Pro Tip

When trying to shoot at and get away from a top-of-the-food-chain large predator:
(A) carry more than a 9mm single-stack subcompact
(B) make sure it doesn't jam every other round

Yep, had one of those dreams last night. Right carry piece. Right round count per mag.

Big sharp bear teeth and claws.

Weighty matters

One of the prime issues with concealed carry is striking the fine balance between "bring enough gun" and "so much gun I don't bring it". In other words, enough power to be a realistic defensive firearm, but light enough that you will carry it always.

"Carry your gun - it's a lighter burden than regret."

Without descending into caliber wars, I choose not to carry anything smaller than a .38 at this point. For a while it was a .380, but the Bersa got to be uncomfortable (godawful pointy beavertail on that thing) and has been sent on down the road, to be replaced by a S&W 642 in .38Spl.

Last night in conversation with Weer'dBeard I mentioned carrying the new 4053. He grumbled about it being an overly heavy brick. This from a guy who carries a Commander-size 1911 - admittedly in Scandium, but still a serious gun. (There, ya happy, weer'd?)

I got to thinking about just what we choose to carry around on a daily basis, so tossed all my possible carry guns on a scale with a full load of ammo. The results were interesting!

My default carry piece, a S&W 642 .38Spl, with five rounds of Federal Hydrashock 129gr +P: 1lb 0.9oz




The new carry piece (when a holster arrives), a S&W 242 .38Spl, with seven rounds of WWB 125gr +P: 1lb 6.2oz




My first carry (not often!), a steel-frame Government 1911 .45ACP, with 7+1 of WWB 230gr JHP: 2lb 13.6oz




What's on my belt right now, a S&W 4053 .40S&W, with 8+1 of WWB 180gr JHP: 2lb 2.5oz




And while I could carry this one, it's unlikely I often will. A S&W 5946 9mm, with 15+1 of WWB 115gr JHP: 2lb 12.1oz




Now, anything you choose to carry, you should be carrying a reload for it. Not because you expect to need those shots, but (A) you might, and (B) malfunctions happen. Magazines fail at the worst possible moment (and in the middle of an IDPA stage is NOT the worst possible moment). Slap-rack-bang doesn't work, you better be ready to drop mag and slam home a fresh one.

So what's got the lightest reload?

Well, it should be obvious: six rounds of .38Spl on a speed strip. 2.9oz.


For a bit more than double the weight, you can carry eight more rounds of .40, at 7.5oz, or seven rounds of .45 for 7.6oz.




And at the top end, tipping the scale to 8.9oz, is 15 rounds of 9mm:


So how much are you really going to be carrying around? Lighter than regret, but some of these are heavy burdens:

642 with a reload (+1): 1lb 3.8oz
242 with a reload (-1): 1lb 9.1oz
4053 with a reload: 2lb 10.0oz
5946 with a reload: 3lb 5.0oz
1911 with a reload: 3lb 5.2oz

Doesn't sound like a lot, does it? Think about it hanging off your hip for 10-14 hours a day. There's a reason a lot of police officers have long-term back problems, and it's not just spending too much time in a patrol car.

So how much gun is enough gun? That's for you to decide on your own. You'll learn to dress around the gun you carry, though. Here are the four calibers in question:

9mm, .38Spl, .40S&W, .45ACP

Each of those is a perfectly acceptable choice as a defensive round. I would trust my life to any of them. Above all, shot placement matters though - so hie thee to a range and throw some lead!



Off topic, for you haters:






Yes. That is what you think it is. An Aimpoint on a HiPoint.

Edit: In his link love, Jay mentions including holster weight in the overall weight. He makes a good point. There are two reasons I didn't.

First and foremost: I've only got proper holsters for the 1911 and the 642. Leather is on the way for the other three, but t'ain't heah yet. It pains me to admit it, but the 4053 is riding in a cheap-ass Uncle Mike's IWB sleeve* right now.

Second: carry method is an intensely personal choice, and what kind of holster you wear will determine weight. E.g., a simple leather "yaqui slide" arrangement, for nearly any gun, will only weigh an ounce or two. A leather retention high-ride OWB holster for a 1911 could weigh north of a half-pound. Kydex or other plastic holsters are yet another variation.

Magazine pouches tend to be on the light side, but truth be told, I just drop a spare magazine or a speed strip in a front pocket. Your gun might be well-concealed, but nothing screams "I'm carrying!" like a magazine or two sticking up from your belt.

* - people rip on the generic Uncle Mike's stuff as worthless. I disagree. It's *inexpensive*, but their $10 IWB sleeves work just fine. I won't call them classy, but they are functional. Not everyone can afford a purty leather rig... which I think may be the topic of tonight's blog post.

Nitpicking

In comments over at Jay's and a post over at Borepatch's, New York is referred to as "May Issue". In fact, it's even listed as "May Issue" over at handgunlaw.us.

Arguably, though, we fall somewhere between "Shall Issue" and "May Issue". New York City is definitely "may". The rest of the state? The process is slow, onerous, can be invasive, and expensive ... but a licensing officer (often a county judge) has to provide "good cause" for denial of a pistol permit.

Now - once you have the permit, many counties will place administrative restrictions on the permit. In my previous county, my permit was stamped no less than five times, "FOR HUNTING AND TARGET USE ONLY".

Here's the thing:
There is no basis in law for that restriction. Judges started using it on their own, and no one challenged it in time to prevent it becoming a de facto restriction.

Now, you can still carry a pistol on a restricted permit... there is no criminal penalty for doing so. The most serious outcome possible would be for an officer to get wild hair and take the time to contact the issuing judge and recommend a suspension or revocation of the permit. *Most* officers won't go that route, but I suppose it's a possibility. A judge could plausibly say the permit holder was showing poor judgment by ignoring the restrictions. If that happens, you'd lose all your pistols - hopefully to a friend or on consignment in a gun shop, but still...

Other counties (usually the more rural ones) are very gun-friendly and essentially rubber-stamp an unrestricted permit if you don't have any disqualifying items.

It creates a hodgepodge mess of permissions, but a permit (and most counties are lifetime permits) is valid statewide (outside NYC), so once you get that "Carry" permit, you HANG ON TO IT.

So, is New York "shall" or "may"?

Yes!

Whatever dits your dah...

RobertaX has a post up about her trip to a HAM (radio, not pork) fest/swap yesterday. She babbles about things I don't completely understand with some big price tags attached. She met some other HAMs that are big names in that world.

My first (admittedly uncharitable) reaction was along the lines of, "$750 for a telegraph key? What kind of dope would spend that much on a chunk of wood and met... Oh."

It's a passion of hers. I don't really understand it, as it's not my thing at all. (I keep putting off applying/testing for my Tech license; I've enough expensive hobbies for now.) But you know what? That doesn't matter at all. She enjoys it, and that's all that matters.

I dated a gal once upon a time whose thing was plants. Plants of all kinds, but her very special favoritest thing was Gesneriads. African Violets. She collected them, had shelves full of them, and knew the names of each individual strain. We made more than one trip to a store about two hours away that does nothing but violets. I thought it was kind of weird then (and still do now), but it made her happy and that's all that really counted.

MrsZ's thing is cattle. She knows the breeds, the strong and weak points of each, how to watch for disease of various types... Me, I look at the field and say, "That one looks tasty..."

Me? My thing is guns. I've got a small safe full of them. I know the make, model, and caliber of each one. I can discuss pros and cons of direct-impingement vs. gas-piston actions. I can run down the shelf at the store and know most of what I'm looking at without too much trouble. (Yes, I get stumped by the more obscure stuff, but not always ... I knew what I had when someone handed me a Volcanic Volition!) MrsZ ... doesn't get it. She can shoot 'em, but doesn't really care about the difference between .223 and 5.56NATO, or the advantages of a Keith-style LSWC over a LRN.

And it's all good. Variety is the spice of life, man. I'd be excited too if I was wandering down a fun show aisle and got to lust over my Grail*, or meet Messieurs Supica, Nahas, and Burg. (Dick is a hell of a nice guy, I've had the pleasure of reading his posts many times over on the S&W Forum.)

So, Roberta, I apologize for the unkind thought you never knew I had, and I hope that you come across a '73 Ultimate in a flea market somewhere, sitting on the table by the sign that says, "Everything $5"!

* - a correct shooter-grade Ithaca 1911A1, for the record. If anyone knows of one for a semi-reasonable price that might be available, please keep me in mind. I would part with more than one piece to pick one up.

Gunny Dreams

Some people remember their dreams, some don't. Some dreams stay with you, others fade quickly.

I've heard numerous anecdotes about shooters having the "gun fail" dreams. I always thought it was a little weird, but since when do dreams make sense?

Well, now I've had those dreams two nights in a row.

Dream One:
I'm at home (which is remarkably similar, but not identical, to our house) and head outside to do some chores. There is, for whatever reason, an unusually large rabbit (as in labrador-retriever size; that's no ordinary rabbit!) in the goat pen. It's a long shot - 30 yards - since the only thing I have is my usual CCW, the 642. And, obviously, a +P .38 is overkill for rabbits, right? Well, I decide to try to stalk closer and take a chance on ruining some meat. But when I get around the corner of the garage, I see the rest of the pen is full of oversize critters too. E.g., a porcupine nearly the same size as the rabbit, but with the coloration and smell of a skunk. (Yes, I sometimes have smells in my dreams.) Well, that waddles off the other direction, and now the rabbit is a clear close shot. So I draw my pistol, and flip the cylinder open to check my loads - and drop all five rounds on the ground.

I kneel down to pick up the cartridges, and as I pick them up, the bullet falls off a couple of them. I pick up the bullets and jam them back on over the powder (which didn't fall out), but some of them are now seated backwards or at weird angles. So be it. I stand up and the rabbit is gone, so I start to re-chamber the cartridges.

A car pulls into the driveway. A scuzzy-looking older guy gets out (stringy/greasy gray hair, five or six days of stubble, stained undershirt, nasty flannel shirt, beat-to-death green carhartt jacket. He sees the pistol still in my hand and kinda startles, as I jam it into a jacket pocket and give him an embarassed smile. He starts in about needing directions, and would give me some gas for my truck if I could give him directions to somewhere. I told him I didn't need gas, but let me go find a map.

I go inside, shut the door behind me, and go upstairs to get a map. I come back down and the teakettle is whistling. Odd, because I didn't put the kettle on. And the door is open. I see the guy now standing in the living room looking over our stuff. I suggest he wait outside and I'll be right there. He argues, I tell him he's gotta go RIGHT NOW. He argues. I draw my pistol but keep it pointed down, and repeat that he needs to leave. He goes out the door, and I go turn the kettle off. I grab the map and head outside to give him his directions (yeah, I know, what?).

He's halfway to his car, and I say something to him about getting his directions. He keeps walking and starts digging in the car, and I keep walking towards him with the map. He comes back around the car, but now he's got his own gun - a nickel 3" S&W Model 36, if my dream-eyes were right. I drop the map and draw down on him, but he keeps walking. I'm shouting that he needs to drop it and leave, but he keeps walking towards me. He brings his gun up when he's about six feet from me, and I ducked under and stepped into the arm, bringing my own gun right up into his rib cage. My finger was tightening on the trigger as I felt something hit my own head...

... and I woke up, shaky and dripping sweat. First thing I did? Reached to where I keep my pistol and checked the loads. They were fine. :)


Dream Two:
I had been stationed on an island of some sort. Wasn't in the military, but I was on a military base, on a damn tiny island, and I was the only one there. The name for the island was Ewa or Eywa or something like that, and it was in the South Atlantic. (I looked, there isn't.) I was trying to get a very old radio working so I could get a message out somewhere. This very old radio, however, looked a lot like a Dewalt worksite radio. In any case, I got the radio working, and got an answer telling me to look out for a raid.

Sure enough, no sooner had I gotten the message than a boat (which looked suspiciously like the dinner cruise boat at our local waterfront) pulled up to the pier in front of the building I was in, and a group of soldiers (Asian, possibly Japanese?) started looking for me. Except they were armed with Mosin-Nagants. I took cover, and pulled out my pistol (yep, that same 642 that failed me the night before!)... one of them opened the door to the room I was in, and I aimed and shot. The gun went bang, and he fell over, so I ran to him to take the rifle - except he stood up and rubbed his forehead where the bullet had hit him without penetrating. Aw, crap!

I pointed the gun and pulled the trigger again, except now the trigger pull was zero - it went all the way back without doing anything. No resistance, no cylinder rotation, no click, no bang. So I pistol-whipped the guy, took his rifle away, and went to hide somewhere else and figure out what was wrong with my revolver. Opened the cylinder, took out a piece of cloth that was clogging the hand, and started to close the cylinder. A Very Large Hand reached over my shoulder (think Mandy Patinkin and Andre the Giant in "Princess Bride") and took the revolver away from me. I looked up at the biggest Asian I have ever seen, who opened my revolver, took out some other clogging piece, smiled and handed it back to me, then walked away.

Now properly armed with a rifle and a pistol, I went off to fight the Invading Hordes. I opened the door to the main room, and there they were...

... And then I woke up. No shaking or sweating this time, just a really screwed-up dream.

So. What are YOUR gunny dreams/nightmares?