Author: Kim du Toit

Eucalyptus Now

SHTF, The Gun Thing

Over at Shooting Times, Rick Mann looks at what he considers to be the four best SHTF rifles — what he terms “Apocalypse-Ready Rifles” — and has devised a test to determine which one is best.

I’m not going to pick holes in his test — it seems quite adequate — and I actually agree with his rationale (e.g. “Granted, cataclysmic conditions of ruin can run the gambit from a camping trip gone bad to total anarchy.” )

As I’m unlikely ever to go on any camping trip which doesn’t include the words “Holiday Inn”, I’m not going to pick two of his choices (the .30-30 lever rifle and the .308 Win boltie), fine weapons though they may be.  No, from where I’m sitting, the most likely scenario is civil breakdown and disorder caused by natural disasters (which could likely cause prolonged power outages, food shortages and such), or else a truly bad situation like a BLM- / Antifa-inspired riot.  In both cases, what’s needed is something for home / property defense (if caught in a riot), and something which would also allow me to do things like pay a visit to a local supermarket for a little un-monetized food collection (the fancy term for looting).

Well, you all know my first choice:

…and if I ever wanted to get fancy, I could always improve the crappy iron sights on the AK with some kind of red-dot sighting apparatus, thus:

I know, some people are going to prefer the Waffen Durch Plastik  AR-15, and while I deplore the choice (I mean, all that plastic… think of the environment, people!), I’ve come to the point of view that you go with what you feel comfortable using — and as most gunnies of my acquaintance have served in the dot.mil (e.g. Doc Russia, Combat Controller etc.), the AR would be a logical choice for them.

(Over The Pond, and following his service in the Paras, Mr. Free Market’s rifle of choice would no doubt  be the FN-FAL — or whatever the Brits called it — but sadly, H.M. Government says that the icky things are Just Too Dangerous or some such nonsense, so he’d have to be content with picking off fuzzy-wuzzies from his rooftop with his trusty Blaser R8 .300 Win Mag.  I for one would pay money to be able to watch that.)

Where was I?  Oh yes, the SHTF rifle choices.

I have to say that for my Readers who live in rural areas, where one could forage for dinner amidst the wild beasties who frolic in the fields, the .308 bolt rifle would be an outstanding choice — although I’d probably choose a .300 Win Mag chambering instead — and if the terrain is heavily wooded, the .30-30 lever rifle would be equally effective.

Mann’s observation about ammo is, I think, quite on the mark:

Sustainment for months is unlikely, so being able to “pick up” ammo—while potentially important—is not a realistic necessity. What’s more important is how much ammo you can comfortably carry.

Here’s my take:  outside the scenario of actual guerilla warfare (ain’t gonna happen, not in this country, Red Dawn fantasies notwithstanding), you aren’t going to run out of ammo.  Seriously, if you think you’re going to need more than a couple-three magazines for your rifle, what you need is not more ammo but more people to support you.  Myself, I could not see myself taking the AK for an outing with any more than two 20-round magazines.  Ammo is heavy, Bubba, and I’m not young and fit anymore.  More than two, and I’d keep them in the car instead.  The amount of ammo on hand is another story, of course, but you all know my “500” rule — a minimum of 500 rounds per  gun (with an exception for exotic calibers like .375 H&H or 7mm Jap).

All this is fun to wargame out, isn’t it?  Even though it is an unlikely scenario, I try not to wander too deep into the Gun Dork Forest, because that’s like drawing up a comprehensive financial plan for when you win the $100-million lottery:  fun, but after a certain point it’s just wasting time.

I do think, however, that some planning is not only necessary, it’s prudent.  You don’t want to be like those morons in New Orleans who, when Hurricane Katrina was about to come calling, arrived at the shelters carrying nothing but a Pepsi Big Gulp.  In a dire SHTF situation, my plan involves staying in place and defending the apartment.  If that’s untenable, then I’ll be loading my Grab ‘n Go* tubs, emergency water cans and the necessary guns and ammo into the Tiguan, and making my way over to Doc Russia’s fortress house.

Call me unprepared if you will, but I’m not a dummy.

*Yes, I still have them, just with fresh supplies.  If anyone’s interested, I’ll post pics of them some other time, after I’ve moved.

Vile, Fearful And Awful

Sports

(First Printed in July 2007)

No, that’s not the name of the firm where your ex-wife’s lawyer works:  it’s the dreaded Carnoustie, home of this year’s Open Golf Championship in Britain.

Now, for all those Philistines who are going to moan about boring golf and “a good walk spoiled” and all that jive, save your comments and your time, because I’m going to ignore your bleats.

There is golf as we normally see it on TV, played on immaculate fairways which resemble fine carpet and greens which resemble beds of moss, and in weather which is sunny and warm.

And then there is Carnoustie.

It is a vile, fearful and awful place:  way in the north of Scotland, right next to the cold and dreary North Sea, it’s the northernmost course of all those which host The Open.  So Carnoustie can and does provide the foulest weather imaginable — freezing winds, icy drizzle, leaden skies — and all that’s before you hit your first ball off the tee, whereupon your troubles really begin.

Because the Scots are terrible liars, almost all pictures of Carnoustie show a benign, sunny place with smiling, happy golfers playing off the fairways.  But the closest picture I’ve seen to the horrible reality of Carnoustie is this picture, even though showing balmy skies and no hint of a breeze (which conditions were last reported for a two-hour period back in 1845):

Note the foul bushes, deep rough and ubiquitous bunkers.  Now add the aforementioned freezing winds and icy drizzle.  Here’s another pic (note the clouds):

And here’s a more representative one (note the coats):

Someone once said of Carnoustie that it’s a course which will remind you of the Old Testament God — the vengeful, capricious and spiteful God — and not the warm, loving and gentle God of the New Testament with all that kindness and forgiveness nonsense.

Carnoustie just wants to be left alone;  therefore, it hates golfers, forgives nothing, and seems to delight in punishing golfers past all endurance.  One does not play Carnoustie, one attempts to survive it.

Which is why I love to watch The Open when it is played here:  those confident, masterful golfers who stride around the typically comfortable and forgiving U.S. PGA courses while they plot how to get 12 birdies over the last 13 holes;  those same golfers are all humbled here, and are reminded that their skills are pitiful and inadequate as they scramble to salvage pride with a bogey, and consider a par score as remarkable.  Yes, I confess to feeling a profound sense of schadenfreude as I watch those sleek millionaires with their private jets and corporate sponsorships hacking around in the thick bushes and heather like just so many weekend golfers, looking forlornly for a ball which seemed perfectly struck off the tee or fairway, but which was plucked away by a sudden malicious wind and thrown carelessly into one of the countless unplayable lies which fill Carnoustie like so many minefields.

And that’s the rough.  In the fairways and around the greens are deep, unplayable pot-hole bunkers (paradoxically the only places on the course where you don’t feel the wind cutting through your clothing);  and of course, there’s also the Barry Burn, an innocuous name for a treacherous, icy little creek which meanders through part of the course and lies in wait for a ball struck too hard, too soft, or, maddeningly, just right.  (Sometimes a “good” bounce is not what you want…)

The fairways are narrow, which means that every shot off the tee requires a superhuman effort to combine a reading of the gusting winds off the sea with perfect execution of the shot itself.  (In shooter’s terms, you need to be a golfing sniper to succeed here — shotgunners pay a fearful price.)

The winning aggregate score in 1999 was six over par*.  The course measured just over 5,340 yards back then; it now measures close to 7,400 yards.  Nearly a mile-and-a-half more of added torture awaits this year’s crop of human sacrifices qualifiers, and as we all know, the harder you have to hit the ball, the less precise the shot is likely to be.

And Carnoustie’s legendary rough awaits…

The Open is hardly ever played here, I suppose because the Royal & Ancient wants to show a little pity towards professional golfers.  If it were up to me, Carnoustie would host The Open every two years, just to keep everyone humble.

The common argument leveled against golf on TV is that it’s boring.  That is never true of Carnoustie.  This is not golf:  this is a fight for survival, and only the toughest of the tough will survive the tournament.

The Open starts on Thursday July 19, one week from today.  I can’t wait.

* In 2007, the winning score was 11-under, mainly because over the four days of the tournament there was not a drop of rain and the wind was but a gentle breeze.  That won’t happen again.  The 1999 score and conditions were far more in keeping with the spirit of Carnoustie.  We can but hope that Global Warming holds off for a week or two…

Not Wise

Funny Stuff, Politics

With all due respect to the God-Emperor, I would suggest that giving a million bucks to the Communist Party of the USA is a Bad Idea.  A better idea would be to offer to give the money to the Indian tribe with which her DNA is affiliated.

Now Multiply That By A Million

Business, Gummint

I saw this little story via Insty, and it made me not just sad, but furious.  Read it first.

They didn’t lose a fortune, because they never had the opportunity to earn one. Nothing happened. There they sit. And there they’ll stay.

And that’s where the writer is wrong.  You see, economists and accountants have a terms for this phenomenon, and it’s called “opportunity cost” — in other words, the financial cost of a lost opportunity.  Because when people open up their own business and it’s even moderately successful, they have to hire other people to work for them.  Those workers in turn become successful, and pay taxes, and perhaps use the learning to open their own businesses.

The aggregate opportunity cost of this ripple effect, just for this little case study, is potentially millions of dollars.  The Toni & Guy chain of hair salons started in precisely this fashion with a single outlet in the 1960s, as did the JiffyLube chain, back in 1979 — and I chose these two businesses deliberately, because those are the two types of business that the above story deals with.  Who’s to say that Kaitlyn and her husband wouldn’t have had a success story similar to Tony&Guy and JiffyLube?  But we’ll never know, will we, because the heavy hand of government regulation reached into their lives and killed their adventure before it could get started.

So when Donald Trump’s first action as POTUS was to decree that all government departments had to delete multiple regulations for every new one they wanted to promulgate, it was to free people to get going with their businesses and dreams.

Lest we forget, the fucking Democrats are the party of massive regulation and government intrusiveness — and remember that if you’re toying with a “protest” vote against Trump (or a quixotic vote for a third-party no-hoper) in the mid-term elections later this year.  (If you’re a lifetime Democrat voter and want socialism, then you’re at the wrong website and, if I may say, in the wrong country.)

It’s all very well for the economy to grow when manufacturing opens new plants and what have you (which is what Trump has also been making happen) — but that growth is finite.  Individuals starting their own businesses and becoming successful isn’t finite:  that is where America is at its strongest, and that is what will create true economic success for the whole country.  And Donald Trump understands this, and because of it he deserves our unflagging support, if for no other reason.

Always A Choice

The Gun Thing

Tami talks about snub-nosed revolvers and the joys thereof in the carrying of them.  Here’s a snippet:

The point Werner (the trainer) hammered home most was that accurate shooting is crucial. My 432PD holds six rounds, and the far more typical .38 Spl./.357 Mag. has but five. Ammunition management is important; you need to make good hits.
Werner emphasized the importance of getting a good sight picture and using ammunition that shoots to your gun’s point-of-aim.

Amen and amen, and I say again:  amen.

When I’m not carrying my 1911 (which is only about 20 percent of the time), I carry my S&W Airweight in its Milt Rosen holster, loaded with Hornady Critical Defense .38 Special +P (which the gun loves with a passion):

      

Over the many years I’ve owned both guns, I’ve fired more practice rounds through the 1911, but I’ve practiced far more often with the Smith — while I practice quite a bit with the 1911, I always shoot at least fifteen rounds with the 637 at every  range session, regardless of whatever other guns I’ve brought with me for the day.  Why?  The little Airweight .38Spl is far more difficult to shoot accurately than the Government .45ACP.

And in the much-lamented absence of the .357 Mod 65 in my collection, the 637 serves as my interim bedside gun.  In a bedroom SHTF scenario, you don’t want to be trying to remember how to align the sights and when the double-action trigger will let off.

Tami says it, and I repeat the advice:  if you carry a snubbie, practice shooting it more than you think you need to.