it to be about a 5/8th moon, not quite 3/4 if you know what I mean. Hell, any fool can plainly understand that half of the moon is always illuminated so where did this quarter crap come from anyway? Is this some more smoke and mirrors from Washington?

Well, anyway, there I was pondering these great philosophical issues when my eye caught some motion on my left by the seawall. I don't know if I told you or not, I live in a stilt home, elevated if you will. My bedroom has a balconey, and boys that is the best damn stand you can ever have! You can lay down, do your business and all, even in the harshest of climes! Lotsa fresh Joe too, highly recommended to all! Well, what was the "motion" you say! Well, it was a CRAT!!! God Damn US Grant, and I thought I'd run out awhile back! Crats in the open! I heard Wagner in the background!

There is/was a trusty old Remmy pump .22 leaning against the railing with a Leupold M8-4X strapped to the roof. Loaded with(drumroll) CB shorts. With it I have slain a multitude of crats over the years, and a wad of other critters as well. While it is reliable for 'coons, and that was what I'd expected, it sure as hell wasn't going to get the nod for this caper! NO SIR!

Some of you may have suffered the epiphany I had a few years back when I first began to play with guns from the Continent. CIVILIAN guns. They are finely crafted of fine materials and dedication, to a cause other than the Pound or Dollar. They have been in my experience, almost magical in two regards: They are frequently light for bore, and usually fit me like a glove. The results are a symphony of synergy, a thing that points without thought, quite the tool for quick response and pointed mayhem. Of the 3 I have fired, none have hurt me in the least, all have been true to their sights. Last night would be the ultimate test of that bond for even with the moonlight I could not hope to see sights let alone put them on target. I knew the Blanch fit remarkably well at our first meeting...I had no idea how well.

I reached quietly inside the sliding door in the darkness and felt the slender cool flats of the barrel, sensed a tingling tremble in it too long silenced. Much as Excalibur pulled from the stone it came ready for its task, floating into my hands it seemed. We stepped to the edge of the cliff, seeking our quarry. "There!" it said, "Pissing on your car tyre, what?" And it was true. Just washed that morning, glistening white in the moonlight, the long haired pale colored tommy sprayed the left rear wheel. "Have patience Master." it said, the little soft voice of Blanch.

I am not so youg and foolish to think desire alone would allow me to plink the tommy next to my "tyre" without sights in darkness, especially with a load untested. The Ghost of Blanch said patience, therefore I waited as it trembled, nay, vibrated like a year old pointer before a covey of quail. The crat vanished behind the car, loitered over some cause of curiosity I assume, then finally reappeared at the off side on a course perpendicular to the vehicle as it moved into the vacant lot next to my hide. The Ghost said "NOW!", and the hammer came back with a faint soft click barely audible to my ear, yet loud enough to tommy's ears to cause him to freeze 15 feet past the car. Cool walnut to my cheek, the weld as before, quite perfect. I KNEW where the sights were, could "see" them against the fluffy form of fur as it looked at me from 30 yards distant. Barely three pounds to make the hammer fall, I scarcely gave it a conscious thought. The sound came as a soft flat cough, then the crisp "B-Whopp" of lead meeting prey. The crat did not move, at least not to my eye in the pale 5/8ths moonlight. Surely I missed, I didn't really expect to hit anything after all.... and then there came a lilting laughter from the feather light jewel in my hands, a faintly raucous sound of victory, a thought I did not share. Still, the crat stood his ground. "Zounds!" I thought, how big are this gato's cajones? Well, I set the Blanch down, picked up the Remmy to finish the job. If he was going to wait....but wait...in the gathered light in the eyepeice...the tommy was laying down as if asleep, stretched long as if on a window ledge in the sun on a cold winter's day. It could not be I thought... back inside for the flashlight...back to my perch...more laughter from the Ghost....the creamy colored tommy lay still in the glare of the 6V light, a large blotch of red on his neck. Blanch said, "Sell your other charlatans, for they are cheap maids of a brothel."

It is something I must ponder.

There is a snack waiting for Big Al in the creek out back, I am one with the universe.

Dan

Pres., TYHC

www.Supernatural.Events

Doh!!!!!Hmmm,,not a bad idea there Dan,,,,Think i'll join ya

I trust you to apply the proper digital diligence to the job. N.S.

Truely inspiring tale! Sleep well tomcrat!

Great tale Dan!!!,,And you have some great people to work with,,,Clay

A descriptive tale that paints a clear picture of the slaying of tom! More please.

Dan,

Nothing like, crat capping with a classy well made (remade) arm.

Hog Killer

Pretty funny Dano.
I knew I should have read this in the privacy afforded to me at my home puter.
Now here I sit at work,coworkers walking by whispering to each other.
Tears of joy roll down my cheeks.
Me being the sensitive type,I look upon my fellow laborers and ask,"What the F*ck you a-holes looking at" in my best madman crackhead glare.
Where are my tissues?

Gosh Dan! That is so satisfying to hear of such a great kill. Perhaps it is time to rethink your nom de plume?

Dan, you set an example for oss all!

Martin

Danno! Good shooting, boy! Hey, can you get a photo of Big Al chowing down for us? Or even one of you kinda Steve Irwin style coaxing Big Al up the crick bank to grab a snack?

Dan, Ann's idea about pictures of you with your good buddy "Big Al" is a great idea. I am sure that all here would love to see you and Al sharing a brew and some crispy crat off of the BBQ.

At least show us that fine classic Rook rifle.

Hog Killer

Ann and Hog Killer....spoken like kindred spirits who are unfortunately NOT familiar with our local leezards.

Tell y'all what I'll do instead. Keeping in mind that most fresh kills sink, and I rarely if ever see them after the fact, and that local leezards have a strike faster than nearly anything on earth, and I'm not as young or foolish as I once was....when the chance occurs to pose SAFELY with Big Al in the backdrop, I'll do that, and post it here first thing. I might even have a palate pleasure for him if the stars align.

Until then I am Dan, with four limbs and most of my fingers.

Pres., TYHC

www.DoGatorsGetGas.AfterEatingCrats ?

and if they do, what do ya call the results?

"Ann and Hog Killer....spoken like kindred spirits who are unfortunately NOT familiar with our local leezards. "

Dan, believe me, we have a few leezards, here in E. Tex. My tounge was firmly planted in my cheek.

"www.DoGatorsGetGas.AfterEatingCrats ?

and if they do, what do ya call the results?"

BUBBLES

Hog Killer

When I was a kid, if you farted in the bath water it was called a BART.

So I guess Big Al will be blowing some BARTS if you don't slip him some beano with his lap lynx.

Excellent, my good man. And to think that I've had the honor of stroking yon lasses' cheek?

Gents, I have seen it with mine own eyes, and that is truly a beautiful arm Mr. Dan has the honor of possessing.

I've said it before & I'll say it again. Anyone can wack a cat but the secret is to do it with style. Dan.Please go to the top of the class