No it isn't it's:
Posted on 07/20/2015 11:15:44 AM PDT by Kartographer
A 132-year-old rifle discovered on a remote rocky outcrop in the heart of the Grand Basin National Park in Nevada is still a mystery as researchers try to find more answers.
The Winchester rifle, which was found unloaded in November, has been shipped to the Cody Firearms Museum in Wyoming where it is temporarily on display among 7,000 other guns.
Museum workers said there are no records showing who owned the rifle and that its lifter was removed making it able to only fire a single shot at once, according to Fox News.
(Excerpt) Read more at dailymail.co.uk ...
This is interesting
Good answer on the cartridge by Tijeras_Slim.
Although it was unloaded, we retrieved a UMC .44 WCF cartridge in the stock, dating between 1887 and 1911.
That’s hilarious!
I get it. I've carried a carbine most of my life. The carrier, or the tray... I was trying to equate the part to the corresponding mechanisms within a modern carbine... a Winchester 30/30, or my current Marlin 45/70.
Thanks.
A man was teaching his son to hunt. He wanted his young 13-year-old son to set up his shots carefully, not just pop off a bunch and hope for the best; so the father removed the rifle’s lifter so that the boy could only discharge one cartridge at a time. And so the man and his son went hunting, leaving the lifter back in the man’s one-room house to be put back into the rifle when the boy matured a bit and learned to hunt the right way.
One day, while out on a hunt with his father, the young man, being easily distracted as youth are wont to become, put his gun up against the tree and went exploring around. When his dad finally caught up with him, he asked him, “Where’s your rifle, son?” The boy said, “Oh, it’s over there up against the tree, Dad.” His father said, “Which tree? Where?” “Over there, Dad!” “I don’t see it, son. Let’s go get it.”
So they looked, but the boy forgot where exactly it was, and the trees all looked dauntingly similar. And the boy forgot how far and in which direction he had traveled. So the boy and his father looked all afternoon, but they eventually had to go home because Mama had a pot roast in the stove for supper.
They tried over the next few months to find that rifle, but they never did find it. Then, 132 years later, the rifle was found by a society that hates guns, loves sodomy and frowns upon fatherhood. The gun was happy to be found but went into a major depressive episode later because the free and wild society that offered so much promise of Liberty to Americans and the world was turned into a sniveling little European nanny state. The rifle pined for the day when he could finally go hunting with a free child and his loving father again, but he found that, like the Constitution that protected the boy’s freedom, he was put under glass and consigned to a slow spiritual death by misuse and general abhorrence.
Seems to be a legitimate term. I’m always suspicious when media-ites start talking firearms.
Mine taught me the same thing. I so much wanted a semi but I started with a Stevens bolt action 410 and an Ithica single shot lever action .22. Both made me appreciate a bullet. After all, .22 was almost 50 cents for a box of 50! We did get to shoot almost as much as we wanted but we only got to carry 10 rounds in our pockets when we hunted and never got to bet more than one box down from the shelf. .410 was a lot more expensive so it was bought by the box and rationed out.
We were taught to conserve resources by two people who grew up in the Depression. That memory stuck with them and it stuck to me.
Broken. Or lost a piece during field stripping,
He’ll feel that come pay day!
I had the Ithica single shot lever action. I was a way better shot than my buddies with their semi-autos.
Me too. Got it for Christmas when I was 12. Loved that little rifle.
That is a keeper. Best post of the day!
“I’m always suspicious when media-ites start talking firearms.”
Too often when they write about something I know about, I find they’ve got something wrong. That makes me suspicious of everything they write.
I still have mine. I can put my hands on it in just a few seconds from where I sit at my desk. It still has a big gouge in the stock from where I fell climbing up a mountain 55 years ago this fall. I got mine on my fifth birthday. It was a cold December evening in a cabin lit only by a fire. I remember it like yesterday. True story.
Screen getting blurry. Gotta go.
Has anyone looked up old maps of the area? Maybe there used to be a lake there. Boating accidents aren’t a new thing........ ;)
In sound mind and two broke legs...
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