Last night I made plans to go in the morning to shoot my new revolver. As I laid in bed, I turned the TV on to Spike TV. They were showing a program called "1000 ways to Die," and it showed the story of one man who put an excessive black powder overload on a flintlock pistol, only to have it blow up, destroying his hand and sending shrapnel into his leg, severing his femoral artery and killing him. Images of this kept replaying on my mind all night, and I even dreamed that this happened to me.
I woke up this morning dreading the experience. I tried to come up with excuses not to make the trip to Trail Glades (the outdoor range here in Miami). I thought about how much I love my hand, and living in general. But at last, having no more excuses I could think of, I decided to man up and take a risk. I got to the range, put my 15 grains of powder and loaded the six balls into the cylinder. By this time I was a nervous wreck, sweat was starting to pour down my forehead. I made peace with my poor hands, closed my eyes, and squeezed the trigger hoping I'd still have my hands when I opened my eyes ( I know, this is poor shooting on my part, but I was that nervous.)
I barely noticed the shot, it was no worse than .22LR as far as recoil is concerned. And best of all, I still had my hands and my femoral artery was just fine. I had a blast...even though I only fired 24 balls. I had so much fun with it that I invited one of my friends to come with me to the range on Friday so he too can experience black powder shooting and hopefully join me in this new hobby in the future.
I can honestly say that you are not really a gun fanatic until you've loaded black powder and a ball into an old fashioned firearm and shot it at least once. Others may disagree, but I see black powder shooting as the ultimate way to connect with the origins of the firearms that I love so much, and to connect with the spirit of my ancestors who would have used these fine firearms to put food on the table. I can't believe I was missing so much and that I neglected black powder firearms for so long. I feel pretty silly about it.
I'm even considering obtaining a black powder rifle and following in the footsteps of my forefathers and going hunting for some meat the old fashioned way. No plastic stocks or modern scopes, just man, nature, and a good old fashioned piece of steel and wood in my hands.
I woke up this morning dreading the experience. I tried to come up with excuses not to make the trip to Trail Glades (the outdoor range here in Miami). I thought about how much I love my hand, and living in general. But at last, having no more excuses I could think of, I decided to man up and take a risk. I got to the range, put my 15 grains of powder and loaded the six balls into the cylinder. By this time I was a nervous wreck, sweat was starting to pour down my forehead. I made peace with my poor hands, closed my eyes, and squeezed the trigger hoping I'd still have my hands when I opened my eyes ( I know, this is poor shooting on my part, but I was that nervous.)
I barely noticed the shot, it was no worse than .22LR as far as recoil is concerned. And best of all, I still had my hands and my femoral artery was just fine. I had a blast...even though I only fired 24 balls. I had so much fun with it that I invited one of my friends to come with me to the range on Friday so he too can experience black powder shooting and hopefully join me in this new hobby in the future.
I can honestly say that you are not really a gun fanatic until you've loaded black powder and a ball into an old fashioned firearm and shot it at least once. Others may disagree, but I see black powder shooting as the ultimate way to connect with the origins of the firearms that I love so much, and to connect with the spirit of my ancestors who would have used these fine firearms to put food on the table. I can't believe I was missing so much and that I neglected black powder firearms for so long. I feel pretty silly about it.
I'm even considering obtaining a black powder rifle and following in the footsteps of my forefathers and going hunting for some meat the old fashioned way. No plastic stocks or modern scopes, just man, nature, and a good old fashioned piece of steel and wood in my hands.