The Joy of Losing Our Minds
Welcome, fellow gun nerds, collectors, shooters, hoarders, handloaders and any other law-abiding shooters obsessed with firearms and firearm-related regalia. We come from all walks of life, socio-economic backgrounds and varying intensities for our love of guns and gun-related stuff. But as we get older, the fruits of our life’s long labor reach a pinnacle for our efforts, and strange things can start happening.
Brain Fog?
While guns and all their associated paraphernalia bring us much joy, it’s not all fuzzy feelings, warm puppies, and rose-colored glasses, either. Sometimes, guns bring some of the most frustrating times imaginable. Huh?
Let me explain. With time, (age), it gets harder to keep track of all our possessions. It’s why we like leaving stuff lying around the house. While our wives think it’s laziness, it’s really because we want to know where certain items are. Be it the kitchen counter, the side table by “our” chair, or even the kitchen table, placing these items “out in the open” provides a sense of security by reassuring us we know where it is.
We’ve learned long ago to know better than trusting ourselves to place important items in that “special place.” We’ll never forget, right? These are usually the first things we forget about. Keeping track of expanding inventory is tough.
Never Lost?
Some of the most frustrating things I’ve lost were never lost in the first place. This incident happened about 30 years ago, when I was just barely 30 years old. I just came back from the range and was cleaning my guns, most being single-action revolvers. You all know you must remove the cylinder base-pin on a single-action to remove the cylinder so you can clean the barrel.
I’d clean one gun, reassemble it, and move on to the next. All was going splendidly until the last gun, a Ruger 4 5/8″ Blackhawk. I pulled the cylinder, cleaned it, and went to put it back together. Where the hell did that base-pin get off to? It wasn’t on the red shop rag where I’d laid the other base-pins.
I looked on the floor, spreading my search pattern inch by inch in a circular pattern. I considered the possibility of the base-pin rolling under my workbench, since it was round. No luck. I looked under the shelving behind me. Negative results. I pulled everything off the shelves, thinking maybe it bounced, or I had absently placed it there. Nothing!
By now, I’m starting to sweat, not figuratively, but literally, from the combination of frustration and anger. Well, over an hour goes by and I pick up the offending gun, figuring I’ll just buy another base-pin from Belt Mountain, who incidentally, was just purchased by Skinner Sights. Looking at the gun, I felt like a bigger idiot than I already am.
The gun had a 4 5/8″ inch barrel. To remove the base-pin would require taking the ejector rod housing off, which I didn’t do. The base-pin was on the gun the whole time. I felt relieved, and then, even madder at myself for being such an idiot, before laughing. For a good hour, that beloved gun drove me crazy.
Never Lost II
These next tales I can’t take credit for, but happened to a good friend of mine. He has a collection of rifles that are all the same make and model, only having different calibers. All the rifles come with muzzle brakes, along with a thread protector, for when you don’t want the brake on the gun.
My buddy lost the thread protector. He looked in his box and in all the usual places. He’s more patient than I, as his search lasted well over 6 weeks before solving this caper. The gun for the thread protector he was looking for was never threaded. He just assumed it was and spent several hours stretched out over six weeks looking for something that never existed.
This same buddy couldn’t locate one of his pistols. He looked and looked to no avail.
He talked to our Sgt. about reporting it stolen. Knowing my buddy’s history, our Sgt. told him to wait a few days, see if it turns up. A day or so later, the office phone rings. I answer it, the person on the other end tells me he’s a gunsmith, and my buddy needs to pick up the gun that’s been ready for 6 weeks. Case closed!
Spring Forward, Fall Back
Just as owning, collecting and shooting guns can be relaxing, so can working on them. But be forewarned. Working on our beloved guns has the potential to be very frustrating, especially when it comes to springs.
Whoever invented the tempered coiled spring should be wrapped in the very wire they’re made from and dropped from a bridge to see if they bounce back. When compressed, these spiral wires provide us with free motion for moving parts. But there’s a catch!
They also have the potential for causing frustration and/or serious injury! They look innocent enough, packaged in clear plastic bags. But try compressing one while cramming it in the tight confines of a gun, and their temperament takes on a whole new dimension.
Possessed to infuriate, they enjoy launching themselves unannounced, then playing hide & seek in dimly lit basements with flooring the same identical color as them. Recovery can be futile, unless, of course, it’s sticking in your eye. Don’t ask, but I once wore an eye patch for a week. The popular Slinky brainwashes children into believing springs are all fun and games. Curious gun owners know better.
Before the Cube
Working on your own guns is easy, mostly. Sure, we all like to think we’re gunsmith worthy, the second coming of John Moses Browning himself, and like taking our guns apart to bare basic parts. But sometimes, guns don’t play nice with us, refusing to go back together. Before the Rubik’s Cube, we had guns. Bored pioneers would sometimes take their guns apart out of boredom and try to put them together.
This anomaly led to the sack of shame, a brown paper bag full of gun parts turned over to the local gunsmith. Most try saving shame by blaming the living “exploded diagram” of parts on their brother-in-law, telling the smith, “He swore he knew what he was doing.” But the smith knows better.
Unconditional Love
Despite these comical dalliances with guns, don’t for a moment think I begrudge my guns and associated gear for one instant. Guns, handloading, shooting, hunting and fiddling with them are my life. I’d be lost without them. Surely, I’d be bored silly. As several friends have stated, if it weren’t for guns, I’d have no joy in life. I understand…
