Truth be told, every time I return from the range I look like this:
As it so happens, I shot both BP and smokeless today. I still look like that.
I am lucky I have buds who know stuff about black powder.
Since it was my first time, y'all'll have to be understanding about all kinds of things.
First, there's this ritual called "loading." With cartridges, this is fairly straight forward: slip in the cartridge, close the bolt, or close the loading gate, or click closed the cylinder, or click in the magazine, and you're good to go. But with BP, I think "ritual" fits.
I have to make a loading stand for my revolver. One of my buds made one. It's wood, has a hinge so it folds up to slip in a range bag, has keen felt lining, has enough room in custom grooves to load a .36, which is what I brought, or a .44, which is what my bud had. Has a dimple carved into its base for the hand grip to fit in, felt lined. Pretty keen. Without such a device, it would have been more difficult to perform the ritual. Now, I'd prepared, of course, so had the BP, the BP loading measure, balls, Crisco, that sort of thing. But that custom wood loading jig was pretty the cool.
So, with wonderful instructions from two buds, got the charge correct and loaded up six cylinders, then stuffed them with Crisco. Something about chain fire. It sounded bad, so I sought to avoid it. I was successful. My buds showed me how to squeeze the caps just a tad twixt me fingers so the caps stayed on the nipples. BBP (before black powder) "nipple caps" meant something different to me. (Don't ask). But now I know the correct meaning and use of the term.
Had to wipe my hands of Crisco a few times, but at a certain moment, I fired my first round. I burst out in a glorious and joyful guffaw--so all the folks looked over at me to see whether I'd shot myself or what not. Nah. After all that discussing, ritual performance, ramming home each ball, Crisco wiping, and more discussion, I experienced this "whoosh" so very unlike smokeless powder that I just had to let the laugh explode out of my mouth. Luckily, folks are quite tolerant of old farts having fun, so that was cool.
As it turns out, this revolver, a 1971 Tavi .36 Navy Italian revolver that I bought used, has a worn hammer. I had no idea. I thought the marks (I'm being kind here, as those of you familiar with BP will see) were designed that way. I checked it out, of course, and saw that, well, they're shaped like the nipples, so, of course it should be that way. I thought wrong.
It resulted in a couple mis fires. Eventually I put more caps on and got all six cylinders to fire. I must say, BP is hella fun. The revolver is accurate. But, man! Putting the rear sight on the hammer is weird to me. Unfamiliar, maybe is better.
Once I found out from my buds that the hammer was "worn," again, I think, I'm being polite about it, I hauled out one of my old Turks. I'm going to shoot the postal match with it, and I've not shot it for a couple years. If you're going to shoot a match, it's best to check out the rifle.
But here is a pic of the hammer of the .36 Tavi:
Apparently it is worn. So I have some web addresses from my buds where I might be able to get a hammer, or a rebuild kit, or what not.
Any of you BP folks know a better fix? I'm thinkin' all's I have to do is to file that bad boy down. But I'll ask and see what's what.
But, man, a range trip is always fun. Public ranges are weird, especially up here. I always thank my lucky stars I get home alive, what with the .50's going off, the morons letting loose a clip of full auto, and, this time, a kid who had a double barrel shot gun, Chinese copy, with two shells loaded in but with the hammers cocked, and flipped the gun closed. Of course both barrels fired, and he ended up with a bloody hand. Hope there is no permanent damage.
I'm no longer a BP virgin. That old Turk will be nice in the postal. I'll use Turk surplus just for kicks and giggles.
Whee!
CDFingers
Popped my BP cherry
1Crazy cat peekin' through a lace bandana
like a one-eyed Cheshire, like a diamond-eyed Jack
like a one-eyed Cheshire, like a diamond-eyed Jack