Dennis comes to town; Shaman hits the bench.

Hurricane Dennis hit the Ohio Valley in a way that reminded me of one those interminable groupies from my days running the Black Hole Coffee House. Sluggish, bloated, Dennis moved in and never left. After putting up with him for a week now, it seems he will never leave. Day after day, we wake up to clinging mugginess, and the promise of a thunderstorm. Friday night, we finally decided that going to the farm was going to be well-nigh useless and stayed in town. If we were going to be shut up inside, we might as well have the extra air conditioned square footage to roam around in.

Saturday morning, I woke up early to more rain. I went downstairs and started rooting around my reloading bench, looking for something to do. The first project was some 38 Special for Girlfriend. She’s been asking for some more plinkers for her personal defense snubby. A little brass, a pinch of Unique, and some semi-wadcutters, and a cup of coffee later that was done.

I’d mauled my 30-06 sizing die earlier in the week when it hit a stray bit of corn cob stuck in the bottom of the case. RCBS was sympathetic and sent me out a new set of guts. I’m reworking my Remington 742 in ’06 for #2 Son. Mooseboy is not done growing yet, but he’s definitely ready for something beefier than the 30-30. He wants a Remington 7600. I figured the 742 is close enough for this year, while I scout out a deal. Either way, a bunch of middle-of-the-road 150 grainers would not be a bad way to start, and the 742 will be easy on recoil. Last week, while Dennis was churning over my head, I’d taken the 742 and removed the thick recoil pad that I had put on in 1983 to get it to fit my long knuckle-dragging frame. In the bottom of the drawer was the old Remington butt-pad, right were I’d stuck it back during Regan’s first term-- before my first deer, my first wife, and my first grey hair.

Now one was stirring yet. Even the dogs were sacked out—Barney on the bedroom floor, and Lilly in her new adopted bed in my raincoat, tossed on the big chair in the living room. I went back to work on some 308 WIN. I had been plagued from the beginning of my relationship with my Savage 99 with hard extractions. The problem was quite odd—reloads worked fine, but once they’d been fired in the Savage, they’d stick on subsequent reloadings. This is what I love about the web—I made mention of my dilemma on the 24hourcampfire and someone wrote back and said they’d had the same problem. The cause was the stiff military Lake City brass I’d been using. I bought some Federal once-fired right away, but had never gotten around to doing my pet load and testing the fix. No time like in the middle of a hurricane!

I was going up for a top-off on my coffee when #3 Son finally roused himself and came looking for me. He asked me what I was doing. I told him I was reloading.

“Can I help?” he asked, eyes widening. I promised him he could after breakfast. I went down and prepared for the next load, doing my best to hide my soaring emotions.

#3, now 7, has been loading since he was 4. However, it’s been sort of hit-and-miss thing. Most days it has been a last resort for him—something to do if all the cartoons are repeats. This was the first time he had seemed firmly delighted in the prospect.

Girlfriend got up and got us some grub, and we adjourned shortly thereafter for the loading bench. 25 rounds of 30-30 needed to be loaded. #2 Son and I have both had trouble with lost deer using the Marlin. The marksmanship has been just fine for the most part; the deer just seem to shrug it off and run away. Somebody recommended switching to Winchester Power Points. The hypothesis was the Hornady 150 grain and 170 grain RN were penciling at the moderate velocities we were using, and the Power Points would open up better.

#3 Son sat on the stool and acted as the motive force for my Rockchucker. After he got in the groove, I also let him insert the cases. For him, each pull of the handle was a major effort. In between cycles, he asked me all sorts of questions about the process:

Why can’t you reload the primers?
Why does the sizing die give resistance on both the downward stroke and the upward?
What don’t things explode when they’re put in the press?
Etc.

He got a little bored watching me prime and charge. I still think 7 is a bit young to work the scales and the trickler. In the past, that’s usually been his cue to leave the bench in search of some animated action or a computer game. This time, he stuck it out. We talked internal ballistics, we talked external ballistics, we talked terminal ballistics. We talked about why we hunt and how soon he was going to be ready to take his first deer.

“Am I going to kill deer with these?”

“Probably,.” I replied. “I want you to take Hunter Education. The class is October First. If you keep growing, you’ll fit the Marlin by then. It is just whether or not you are up to the studying. ”

“I want a Mauser.”

“If I come across one, we’ll see.” I said. “The important thing is having a rifle you can shoot, and that you know what you’re up to when you go hunting.”

Then things got interesting again. There were bullets to insert and crimps to put on. By the end, #3 was in the groove and doing things in an orderly fashion—a mindful/mindless reloading machine like his Dad. At the end of an hour, all that was left was the paperwork. As I wrote down all the particulars in the log, #3 finally got bored.

“Is that it?”

“I think so.”

“That was sure better than any old computer game, “he said. “If you don’t need me, I’m going upstairs.”

“Cool.”

“Make sure you call me if you have more to do.”

“I will.”

It’s now over a week since Dennis first came to stay, from the looks of it, he’ll hang out at “The Hole” until he gets bored of the tunes, and bored of the company and then he’ll disappear without a thanks. In the meanwhile, thanks RCBS and Dennis for giving me some time with my son.