Personal opinions
On Taylor Throating
Tuesday, August 12, 2008
I recently received an email asking my thoughts on Taylor Throating - the procedure where a reamer removes the rifling for roughly a half-inch past the forcing cone, and the edges of the lands are chamfered to match. The concept is to make an area that allows the bullet to 'stabilize' after jumping the barrel gap, but before entering the rifling.
Taylor Throating is somewhat controversial, with some holding it to be the greatest thing since peanut butter, while others claim that it is pure snake oil. In the interest of full disclosure, I don't offer the service - even though I've invested in the equipment - simply because I remain agnostic regarding its value.
Reports of miraculous results seem not to have occurred under controlled conditions. By that, I mean tested on a gun without any changes other than the throating. The glowing reports tend to be from those who had a lot of other work done at the same time, including timing and forcing cone changes. It's hard to say if the positive reports are in fact due to the throating, to other work, or to something subconscious on the part of the shooter doing the testing.
I've experimented with Taylor Throating on a properly maintained Dan Wesson .357, using several 6" barrels, and shot by two different people (one of whom was your author); the results were inconclusive. When a barrel with just the throating was tested, there was a slight increase in accuracy - but it was not consistent, nor large, enough to rule out normal shooter performance variation. A barrel prepped with a proper crown and an 11 degree forcing cone (as pioneered by Ron Power) achieved a definite positive result, roughly equal to what is said to be expected by some Taylor advocates.
My preliminary opinion, based on my admittedly limited experience with the technique, is that a proper forcing cone and a perfect crown still produce the most noticeable accuracy improvement. Of course, this is assuming that the gun is in perfect condition (timing, cylinder/barrel alignment, etc.) to begin with.
There are a couple of specific conditions where Taylor Throating might prove useful as a salvage technique: when the barrel/cylinder alignment is just a hair off in the vertical axis, or where there is a noticeable constriction in the area where the barrel screws into the frame. In those cases accuracy changes in excess of what would normally be expected have been reported, and may be legitimate. There are also some indications that it may extend the useful life of a severely worn barrel, where replacement is difficult or economically unwarranted.
Some specific downsides have been identified, however. If the throated area is even a tiny amount bigger than the chamber throats (or the bullet diameter), lead bullets will suffer "blow by" and gas cutting - severely leading the barrel, and definitely decreasing accuracy.
In the end, it's your choice. I'm not ready to call it a fraud, but neither do I see a definite positive benefit to having it done. When I come up with solid evidence on either side, you can bet I'll report it here!
-=[ Grant ]=-
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FRIDAY SURPRISE: More vintage logos
Friday, April 04, 2008
It pains me to think that the '70s - the decade of my young adulthood - are now considered "vintage"!
However, that is the case, and a look through this Flickr photo set of a logo book from that era brings back many memories. It's surprising how many of these logos I still recognize, even though some of the companies are no more. Others have had major makeovers since that time; some of them have been for the better, as bad design existed back then, as well.
Take a look, courtesy of 43 Folders.
-=[ Grant ]=-
I'm beginning to hate myself
Wednesday, March 05, 2008
Big gun show last weekend...didn't find anything I wanted.
Another big show coming up soon...doubt I'll find anything I want there, either.
The problem with being "into" something, to the extent that I am (and many of you are) is that the things we want get more and more esoteric. That translates to "hard to find", which usually translates to "valuable" - which morphs quickly to "the seller thinks it's made of gold from King Tut's codpiece, and has priced it accordingly."
The things I'm looking for range from the admittedly unusual (Marlin Levermatic in .30 Carbine) to the mundane (Mossberg bolt-action .22LR) and lots in between. You'd think, with an extensive and wide-ranging list of "wants" I'd get lucky sooner or later.
You'd be wrong.
For instance, a 3" S&W "K" frame (of any model; I'm not picky) shouldn't be a problem - they made scads of 'em, and they were pretty common just a few years ago. Naturally, I haven't seen one in ages.
I'd like a 9mm Speed-Six (yes, I know they're unusual) but I'd settle for a good clean one in .357. Doesn't matter - they seem to be equally scarce around these parts.
How about a simple Winchester Model 67 (their cheap single shot, manually cocking .22 from the middle of the last century) under $225? Not around here. Come on, people, this is a thin-barreled "starter" rifle, not a rare target gun!
Maybe a Browning BLR in .308? Good luck. (I've given up on ever finding one in .358, which is what I really lust for.) Oh, I can find a Winchester 88 in .308 - and I'd like to have one - but I'm not about to pay $800 for the privilege!
For some reason I want a simple, plain, common Marlin in .35 Remington. If I lived in Maine I'd have my pick of 'em, but out here in the West if it ain't a thutty-thutty you won't find it.
And so it goes. Come the next show I'll drag myself into the exhibit hall, knowing full well I'll be disappointed once again - but I'll do it anyway.
Sigh. I wonder if there's a suitable 12-step program for this...
-=[ Grant ]=-
FRIDAY SURPRISE: It's the little things that make life pleasant
Friday, January 25, 2008
One of the reasons I hate
the very concept of reading books online is because of the
typefaces involved. (In fact, that's one of the saddest parts of
the entire online experience.) There are only a handful that will
reproduce distinctively on a website, and if you're using a Windows
PC (as opposed to a Mac) that number is cut in half (due to the way
Microsoft renders type.) Even such niceties as italics and boldface
are substandard - or non-existent - when getting words through the
'net.
(A typeface, BTW, is a family of type; a "font" is a specific style within that typeface. For instance, Arial is a typeface consisting of the fonts Arial Regular, Arial Bold, Arial Italic, etc.)
Typestyles are tremendously important in their ability to bring emotion to print. One gets a profoundly different feeling reading a paragraph in, say, Caslon versus that same text in Optima. Subtle variances in typefaces can bring huge changes to how the words are perceived by the reader, and the skilled designer recognizes and exploits that.
Look, for instance, at my masthead at the top of the page. The typeface, which is part of the image, reproduces as it should on your machine because it's not webpage text; it was inserted into the image, then output as part of the JPEG of the gun. I did it that way because I wanted the design elements of that particular type, and there was no way to get it as simple text on the page. The masthead would not look the same, nor convey the same feeling, if it were anything else.
Contrast that with the rest of the text on the page, all of which is generated by your computer's HTML rendering engine. It is sterile, and lacks the subtleties of the image at top. (If you're using a PC, the difference is even more profound.) In short, it just doesn't look as nice!
The beauty of one specific typeface is the subject of a neat feature-length independent film called, simply, "Helvetica." Filmmaker Gary Hustwit looks at this ubiquitous type, where it came from and why it's important in the wider world of graphic design. I know, it sounds dry - but I found it to be engaging as it persuaded me to take a closer look at something that is, quite literally, everywhere. If you're a fan of good design, you should check it out.
It's currently available for online viewing at Google video.
-=[ Grant ]=-
(A typeface, BTW, is a family of type; a "font" is a specific style within that typeface. For instance, Arial is a typeface consisting of the fonts Arial Regular, Arial Bold, Arial Italic, etc.)
Typestyles are tremendously important in their ability to bring emotion to print. One gets a profoundly different feeling reading a paragraph in, say, Caslon versus that same text in Optima. Subtle variances in typefaces can bring huge changes to how the words are perceived by the reader, and the skilled designer recognizes and exploits that.
Look, for instance, at my masthead at the top of the page. The typeface, which is part of the image, reproduces as it should on your machine because it's not webpage text; it was inserted into the image, then output as part of the JPEG of the gun. I did it that way because I wanted the design elements of that particular type, and there was no way to get it as simple text on the page. The masthead would not look the same, nor convey the same feeling, if it were anything else.
Contrast that with the rest of the text on the page, all of which is generated by your computer's HTML rendering engine. It is sterile, and lacks the subtleties of the image at top. (If you're using a PC, the difference is even more profound.) In short, it just doesn't look as nice!
The beauty of one specific typeface is the subject of a neat feature-length independent film called, simply, "Helvetica." Filmmaker Gary Hustwit looks at this ubiquitous type, where it came from and why it's important in the wider world of graphic design. I know, it sounds dry - but I found it to be engaging as it persuaded me to take a closer look at something that is, quite literally, everywhere. If you're a fan of good design, you should check it out.
It's currently available for online viewing at Google video.
-=[ Grant ]=-
It's not often someone is willing to admit to doing dumb things
Wednesday, January 23, 2008
There are times that I feel
I'm harping on the safety issue, but with the number of grievous
injuries and deaths that occur I don't think it is
unwarranted.
The latest, sent to me by an alert reader, is a self-expose (complete with pictures) of a nasty handgun incident. Short version: this fellow, in an attempt to test a recently installed grip safety, pointed his gun at his leg and pulled the trigger. The sequence of events was predictable. (Warning - the pictures may be graphic for some people.)
Once again, I'm going to place the blame squarely on Traditional Rule #1: "All guns are always loaded", or any variant thereof. He felt free to do something blatantly stupid with his gun, because he was sure that he had unloaded it. Since he was sure that he unloaded it, in his mind the other rules obviously didn't apply. If they did, he wouldn't have pointed it at his leg as he intentionally pulled the trigger!
What bothers me most about this fellow's misfortune isn't that he was injured, but that he still doesn't get why it happened in the first place. He is so clueless about this, in fact, that he cites the classic Four Rules of Firearms Safety, starting with the offending Traditional Rule #1 in his article, and explaining to his readers that they should follow them. This is in fact the wrong thing to do, and is what caused his injuries.
It is my opinion that the more people who follow Traditional Rule #1, the more accidents like his will occur. Again, Traditional Rule #1 leads people to do dumb things with guns, because once they're convinced the gun is unloaded they feel at liberty to ignore the other three. In my opinion, we should instead be teaching people to follow the Three Commandments of Gun Safety religiously:
Let's look at his accident: he violated the First Commandment, because he thought the gun was unloaded.
He then violated the Second Commandment, because he thought the gun was unloaded.
Finally, he proceeded to violate the Third Commandment, because he thought the gun was unloaded.
The result? A large emergency room bill. Lots of pain. All because Traditional Rule #1 allowed him to do stupid things with a gun once he was "sure" it was unloaded!
(It is worth noting that the gentleman in question, one Darwin Teague, is on Usenet record as declaring that he would never carry a Glock, as he considers them to be "unsafe." With all due respect, Mr. Teague, if you do stupid things with guns, loaded or not, all the safety features in the world won't stop you from shooting yourself - as you have found out. I wish you luck, as you seem to need it.)
-=[ Grant ]=-
The latest, sent to me by an alert reader, is a self-expose (complete with pictures) of a nasty handgun incident. Short version: this fellow, in an attempt to test a recently installed grip safety, pointed his gun at his leg and pulled the trigger. The sequence of events was predictable. (Warning - the pictures may be graphic for some people.)
Once again, I'm going to place the blame squarely on Traditional Rule #1: "All guns are always loaded", or any variant thereof. He felt free to do something blatantly stupid with his gun, because he was sure that he had unloaded it. Since he was sure that he unloaded it, in his mind the other rules obviously didn't apply. If they did, he wouldn't have pointed it at his leg as he intentionally pulled the trigger!
What bothers me most about this fellow's misfortune isn't that he was injured, but that he still doesn't get why it happened in the first place. He is so clueless about this, in fact, that he cites the classic Four Rules of Firearms Safety, starting with the offending Traditional Rule #1 in his article, and explaining to his readers that they should follow them. This is in fact the wrong thing to do, and is what caused his injuries.
It is my opinion that the more people who follow Traditional Rule #1, the more accidents like his will occur. Again, Traditional Rule #1 leads people to do dumb things with guns, because once they're convinced the gun is unloaded they feel at liberty to ignore the other three. In my opinion, we should instead be teaching people to follow the Three Commandments of Gun Safety religiously:
Never point a gun - any gun, loaded or unloaded - at anything you are not willing to shoot.
Always be sure of your target, and the backstop behind it.
Keep your finger out of the triggerguard until your sights are on target and you are ready to shoot.
Let's look at his accident: he violated the First Commandment, because he thought the gun was unloaded.
He then violated the Second Commandment, because he thought the gun was unloaded.
Finally, he proceeded to violate the Third Commandment, because he thought the gun was unloaded.
The result? A large emergency room bill. Lots of pain. All because Traditional Rule #1 allowed him to do stupid things with a gun once he was "sure" it was unloaded!
(It is worth noting that the gentleman in question, one Darwin Teague, is on Usenet record as declaring that he would never carry a Glock, as he considers them to be "unsafe." With all due respect, Mr. Teague, if you do stupid things with guns, loaded or not, all the safety features in the world won't stop you from shooting yourself - as you have found out. I wish you luck, as you seem to need it.)
-=[ Grant ]=-
On safety
Thursday, September 27, 2007
A reader alerted me to this thread over at GlockTalk, where a debate about the first of Jeff Cooper's "Four Rules of Gun Safety" is raging. Specifically, the argument centers on the allowable "exceptions" to Rule #1: "All guns are always loaded" (or, alternatively, "Treat all guns as if they were loaded.")
I feel entitled to comment, inasmuch as the observance of said rule by gunsmiths has been invoked as one of the "exceptions." I take exception to that exception, and in fact take exception to the very notion of exceptions! Allow me to explain, and perhaps start some exceptional controversy of my own.
To be blunt: I don't like Rule #1. In fact, I believe that it is not just unnecessary, but that it actually sets people up to have accidents. I don't believe it makes anyone safer - I contend that it has the opposite effect.
It boils down to this: people do stupid things with guns that they perceive are unloaded. (Re-read that line, focusing on the word "perceive.") Once people have convinced themselves that a gun is unloaded, they treat it differently. That is where accidents occur.
The trouble with Rule #1 is that it encourages such shoddy behavior.
Follow me here: "treat all guns as if they were loaded" tacitly admits that there are, in fact, two states for a firearm - loaded and unloaded. If there were not an unloaded state, it would not be necessary to admonish someone to treat a gun "as if" it were in the loaded state, would it? If unloaded guns did not exist, the statement would make no sense. Therefore, the phrase itself establishes that there exists such a thing as an unloaded gun. Clear so far?
While Rule #1 logically admits that there is such a thing as an unloaded gun, it asks us to pretend that it doesn't really exist. This is important, as the rule only makes sense if the state of being 'unloaded' exists, but it implores us to make believe that such a state doesn't really exist. This situation is called cognitive dissonance: holding two contradictory beliefs simultaneously. It's a state of mind that humans don't tolerate all that well.
If one accepts the fallacy that an unloaded state doesn't exist, it becomes clear in the mind that the remaining three rules apply only to loaded guns. After all, the first rule says that there is no such thing as an unloaded gun; therefore, the other three rules can apply only to loaded guns, because - remember! - unloaded guns "don't exist."
Here's where that cognitive dissonance thing comes back to bite us. The human mind cannot maintain two contradictory concepts ("there is such a thing as an unloaded gun, but it doesn't exist because all guns are always loaded") without resolving them in some fashion. The way that most (if not all) people apparently resolve this is to apply the rules to all guns, unless they've convinced themselves that the gun in question isn't loaded.
In other words, to resolve the logical conflict that Rule #1 establishes, the mind translates it to say "treat all guns as if they are loaded, unless you've verified that they aren't." The other three rules are tossed right out the window, because they obviously don't apply to unloaded guns!
See how this comes about? If not, re-read the preceding paragraphs.
That, gentle readers, is the crux of the problem! The sad side of Rule #1 is that it implies once you've verified a gun is unloaded, the rest of the rules don't apply to it; you may handle it differently. That's when the accidents come, and is why I say that people do stupid things with guns that they think are unloaded.
Proof? Easy: it is axiomatic that all gun accidents occur with unloaded guns. Those are guns that people had convinced themselves were not in the loaded state, and therefore didn't fall under the rest of the rules. No matter what the experience or training level of the person involved, "I thought it was unloaded" is the first excuse out of their mouths when something bad happens.
Need more? Here's an interactive proof: go into any gun store, and watch as customers (and often the counter clerks) sweep muzzles over everyone in the store. Now complain to a clerk about the shoddy practice; I guarantee the first thing you'll hear from his or her mouth is "don't worry, it's not loaded."
Still not convinced? Ask Massad Ayoob to tell you the tragic story of a well regarded and highly experienced competition shooter who accidentally killed his wife - with an "unloaded" gun, of course. My contention is that he followed Rule #1 like most people, but that it's logical failings caused him to treat the gun differently because he was sure it was unloaded. The result was sadly inevitable.
This is why the forum debate runs so many pages, and ultimately devolves into the attitude "of course, Rule #1 doesn't apply to experienced shooters, who understand what the exceptions are." I'm sorry, folks, but I believe that any safety rule that implies or encourages "exceptions" - experienced operator or no - is a "rule" that should be thrown out.
One of the best shooting instructors I know - Georges Rahbani - has done just that. He acknowledged the problem and dealt with the issue by eliminating what I'll call "Traditional Rule #1" from his curriculum. Instead, he teaches that any and all guns, loaded or unloaded, are treated to the same standards, which he calls The Three Commandments of Gun Safety:
There are no exceptions, and thus less chance for the accidents that usually result from them.Never point a gun - any gun, loaded or unloaded - at anything you are not willing to shoot.
Always be sure of your target, and the backstop behind it.
Keep your finger out of the triggerguard until your sights are on target and you are ready to shoot.
These rules build on and cover for each other; should someone accidentally violate one of them, the other two remain operative to prevent an injury. The goal of gun rules is to prevent injury or death, to the shooter or others; if one follows these rules without exception, whether the gun is loaded or not, it will reduce that risk to the lowest probability.
As you might guess, in my line of work the chances of a negligent discharge are somewhat higher than usual. Consequently, my interest in the safety rules is higher than usual! The online debate mentions that gunsmiths must, out of necessity, violate the Traditional Rule #1 and thus don't need to follow the other rules.
Not in MY shop, bunky!
I follow the Three Rules as codified above. I don't point a gun (any assembly capable of igniting a cartridge) at anything I'm not willing to shoot. That means, in my case, a solid concrete wall in the back of my hillside shop. Because of that, I know what my target is, and what the backstop is. Finally, I don't put my finger into the triggerguard until my sights are on target (the gun is pointing at that backstop.) Yes, all the time and every time; I'm rather fond of my various body parts, and desire to retain them in full operating condition!
I think that's enough pot-stirring for one day. Next time, we'll see how an ancient religious principle can help to reinforce the constant observance of the safety rules.
-=[ Grant ]=-
On Revolver Aesthetics: Epilogue - My perspective on my own work
Monday, September 17, 2007
First, I'd like to thank
everyone for reading this series, and for the terrific emails I've
been getting. I'm gratified that many of you share my interest in
good looking revolvers, and in what garners that appellation for
each of us.
While not exactly part of the series, I'd like to take some time to convey my thoughts with regard to customization, and the kinds of work that adds to, or detracts from, the look of a wheelgun.
To start, I consider very carefully what I do to a revolver before taking file (or anything else) to metal. I think the project through; how will my work affect not only how the gun functions, but how it looks? In some cases the work helps (or at least doesn't hurt) the aesthetics of the gun, while in other cases it looks horrid.
For instance, let's take the act of bobbing a hammer. Not only does the result have to work correctly, but it has to serve the same visual function as that which it replaces. For the Colt and S&W guns, I've come up with two different approaches to the problem, which I believe look good on their respective marques. (Can you believe that I don't have a single picture to show? I've been quite negligent in documenting my own work!) Both are different than what most others do, and both are harmonious with the overall design of the guns.
In the case of the Ruger revolvers, I haven't yet hit on just the "right" modification. I do a lot of them, and have come up with something that isn't too bad, but it's no different than any number of people already have done - and I'm not really happy with the look. I've recently gone to the extent of scanning a Ruger hammer in to Photoshop so that I can "play" with the design - which I hope will lead me to the nirvana I seek. Wish me luck, as there isn't a lot to work with in their existing design!
Sometimes clients ask me to do things which I believe in my heart will look awful. A common request of late is to mill flats on the sides of barrels, ostensibly to shed weight. (I think the real motivation is a desire to make it look "modern" and "custom" and - dare I say? - "racy.") Sadly, in every example I've seen - and I've seen a LOT of them - the look is at odds with the rest of the gun. (Remember the concept of unity we discussed in Part 3?) Consequently I shrink from the prospect of doing them, and gently steer the client to something else. (In some cases I've sent the most intractable to another gunsmith, rather than be the proximate cause of yet another ugly gun!)
Are there instances where that type of embellishment might be appropriate to the overall design, and where I might consent to doing the job? Perhaps - but off the top of my head, I can't think of one. (Save, perhaps, for the already-blocky Dan Wesson heavy barrel shrouds - but I think there is a better approach to that particular assignment.)
This is where the marketing and customer relations parts of my head chime in, no doubt in concert with a few readers: "it's your job to do what the client wants, not what you want!" Yes, that's true - but the selfish part of me wants to ensure that a decade from now, people won't be referring to my work as "butchery." I confess to giving in to my selfish side, though in this case I believe that it is in the best interests of the client to not butcher his/her gun!
On down the line the deliberations go, each part of the work carefully considered both on its own merits, and in tandem with the other parts of the design. It has to work well, and it has to look good; I can't bring myself to do either separately. Perhaps I'll never become a huge gunsmithing conglomerate with such an attitude, but at the end of the day I can look back at what I've done, and smile with the knowledge that I've contributed - in a small way - to making the world just a bit better looking.
Life is too short to shoot - or to make - ugly guns. We'll leave that to the autoloader brigade!
-=[ Grant ]=-
While not exactly part of the series, I'd like to take some time to convey my thoughts with regard to customization, and the kinds of work that adds to, or detracts from, the look of a wheelgun.
To start, I consider very carefully what I do to a revolver before taking file (or anything else) to metal. I think the project through; how will my work affect not only how the gun functions, but how it looks? In some cases the work helps (or at least doesn't hurt) the aesthetics of the gun, while in other cases it looks horrid.
For instance, let's take the act of bobbing a hammer. Not only does the result have to work correctly, but it has to serve the same visual function as that which it replaces. For the Colt and S&W guns, I've come up with two different approaches to the problem, which I believe look good on their respective marques. (Can you believe that I don't have a single picture to show? I've been quite negligent in documenting my own work!) Both are different than what most others do, and both are harmonious with the overall design of the guns.
In the case of the Ruger revolvers, I haven't yet hit on just the "right" modification. I do a lot of them, and have come up with something that isn't too bad, but it's no different than any number of people already have done - and I'm not really happy with the look. I've recently gone to the extent of scanning a Ruger hammer in to Photoshop so that I can "play" with the design - which I hope will lead me to the nirvana I seek. Wish me luck, as there isn't a lot to work with in their existing design!
Sometimes clients ask me to do things which I believe in my heart will look awful. A common request of late is to mill flats on the sides of barrels, ostensibly to shed weight. (I think the real motivation is a desire to make it look "modern" and "custom" and - dare I say? - "racy.") Sadly, in every example I've seen - and I've seen a LOT of them - the look is at odds with the rest of the gun. (Remember the concept of unity we discussed in Part 3?) Consequently I shrink from the prospect of doing them, and gently steer the client to something else. (In some cases I've sent the most intractable to another gunsmith, rather than be the proximate cause of yet another ugly gun!)
Are there instances where that type of embellishment might be appropriate to the overall design, and where I might consent to doing the job? Perhaps - but off the top of my head, I can't think of one. (Save, perhaps, for the already-blocky Dan Wesson heavy barrel shrouds - but I think there is a better approach to that particular assignment.)
This is where the marketing and customer relations parts of my head chime in, no doubt in concert with a few readers: "it's your job to do what the client wants, not what you want!" Yes, that's true - but the selfish part of me wants to ensure that a decade from now, people won't be referring to my work as "butchery." I confess to giving in to my selfish side, though in this case I believe that it is in the best interests of the client to not butcher his/her gun!
On down the line the deliberations go, each part of the work carefully considered both on its own merits, and in tandem with the other parts of the design. It has to work well, and it has to look good; I can't bring myself to do either separately. Perhaps I'll never become a huge gunsmithing conglomerate with such an attitude, but at the end of the day I can look back at what I've done, and smile with the knowledge that I've contributed - in a small way - to making the world just a bit better looking.
Life is too short to shoot - or to make - ugly guns. We'll leave that to the autoloader brigade!
-=[ Grant ]=-
On Revolver Aesthetics, Part 5 - Toward the future
Monday, September 10, 2007
If you're just joining us, I
ask that you peruse the earlier parts of this Series:
Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
Part 4
Now, on with the show!
The challenge of revolver design today is in how to bring the aesthetics up to date, to allow (or take advantage of) advances in material and manufacturing technology, while simultaneously maintaining the essence of just what a revolver is. At first blush this seems like an impossible task: make a modern looking traditional firearm. Some would say that it's akin to fitting a muzzle loader with LaserGrips!
I disagree. I think that the essence of the revolver isn't a traditional look, but rather a familiar operation; of simplicity, not complication. Don't get me wrong - I like a traditional revolver as much as anyone, but for me it's always about how the gun WORKS. I don't shoot, carry, compete with, train with, and work on revolvers because I'm a nostalgic Luddite; I'm a thoroughly forward-looking Luddite!
Heretical? Some might say so. Inconsistent? I don't see it. At the end of the day, it's the cylinder (and the way that it works) that makes the revolver, regardless of what the packaging looks like.
Let's take a look at efforts to modernize the wheelgun.
One of the more successful changes in the look of the revolver was the introduction of the Colt Python (which we've already covered) back in 1955. The lugged barrel, still debated (and despised) by some, was a real departure in revolver design.
Smith & Wesson has had their share of "pushing the envelope" designs too. Some of their more recent efforts are styling disasters, but they haven't all been - take the groundbreaking "hammerless" Centennial series, first introduced in 1952.
Photo courtesy of www.snubnose.info
The Centennial, with its fully enclosed hammer, was a sleeker, more modern approach to the small frame revolver. The design is much more forward looking than its "Bodyguard" stablemate; unlike some designs has aged very well and is still in production. Note the back end of the gun, where the hammer would normally be - the way that it comes down to integrate the rear sight and the top of the grip is so simple, yet so effective. Great design, and can truly be called a "modern classic."
Sometimes a design needs an iteration (or two...or three) before it really hits its stride. Take a look at the original Dan Wesson design:
Dan Wesson photos courtesy of www.notpurfect.com
The DW was an exciting revolver when first introduced in the late '60s. Combining modern materials and revolutionary features, it was sadly lacking in the appearance department. Karl Lewis, though one of the greatest firearms designers in American history, was not terribly adept at making his guns look as good as they worked, and the original DW design was proof.
Where to start? The ugly barrel retaining nut, the inelegant matching of the "L" shaped barrel shroud and the frame, the ungainly front sight, the the use of a traditional barrel shape on an otherwise modern frame all combined to make a look that can only be described as "horrendous."
A few years later, with some work on both the engineering and aesthetics, the DW Model 15 finally hit the mark:
The square-slab lugged barrel with vented rib (they learned from Colt!) finally combined to serve as a perfect match for the frame. It had a sort of industrial look to it that still looks good today. Even on this 6" example, it is visually balanced - a tough thing to do with a heavy barrel, but the DW pulls it off.
Ruger went through the same kind of evolution, but it took a little longer. Their original double action design was, like the Dan Wesson, groundbreaking in many engineering ways - modern materials, production methods, and the elimination of screws. These were combined to make the "Six" Series (Speed-, Security-, and Service-Six models):
Photo courtesy of www.landro.no
Now understand that I'm a big fan of the Sixes, but let's face it - they were pretty ugly. The barrel just didn't mesh well with the squarish frame (note the steep drop from the top of the frame to the barrel shank.) It looks for all the world like one of those cheap .22 revolvers from the various German makers that were common here in the '60s. The inelegant hammer spur didn't help matters, either.
They did significantly better with the GP100 - the lugged barrel balances the heavy frame much better - but the barrel still doesn't quite match the lines of the frame:
Photo courtesy of www.ruger.com
They kept at it, and finally hit a home run with the SP101 - a thoroughly modern design, in both construction and aesthetics. It is, in my humble estimation, the best attempt at a modern appearance of all of the currently available revolvers.
Photo courtesy of www.ruger.com
The barrel was a radical departure in profile; no longer constrained to rather simple combinations of basic geometric shapes, the SP101 barrel is instead a sensuous "S" curve, which mates to the lines of the frame exceptionally well. The barrel's "rib" fits right to the top of the frame, and the recoil shield is sculpted on the right side. It seems to grow from the frame wall, rather than being merely attached to it in the manner of the older Sixes. The ugly hammer spur remains, but it doesn't seem so bad on this gun - probably because the rest of the design works so well. (Yeah, the grips stink, but one can at least replace the cheesy plastic panels with aftermarket wood or micarta.)
How about really pushing the envelope? How about setting out to produce a radically different revolver? There have been attempts - the original Mateba designs, the MTR8 (and later 2006M and Unica) certainly tried:
Photo courtesy of www.worldguns.ru
These, however, were attempts to change the very nature of what a revolver is; how about if we take the accepted design envelope, and simply...update it? That, folks, brings us to the very radical, yet still familiar, Manurhin MR 93:
Photo courtesy of www.army-discount.com
The barrel shroud is square in profile, which compliments the distinctly angular frame. The cylinder - now something of a round peg in a square hole - is brought into the design with its squarish fluting. The recoil shield flares into the frame, in an extreme update of the SP101 we saw above. The triggerguard features the same sort of updating (though I could live without the faddish hook on the front.) Even the hammer spur was simplified, angled, and minimized to fit the overall theme. The very European grips complete the package by bringing the otherwise austere gun back to its roots - rounded so that the hand can comfortably grasp them, and wood to warm up what could have otherwise been a very cold appearance.
Remember what I said a while back about the difference between what you like and what you can appreciate? This is it. You may not like it; you may think it blasphemous. You may not wish to own it. All of that is fine and very normal; but you have to admire the elements, how they hold together and compliment each other, and how the design is unified, even if you wouldn't want it in your safe. The eye moves through and around the design very well, and even the choice of materials is "correct" from an aesthetic viewpoint.
Back on August 29 I wrote that this part of the series might put off more than a few of you. Here it comes: I think it's one of the best revolver designs ever. Yes, I'm serious. It pushes the envelope, but skillfully uses all of the design criteria we've learned about in this series. It is thoroughly, unabashedly modern, but manages to retain the essence of what a revolver is. All of the design elements work so well together, and the design as a whole is striking - but not in the way the Mateba MTR8 is. At its heart it is still that traditional machine we all appreciate, even if its clothing is of a different era.
You don't like it? That's fine! Don't ignore it, though, for how it looks can teach us much about revolver design, and may even help us identify just what it is we do (and don't) like.
I hope this series has exposed you to ideas and concepts that you might not have otherwise considered. If it has done so, I will have succeeded in my original aim to expand our wheelgun horizons. I welcome your comments!
Next week, the Epilogue: how I approach customization in relation to revolver aesthetics, and why I've chosen not to do certain things.
-=[ Grant ]=-
Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
Part 4
Now, on with the show!
The challenge of revolver design today is in how to bring the aesthetics up to date, to allow (or take advantage of) advances in material and manufacturing technology, while simultaneously maintaining the essence of just what a revolver is. At first blush this seems like an impossible task: make a modern looking traditional firearm. Some would say that it's akin to fitting a muzzle loader with LaserGrips!
I disagree. I think that the essence of the revolver isn't a traditional look, but rather a familiar operation; of simplicity, not complication. Don't get me wrong - I like a traditional revolver as much as anyone, but for me it's always about how the gun WORKS. I don't shoot, carry, compete with, train with, and work on revolvers because I'm a nostalgic Luddite; I'm a thoroughly forward-looking Luddite!
Heretical? Some might say so. Inconsistent? I don't see it. At the end of the day, it's the cylinder (and the way that it works) that makes the revolver, regardless of what the packaging looks like.
Let's take a look at efforts to modernize the wheelgun.
One of the more successful changes in the look of the revolver was the introduction of the Colt Python (which we've already covered) back in 1955. The lugged barrel, still debated (and despised) by some, was a real departure in revolver design.
Smith & Wesson has had their share of "pushing the envelope" designs too. Some of their more recent efforts are styling disasters, but they haven't all been - take the groundbreaking "hammerless" Centennial series, first introduced in 1952.
Photo courtesy of www.snubnose.info
The Centennial, with its fully enclosed hammer, was a sleeker, more modern approach to the small frame revolver. The design is much more forward looking than its "Bodyguard" stablemate; unlike some designs has aged very well and is still in production. Note the back end of the gun, where the hammer would normally be - the way that it comes down to integrate the rear sight and the top of the grip is so simple, yet so effective. Great design, and can truly be called a "modern classic."
Sometimes a design needs an iteration (or two...or three) before it really hits its stride. Take a look at the original Dan Wesson design:
Dan Wesson photos courtesy of www.notpurfect.com
The DW was an exciting revolver when first introduced in the late '60s. Combining modern materials and revolutionary features, it was sadly lacking in the appearance department. Karl Lewis, though one of the greatest firearms designers in American history, was not terribly adept at making his guns look as good as they worked, and the original DW design was proof.
Where to start? The ugly barrel retaining nut, the inelegant matching of the "L" shaped barrel shroud and the frame, the ungainly front sight, the the use of a traditional barrel shape on an otherwise modern frame all combined to make a look that can only be described as "horrendous."
A few years later, with some work on both the engineering and aesthetics, the DW Model 15 finally hit the mark:
The square-slab lugged barrel with vented rib (they learned from Colt!) finally combined to serve as a perfect match for the frame. It had a sort of industrial look to it that still looks good today. Even on this 6" example, it is visually balanced - a tough thing to do with a heavy barrel, but the DW pulls it off.
Ruger went through the same kind of evolution, but it took a little longer. Their original double action design was, like the Dan Wesson, groundbreaking in many engineering ways - modern materials, production methods, and the elimination of screws. These were combined to make the "Six" Series (Speed-, Security-, and Service-Six models):
Photo courtesy of www.landro.no
Now understand that I'm a big fan of the Sixes, but let's face it - they were pretty ugly. The barrel just didn't mesh well with the squarish frame (note the steep drop from the top of the frame to the barrel shank.) It looks for all the world like one of those cheap .22 revolvers from the various German makers that were common here in the '60s. The inelegant hammer spur didn't help matters, either.
They did significantly better with the GP100 - the lugged barrel balances the heavy frame much better - but the barrel still doesn't quite match the lines of the frame:
Photo courtesy of www.ruger.com
They kept at it, and finally hit a home run with the SP101 - a thoroughly modern design, in both construction and aesthetics. It is, in my humble estimation, the best attempt at a modern appearance of all of the currently available revolvers.
Photo courtesy of www.ruger.com
The barrel was a radical departure in profile; no longer constrained to rather simple combinations of basic geometric shapes, the SP101 barrel is instead a sensuous "S" curve, which mates to the lines of the frame exceptionally well. The barrel's "rib" fits right to the top of the frame, and the recoil shield is sculpted on the right side. It seems to grow from the frame wall, rather than being merely attached to it in the manner of the older Sixes. The ugly hammer spur remains, but it doesn't seem so bad on this gun - probably because the rest of the design works so well. (Yeah, the grips stink, but one can at least replace the cheesy plastic panels with aftermarket wood or micarta.)
How about really pushing the envelope? How about setting out to produce a radically different revolver? There have been attempts - the original Mateba designs, the MTR8 (and later 2006M and Unica) certainly tried:
Photo courtesy of www.worldguns.ru
These, however, were attempts to change the very nature of what a revolver is; how about if we take the accepted design envelope, and simply...update it? That, folks, brings us to the very radical, yet still familiar, Manurhin MR 93:
Photo courtesy of www.army-discount.com
The barrel shroud is square in profile, which compliments the distinctly angular frame. The cylinder - now something of a round peg in a square hole - is brought into the design with its squarish fluting. The recoil shield flares into the frame, in an extreme update of the SP101 we saw above. The triggerguard features the same sort of updating (though I could live without the faddish hook on the front.) Even the hammer spur was simplified, angled, and minimized to fit the overall theme. The very European grips complete the package by bringing the otherwise austere gun back to its roots - rounded so that the hand can comfortably grasp them, and wood to warm up what could have otherwise been a very cold appearance.
Remember what I said a while back about the difference between what you like and what you can appreciate? This is it. You may not like it; you may think it blasphemous. You may not wish to own it. All of that is fine and very normal; but you have to admire the elements, how they hold together and compliment each other, and how the design is unified, even if you wouldn't want it in your safe. The eye moves through and around the design very well, and even the choice of materials is "correct" from an aesthetic viewpoint.
Back on August 29 I wrote that this part of the series might put off more than a few of you. Here it comes: I think it's one of the best revolver designs ever. Yes, I'm serious. It pushes the envelope, but skillfully uses all of the design criteria we've learned about in this series. It is thoroughly, unabashedly modern, but manages to retain the essence of what a revolver is. All of the design elements work so well together, and the design as a whole is striking - but not in the way the Mateba MTR8 is. At its heart it is still that traditional machine we all appreciate, even if its clothing is of a different era.
You don't like it? That's fine! Don't ignore it, though, for how it looks can teach us much about revolver design, and may even help us identify just what it is we do (and don't) like.
I hope this series has exposed you to ideas and concepts that you might not have otherwise considered. If it has done so, I will have succeeded in my original aim to expand our wheelgun horizons. I welcome your comments!
Next week, the Epilogue: how I approach customization in relation to revolver aesthetics, and why I've chosen not to do certain things.
-=[ Grant ]=-
I get email...
Wednesday, August 29, 2007
Monday's post, a
design analysis of the Colt Python, generated a number of
interesting emails - no doubt in part to a mention at
The View
From The Porch.
The general gist of my inbox was of the "I don't think the Python is the best looking/I think the XXX is better looking" type. I suspect this is because readers were "coming in late" and hadn't read Part One and Part Two of the series.
This series of articles isn't about what I (or anyone else) likes, or what we prefer to own. The idea is to study design with regard to the revolver; to learn about the aesthetics of industrial design so that we can appreciate what goes into it, even if we don't happen to like it.
Yes, I like Pythons; I also like the old skinny-barrel S&W "K" frames, and for different reasons. I appreciate the skill that went into the design of the Python, a design that could have very easily (the S&W 686 springs to mind) turned out to be less graceful than it did. One can admire the skill of the designer, even if one doesn't care to have an example for him or her self. This can only happen if one is conversant with the qualities of good design.
What we like isn't always what's good; this is an important concept to understand. For instance, the S&W "Bodyguard" series of "J" frames is - by just about any measure - an unsuccessful design from a styling standpoint. From any angle, it's an ugly gun. That doesn't stop me from liking the little things, in the same way that I like bulldogs - they're so ugly, they're cute!
On the other hand, one can appreciate guns that one doesn't actually like. I'm not a fan of autoloaders, but that doesn't stop me from admiring the Ferrari-like lines of the Benelli B-76 (I consider it to be the best looking autoloader ever made, which is a little like contending that one has the best deck chair on the Titanic.) My feelings about Taurus revolvers are almost infamous, yet I have to admit that the 4" Tracker series is a good styling exercise (even given the inelegant shape of their triggers.)
Regular readers will have their ability to differentiate between feeling and appreciation sorely tested in a couple of weeks, when I present the final article in the series. I suspect than more than a few of you will be put off by some of the conclusions in it, but with an open mind - and the background in this series - I think you will find it challenging, compelling, and perhaps more than a little instructive. You may still not like what you see, but (hopefully) you'll understand a bit about why the designers did what they did.
Stay tuned, and keep those cards and letters coming!
-=[ Grant ]=-
The general gist of my inbox was of the "I don't think the Python is the best looking/I think the XXX is better looking" type. I suspect this is because readers were "coming in late" and hadn't read Part One and Part Two of the series.
This series of articles isn't about what I (or anyone else) likes, or what we prefer to own. The idea is to study design with regard to the revolver; to learn about the aesthetics of industrial design so that we can appreciate what goes into it, even if we don't happen to like it.
Yes, I like Pythons; I also like the old skinny-barrel S&W "K" frames, and for different reasons. I appreciate the skill that went into the design of the Python, a design that could have very easily (the S&W 686 springs to mind) turned out to be less graceful than it did. One can admire the skill of the designer, even if one doesn't care to have an example for him or her self. This can only happen if one is conversant with the qualities of good design.
What we like isn't always what's good; this is an important concept to understand. For instance, the S&W "Bodyguard" series of "J" frames is - by just about any measure - an unsuccessful design from a styling standpoint. From any angle, it's an ugly gun. That doesn't stop me from liking the little things, in the same way that I like bulldogs - they're so ugly, they're cute!
On the other hand, one can appreciate guns that one doesn't actually like. I'm not a fan of autoloaders, but that doesn't stop me from admiring the Ferrari-like lines of the Benelli B-76 (I consider it to be the best looking autoloader ever made, which is a little like contending that one has the best deck chair on the Titanic.) My feelings about Taurus revolvers are almost infamous, yet I have to admit that the 4" Tracker series is a good styling exercise (even given the inelegant shape of their triggers.)
Regular readers will have their ability to differentiate between feeling and appreciation sorely tested in a couple of weeks, when I present the final article in the series. I suspect than more than a few of you will be put off by some of the conclusions in it, but with an open mind - and the background in this series - I think you will find it challenging, compelling, and perhaps more than a little instructive. You may still not like what you see, but (hopefully) you'll understand a bit about why the designers did what they did.
Stay tuned, and keep those cards and letters coming!
-=[ Grant ]=-
On Revolver Aesthetics, Part 4 - Deconstructing a good design
Monday, August 27, 2007
As promised in the
last installment, today we'll be taking a
look at one iconic revolver and discover how it follows the design
principles we've explored.
The Colt Python easily makes just about everyone's "top 5 revolvers" list. Much of its popularity is due to its gilt-edged accuracy and superb out-of-box action (though, of course, it can always be better. This has been an obvious plug.) However, it's drop-dead-gorgeous looks are no doubt a huge part of the reputation it enjoys.
So "right" is the look of the Python that S&W paid it the honor (though they'll deny it) of copying the distinctive barrel profile in their "L" frame guns. They couldn't get the rest of the gun, though, and that's sad - because, as we'll see, the Python's appearance is a function of the whole gun. (Before you shoot off that hate email, understand that the 686 series are pretty good looking guns in their own right; it's just that they don't achieve the high level of design excellence that the Python does. Keep reading, and hopefully you'll begin to understand why.)
We're using a typical 4-inch Python as our example, since it is not only the most common, but also the best looking of the various Python incarnations.
What do we see when we look at the Python?
The first principle we learned about is proportion - the relationship of elements to each other, and of the whole design, in all measurable aspects.The 4-inch version is near ideal; the barrel, which often looks skinny on other guns, has sufficient volume to hold its own against the cylinder and frame; in fact, one gets the feeling that if the barrel were to be compressed lengthwise, its width would grow proportionally to end up the same dimension as the cylinder. The trigger and triggerguard are perfectly proportioned to each other, and the combination to the frame. Note the hammer tang; having a large pad for easy cocking could have made the hammer proportionally too large for the rest of the design. Through judicious thinning and shaping, the designers made a hammer that complimented the design rather than stood apart from it.
Closely related to proportion, we learned, is the concept of balance, or of visual equilibrium. Here again the Python design simply shines. The Python's gripframe, often criticized for flaring too much, gives needed visual balance to the heavy lugged barrel and frame. The gun has a visual center of balance right in the center of the gun. Contributing to this is the barrel's vent rib; were that top rib solid, it wouldn't look as balanced as it does. Take, for example, the S&W copy:
Without the vents in the barrel, it simply looks front heavy compared to the Colt original; there is a feeling that it will tip forward, while the Python doesn't. (That huge front sight ramp doesn't help, either.)
Eye movement in the Python design is almost classic. If we start at the muzzle, the lines of the barrel - repeating between the lug, the central portion, and the rib - serve to draw the eye toward the cylinder. Once there, the pointed ends of the flutes send the gaze to the cylinder release, whose shape directs the eye to the hammer tang. This is were the design shows a particular genius: the gentle curve and overall shape of the hammer directs the eye in a clockwise spiral to the grips, where their shape sends the gaze to the trigger. The strongly curved trigger - much more curved than on any other brand of revolver - is a sort of "ski jump" that propels the eye back to the barrel.
Note especially the cut of the frame under the barrel down to the triggerguard, and compare it to the S&W. Note how the Python has just a bit of an angular cut with just a hint of curvature, which serves to visually lighten the gun and give it a "flying" feeling. It also serves to help redirect the eye from the trigger back to the muzzle; the S&W, in contrast, looks "blocky", far less graceful, and stops the eye dead at that point. Design is often about such "minor" details!
Which brings us to emphasis, or design elements that arrest the eye without causing visual fixation. It is a design touch that causes the gaze to linger, rather than stop. It's terribly easy for the eye to leave a revolver at the hammer or muzzle, because those are points to which the eye tends to be sent by the barrel and cylinder combination. That gorgeous Python hammer hammer begs to be looked at, but it isn't so overwhelming that the viewer's gaze ends at that point; it serves to slow the eye down, then redirect the gaze to the next element. Were it larger or smaller, it wouldn't serve the same purpose. It is a perfect example of design emphasis, as is the thumb latch that slows the eye down just enough to make sure it doesn't miss the hammer spur.
The front sight shape - and the barrel vents - tend to keep that from happening at the front. If we look back at the S&W picture, you'll notice that the front sight ramp tends to serve as a launch point unto itself, sending the eye right off the front sight into space. On the Python, the sight is enough to stop the eye from taking off into the hinterlands, but not so much that it becomes a stopping or launching point on its own. The vents are a point of contrast, being quite angular in comparison to the smooth curves of the rest of the revolver. That contrast is just enough to catch the eye, but not enough to look out of place or in conflict with the rest of the design elements. (As we'll see in the next part of this series, making a contrast without creating visual dichotomy is a tough task - and not always achieved.)
Finally, when we look at the Python we see an overall unity, the feeling that every element is working to support the overall design. Achieving unity starts with the finish (which is a point of emphasis all by itself.) That deep, glassy "Royal Blue" finish for which the Python is famed is a strong component that ties together all of the elements. It's not the only unifying feature, however!
The shape of the thumb latch repeats the shape of the cylinder flutes, which themselves appear to be continuous from the barrel lug. (So good is that combination, when you look at the gun as a whole it almost seems to be one solid piece of steel from the muzzle to the end of that latch.) Note too how the barrel cross-section matches the frame contours where the barrel is attached, and how the contour of the frame under the hammer is reminiscent of the curve of the triggerguard. (Take a look at the S&W; note how that same curve is much shallower, and doesn't really recall that of any other part of the frame.) Even the points where the triggerguard meet the frame are identical front and rear, which augments that feeling of cohesion.
I could go on, but I think you get the idea. One must look at revolver design not just as a series of parts, but also at how those parts work together to produce a design at which the eye can't seem to stop looking. The Colt Python is, in that regard, the ne plus ultra of revolvers.
In the next installment, we'll look at designs gone awry, and find out why some guns are just plain ugly. Until then, always remember: life is too short to carry (or shoot) an ugly gun!
-=[ Grant ]=-
The Colt Python easily makes just about everyone's "top 5 revolvers" list. Much of its popularity is due to its gilt-edged accuracy and superb out-of-box action (though, of course, it can always be better. This has been an obvious plug.) However, it's drop-dead-gorgeous looks are no doubt a huge part of the reputation it enjoys.
So "right" is the look of the Python that S&W paid it the honor (though they'll deny it) of copying the distinctive barrel profile in their "L" frame guns. They couldn't get the rest of the gun, though, and that's sad - because, as we'll see, the Python's appearance is a function of the whole gun. (Before you shoot off that hate email, understand that the 686 series are pretty good looking guns in their own right; it's just that they don't achieve the high level of design excellence that the Python does. Keep reading, and hopefully you'll begin to understand why.)
We're using a typical 4-inch Python as our example, since it is not only the most common, but also the best looking of the various Python incarnations.
What do we see when we look at the Python?
The first principle we learned about is proportion - the relationship of elements to each other, and of the whole design, in all measurable aspects.The 4-inch version is near ideal; the barrel, which often looks skinny on other guns, has sufficient volume to hold its own against the cylinder and frame; in fact, one gets the feeling that if the barrel were to be compressed lengthwise, its width would grow proportionally to end up the same dimension as the cylinder. The trigger and triggerguard are perfectly proportioned to each other, and the combination to the frame. Note the hammer tang; having a large pad for easy cocking could have made the hammer proportionally too large for the rest of the design. Through judicious thinning and shaping, the designers made a hammer that complimented the design rather than stood apart from it.
Closely related to proportion, we learned, is the concept of balance, or of visual equilibrium. Here again the Python design simply shines. The Python's gripframe, often criticized for flaring too much, gives needed visual balance to the heavy lugged barrel and frame. The gun has a visual center of balance right in the center of the gun. Contributing to this is the barrel's vent rib; were that top rib solid, it wouldn't look as balanced as it does. Take, for example, the S&W copy:
Without the vents in the barrel, it simply looks front heavy compared to the Colt original; there is a feeling that it will tip forward, while the Python doesn't. (That huge front sight ramp doesn't help, either.)
Eye movement in the Python design is almost classic. If we start at the muzzle, the lines of the barrel - repeating between the lug, the central portion, and the rib - serve to draw the eye toward the cylinder. Once there, the pointed ends of the flutes send the gaze to the cylinder release, whose shape directs the eye to the hammer tang. This is were the design shows a particular genius: the gentle curve and overall shape of the hammer directs the eye in a clockwise spiral to the grips, where their shape sends the gaze to the trigger. The strongly curved trigger - much more curved than on any other brand of revolver - is a sort of "ski jump" that propels the eye back to the barrel.
Note especially the cut of the frame under the barrel down to the triggerguard, and compare it to the S&W. Note how the Python has just a bit of an angular cut with just a hint of curvature, which serves to visually lighten the gun and give it a "flying" feeling. It also serves to help redirect the eye from the trigger back to the muzzle; the S&W, in contrast, looks "blocky", far less graceful, and stops the eye dead at that point. Design is often about such "minor" details!
Which brings us to emphasis, or design elements that arrest the eye without causing visual fixation. It is a design touch that causes the gaze to linger, rather than stop. It's terribly easy for the eye to leave a revolver at the hammer or muzzle, because those are points to which the eye tends to be sent by the barrel and cylinder combination. That gorgeous Python hammer hammer begs to be looked at, but it isn't so overwhelming that the viewer's gaze ends at that point; it serves to slow the eye down, then redirect the gaze to the next element. Were it larger or smaller, it wouldn't serve the same purpose. It is a perfect example of design emphasis, as is the thumb latch that slows the eye down just enough to make sure it doesn't miss the hammer spur.
The front sight shape - and the barrel vents - tend to keep that from happening at the front. If we look back at the S&W picture, you'll notice that the front sight ramp tends to serve as a launch point unto itself, sending the eye right off the front sight into space. On the Python, the sight is enough to stop the eye from taking off into the hinterlands, but not so much that it becomes a stopping or launching point on its own. The vents are a point of contrast, being quite angular in comparison to the smooth curves of the rest of the revolver. That contrast is just enough to catch the eye, but not enough to look out of place or in conflict with the rest of the design elements. (As we'll see in the next part of this series, making a contrast without creating visual dichotomy is a tough task - and not always achieved.)
Finally, when we look at the Python we see an overall unity, the feeling that every element is working to support the overall design. Achieving unity starts with the finish (which is a point of emphasis all by itself.) That deep, glassy "Royal Blue" finish for which the Python is famed is a strong component that ties together all of the elements. It's not the only unifying feature, however!
The shape of the thumb latch repeats the shape of the cylinder flutes, which themselves appear to be continuous from the barrel lug. (So good is that combination, when you look at the gun as a whole it almost seems to be one solid piece of steel from the muzzle to the end of that latch.) Note too how the barrel cross-section matches the frame contours where the barrel is attached, and how the contour of the frame under the hammer is reminiscent of the curve of the triggerguard. (Take a look at the S&W; note how that same curve is much shallower, and doesn't really recall that of any other part of the frame.) Even the points where the triggerguard meet the frame are identical front and rear, which augments that feeling of cohesion.
I could go on, but I think you get the idea. One must look at revolver design not just as a series of parts, but also at how those parts work together to produce a design at which the eye can't seem to stop looking. The Colt Python is, in that regard, the ne plus ultra of revolvers.
In the next installment, we'll look at designs gone awry, and find out why some guns are just plain ugly. Until then, always remember: life is too short to carry (or shoot) an ugly gun!
-=[ Grant ]=-
On Revolver Aesthetics, Part 3 - Principles of design: Movement, emphasis, and unity
Monday, August 13, 2007
In
Part 2, we looked at the ideas of
proportion and balance as they relate to revolver design. Today,
let's look at some more concepts of good design.
Movement seems like an odd concept for an inanimate object, but it doesn't really deal with the object itself - movement instead refers to the path your eyes follow as you look at the gun.
Movement is important to control in a design, because a designer doesn't want the viewer's eyes to fixate on on detail to the exclusion of the rest, nor to keep moving off of the design into space. Both can (and do) happen!
Movement can be directed by edges and lines, by shapes, and the skilled use of color and texture. For instance, a natural line on a revolver is the barrel; it naturally directs the eyes back to the cylinder, where the flutes further direct the eye along the frame. The same movement happens in reverse. However, that movement needs to be arrested at some point, so that the eye doesn't wander off the design into open space at either end of the design. At the barrel end, the front sight serves to arrest a redirect the eye back along the barrel; at the other end, the hammer can do the same thing.
Those points of focus or interruption comprise the principle of emphasis. Points of emphasis are those which most strongly draw the viewers attention. There is usually a main point of emphasis, though there may be smaller points in other parts of the design. The eye should linger on a point of emphasis, then continue through the design. The idea is to hold the viewer's interest without causing fixation.
Emphasis can be achieved with repetition of color, shape, or texture; through contrast, again of color, shape, or texture; a change in scale or proportion; a position in a strategic location; or through intricacy, or the details of an element. The front sight is a good example of emphasis due to location, while a checkered cylinder release can be an example of intricacy.
Finally, all of the design principles should have as their end goal in unity of design. Unity is the feeling of harmony between all parts of the design; it should create a sense of completeness, of wholeness, of a solidity in the design. There should be a sense that all of the parts are working together to achieve a common result.
Consistency is the watchword of unity, but that doesn't mean that there can't be a contrast - perish the thought! As we learned in the discussion about emphasis, there needs to be some contrast in a design; unity is not to be confused with sameness!
However, contrast for emphasis is a one thing, while contrast that disturbs the unity is quite another. Contrast that supports the function or underlying concept of the design is not the same as contrast for contrast's sake. For instance, a matte part where the others are polished; a checkered part where the others are flat; a round part where others are square, are all examples of contrast for emphasis. Combining all of those contrasts in one part, however, produces disharmony, as does using all of those types of contrast willy-nilly across the whole design. The former promotes unity, the latter does not!
Unity is obvious, and perhaps the first thing we see when looking at a revolver. In a small canvas like a revolver, attention to unity is extremely important. As we'll see later in this series, it isn't always followed!
There is nothing like learning through example, so in the next installment we'll take a look at one iconic revolver from the perspective of these principles.
-=[ Grant ]=-
Movement seems like an odd concept for an inanimate object, but it doesn't really deal with the object itself - movement instead refers to the path your eyes follow as you look at the gun.
Movement is important to control in a design, because a designer doesn't want the viewer's eyes to fixate on on detail to the exclusion of the rest, nor to keep moving off of the design into space. Both can (and do) happen!
Movement can be directed by edges and lines, by shapes, and the skilled use of color and texture. For instance, a natural line on a revolver is the barrel; it naturally directs the eyes back to the cylinder, where the flutes further direct the eye along the frame. The same movement happens in reverse. However, that movement needs to be arrested at some point, so that the eye doesn't wander off the design into open space at either end of the design. At the barrel end, the front sight serves to arrest a redirect the eye back along the barrel; at the other end, the hammer can do the same thing.
Those points of focus or interruption comprise the principle of emphasis. Points of emphasis are those which most strongly draw the viewers attention. There is usually a main point of emphasis, though there may be smaller points in other parts of the design. The eye should linger on a point of emphasis, then continue through the design. The idea is to hold the viewer's interest without causing fixation.
Emphasis can be achieved with repetition of color, shape, or texture; through contrast, again of color, shape, or texture; a change in scale or proportion; a position in a strategic location; or through intricacy, or the details of an element. The front sight is a good example of emphasis due to location, while a checkered cylinder release can be an example of intricacy.
Finally, all of the design principles should have as their end goal in unity of design. Unity is the feeling of harmony between all parts of the design; it should create a sense of completeness, of wholeness, of a solidity in the design. There should be a sense that all of the parts are working together to achieve a common result.
Consistency is the watchword of unity, but that doesn't mean that there can't be a contrast - perish the thought! As we learned in the discussion about emphasis, there needs to be some contrast in a design; unity is not to be confused with sameness!
However, contrast for emphasis is a one thing, while contrast that disturbs the unity is quite another. Contrast that supports the function or underlying concept of the design is not the same as contrast for contrast's sake. For instance, a matte part where the others are polished; a checkered part where the others are flat; a round part where others are square, are all examples of contrast for emphasis. Combining all of those contrasts in one part, however, produces disharmony, as does using all of those types of contrast willy-nilly across the whole design. The former promotes unity, the latter does not!
Unity is obvious, and perhaps the first thing we see when looking at a revolver. In a small canvas like a revolver, attention to unity is extremely important. As we'll see later in this series, it isn't always followed!
There is nothing like learning through example, so in the next installment we'll take a look at one iconic revolver from the perspective of these principles.
-=[ Grant ]=-
The case for DAO
Wednesday, August 08, 2007
In the Gunsmithing pages of
this site, I endorse the practice of rendering defensive revolvers
double action only (DAO.) Many people ask why, and I thought I'd
give you my thoughts on the matter.
Let's start with the usual argument for retaining single action capability, which I call the "Walter Mitty scenario": the mythical need for making precise long range head shots. Let's face it, folks - this just never happens in real life!
However, let's say that you're having a Jack Bauer kind of day and are now facing just this scenario. Mightn't that be just a tad bit stressful? Wouldn't that make you even more nervous, knowing that you'll be trying the toughest possible handgun shot under the worst possible conditions? With all that adrenaline now flowing through your system, is this really the time that you want a light, short trigger pull that is very easy to accidentally release? Not me, bunky!
This is the reason for DAO: light single action triggers are great on the calm shooting range, but pose a liability risk for unintentional discharges under stress. As Massad Ayoob says, single action triggers are great shooting tools, but lousy threat management tools.
Now I I know what you're thinking: "OK, but I promise I'll never use it!" I'm sure you mean that sincerely, but It's been well established over the decades that people tend to do in combat what they do in training.
It's human nature to practice what we're already good at, and to do that which is easiest for us. At the range, it's not uncommon to watch someone shoot a revolver at, say 50 feet and become disenchanted with their groups. At that point, they usually switch to the easier pull of the single action, and shoot that way. This imprints their subconscious to use single action when they are unsure of their abilities, and this may be what they revert to under stress.
Once that act of thumbing back the hammer has become habit, another problem crops up: the Hollywood-inspired (and reinforced) act of cocking the gun to show the bad guy that you "really mean it!" I'll refer you back to the second paragraph, with emphasis.
(Yes, I know you'll promise not to do that either. But if you've told your subconscious that cocking the hammer is accepted shooting technique, do you think it'll ask your conscious mind for permission when the time comes - especially if decades of TV and movies has told it otherwise? Of course not! "Besides", your subconscious thinks, "if Tyne Daly can do it, why can't I?")
Removing the SA capability eliminates the chances of any of this happening. (If you make the conscious decision to carry a gun with SA capability, I recommend that you attend the Lethal Force Institute's "LFI-1" class, where you will learn how to defend that choice - and counter any false claims that may arise from it - in court.)
From a gunsmithing perspective, I've found that eliminating the SA capability can, on some guns (Colt and Dan Wesson), give a bit more leeway in terms of honing the double action. Without the need to worry about the single action sear, the double action can be tuned far more radically than is otherwise possible. In S&W and Ruger guns, reducing the DA pull to the barest minimum (as some request) will result in an unconscionably light SA pull - often below 32 ounces. Eliminating the SA notches means that this ceases to be a worry.
Speaking for myself, I didn't start to shoot DA well until I'd gotten rid of the SA capability completely. True story: one day (many years ago), shortly after transitioning to shooting only revolvers, I was participating in a match (Bianchi type.) I was having trouble with missing those little round steel plates they use for one stage, and it was making me madder and madder. At one point the buzzer sounded, and I drew the gun (a Python) and cocked it for each plate. I downed all of them, but my happiness was shattered by a taunting voice of a 1911 partisan that said "hey, Grant, I've got a gun that does all that for me!"
After that I removed the SA from my revolvers and started shooting DA exclusively. It wasn't long before I was beating the guys (including the loudmouth in question) who were shooting 1911s with crisp single action triggers. It can be done!
If you have any doubt as to how accurately a double action can be shot, go watch your local PPC match - there's one just about everywhere in the country. You'll see lots of folks shooting DAO revolvers at up to 50 yards and producing groups that can be covered by your hand. That should be good enough for any defensive use, and you too can do it with just a bit of practice!
-=[ Grant ]=-
Let's start with the usual argument for retaining single action capability, which I call the "Walter Mitty scenario": the mythical need for making precise long range head shots. Let's face it, folks - this just never happens in real life!
However, let's say that you're having a Jack Bauer kind of day and are now facing just this scenario. Mightn't that be just a tad bit stressful? Wouldn't that make you even more nervous, knowing that you'll be trying the toughest possible handgun shot under the worst possible conditions? With all that adrenaline now flowing through your system, is this really the time that you want a light, short trigger pull that is very easy to accidentally release? Not me, bunky!
This is the reason for DAO: light single action triggers are great on the calm shooting range, but pose a liability risk for unintentional discharges under stress. As Massad Ayoob says, single action triggers are great shooting tools, but lousy threat management tools.
Now I I know what you're thinking: "OK, but I promise I'll never use it!" I'm sure you mean that sincerely, but It's been well established over the decades that people tend to do in combat what they do in training.
It's human nature to practice what we're already good at, and to do that which is easiest for us. At the range, it's not uncommon to watch someone shoot a revolver at, say 50 feet and become disenchanted with their groups. At that point, they usually switch to the easier pull of the single action, and shoot that way. This imprints their subconscious to use single action when they are unsure of their abilities, and this may be what they revert to under stress.
Once that act of thumbing back the hammer has become habit, another problem crops up: the Hollywood-inspired (and reinforced) act of cocking the gun to show the bad guy that you "really mean it!" I'll refer you back to the second paragraph, with emphasis.
(Yes, I know you'll promise not to do that either. But if you've told your subconscious that cocking the hammer is accepted shooting technique, do you think it'll ask your conscious mind for permission when the time comes - especially if decades of TV and movies has told it otherwise? Of course not! "Besides", your subconscious thinks, "if Tyne Daly can do it, why can't I?")
Removing the SA capability eliminates the chances of any of this happening. (If you make the conscious decision to carry a gun with SA capability, I recommend that you attend the Lethal Force Institute's "LFI-1" class, where you will learn how to defend that choice - and counter any false claims that may arise from it - in court.)
From a gunsmithing perspective, I've found that eliminating the SA capability can, on some guns (Colt and Dan Wesson), give a bit more leeway in terms of honing the double action. Without the need to worry about the single action sear, the double action can be tuned far more radically than is otherwise possible. In S&W and Ruger guns, reducing the DA pull to the barest minimum (as some request) will result in an unconscionably light SA pull - often below 32 ounces. Eliminating the SA notches means that this ceases to be a worry.
Speaking for myself, I didn't start to shoot DA well until I'd gotten rid of the SA capability completely. True story: one day (many years ago), shortly after transitioning to shooting only revolvers, I was participating in a match (Bianchi type.) I was having trouble with missing those little round steel plates they use for one stage, and it was making me madder and madder. At one point the buzzer sounded, and I drew the gun (a Python) and cocked it for each plate. I downed all of them, but my happiness was shattered by a taunting voice of a 1911 partisan that said "hey, Grant, I've got a gun that does all that for me!"
After that I removed the SA from my revolvers and started shooting DA exclusively. It wasn't long before I was beating the guys (including the loudmouth in question) who were shooting 1911s with crisp single action triggers. It can be done!
If you have any doubt as to how accurately a double action can be shot, go watch your local PPC match - there's one just about everywhere in the country. You'll see lots of folks shooting DAO revolvers at up to 50 yards and producing groups that can be covered by your hand. That should be good enough for any defensive use, and you too can do it with just a bit of practice!
-=[ Grant ]=-
On Revolver Aesthetics, Part 2 - Principles of design: Proportion and Balance
Monday, August 06, 2007
As I mentioned in
Part
1,
there are some recognized design principles that are universal.
Let's look at some of them.
Proportion is the relationship, in terms of size and scale, among the various parts of a design, and of each element to the design as a whole. Proportion is about measurements: length, width, etc. and how those measurements compare to
Remember that a revolver is a three-dimensional object: proportion is not just about length or width, but also volume. If we were to increase the barrel diameter of a revolver, even a small amount, its proportion to the rest of the gun would change dramatically - possibly more so than a simple increase in length. One could also alter the proportion my using visual tricks to make a part look more "3D" and increasing its visual volume - even if the part is essentially unchanged in physical size!
Proportion also applies to every part on the gun. If we were to increase the size of a hammer spur or triggerguard, it would change the proportions and alter the design. Maybe it would be better, maybe not - but each element has to be judged not just on how it relates to each other element, but how it relates to the entire object. Proportion is all about relationships!
Balance, on the other hand, is the concept of visual equilibrium. When balance is not present, the whole design looks as if it will "fall over" in some direction (if not literally) Achieving visual balance can be done symmetrically, where the elements are arranged equally on each side of an imaginary balance point, or asymmetrically, where the elements on each side of that point are arranged non-identically so that the whole looks balanced.
The latter is kind of a hard concept; imagine a teeter-totter. Balance is made when we have two children of equal size on each end of the beam (symmetrical), but could also be made with one really fat and two really skinny kids on opposite ends, of of one fat and one skinny kid, with the fat kid closer to the balance point and the skinny child at the end of the beam. These are examples of an asymmetrical balance, and the same principles apply to design balance.
The interesting thing is that balance is variable, because it relies on a visual fulcrum for your eyes to focus on, and can be very complicated, because there might be more than one balance point. Let's take an example of varying barrel lengths; radical changes in barrel length might change the visual balance of the gun depending on where your eye finds a fulcrum. In a good design, there might be several such points for your eye to rest on, resulting in good balance with a variety of barrel lengths.
What kinds of things can serve as visual balance points? The cylinder, the triggerguard, the cylinder latch, the recoil shield, and so on. Anything that can serve as a reference point on which to "arrange" other objects is a fulcrum.
Understand that this is distinctly different than physical balance, and it is important to separate the concepts. A great example is the Colt Python; while there are small visual changes in the earliest guns to the latest, the design was essentially unchanged from start to finish. An early 4" example has the same visual balance to a late model, yet the physical balance changed dramatically - because the lug on the earliest models was hollow, giving a distinct rearward weight bias. So, the guns had the same visual balance, but very different physical balances.
Next time, we'll examine some more concepts of design as applied to the revolver!
-=[ Grant ]=-
Proportion is the relationship, in terms of size and scale, among the various parts of a design, and of each element to the design as a whole. Proportion is about measurements: length, width, etc. and how those measurements compare to
Remember that a revolver is a three-dimensional object: proportion is not just about length or width, but also volume. If we were to increase the barrel diameter of a revolver, even a small amount, its proportion to the rest of the gun would change dramatically - possibly more so than a simple increase in length. One could also alter the proportion my using visual tricks to make a part look more "3D" and increasing its visual volume - even if the part is essentially unchanged in physical size!
Proportion also applies to every part on the gun. If we were to increase the size of a hammer spur or triggerguard, it would change the proportions and alter the design. Maybe it would be better, maybe not - but each element has to be judged not just on how it relates to each other element, but how it relates to the entire object. Proportion is all about relationships!
Balance, on the other hand, is the concept of visual equilibrium. When balance is not present, the whole design looks as if it will "fall over" in some direction (if not literally) Achieving visual balance can be done symmetrically, where the elements are arranged equally on each side of an imaginary balance point, or asymmetrically, where the elements on each side of that point are arranged non-identically so that the whole looks balanced.
The latter is kind of a hard concept; imagine a teeter-totter. Balance is made when we have two children of equal size on each end of the beam (symmetrical), but could also be made with one really fat and two really skinny kids on opposite ends, of of one fat and one skinny kid, with the fat kid closer to the balance point and the skinny child at the end of the beam. These are examples of an asymmetrical balance, and the same principles apply to design balance.
The interesting thing is that balance is variable, because it relies on a visual fulcrum for your eyes to focus on, and can be very complicated, because there might be more than one balance point. Let's take an example of varying barrel lengths; radical changes in barrel length might change the visual balance of the gun depending on where your eye finds a fulcrum. In a good design, there might be several such points for your eye to rest on, resulting in good balance with a variety of barrel lengths.
What kinds of things can serve as visual balance points? The cylinder, the triggerguard, the cylinder latch, the recoil shield, and so on. Anything that can serve as a reference point on which to "arrange" other objects is a fulcrum.
Understand that this is distinctly different than physical balance, and it is important to separate the concepts. A great example is the Colt Python; while there are small visual changes in the earliest guns to the latest, the design was essentially unchanged from start to finish. An early 4" example has the same visual balance to a late model, yet the physical balance changed dramatically - because the lug on the earliest models was hollow, giving a distinct rearward weight bias. So, the guns had the same visual balance, but very different physical balances.
Next time, we'll examine some more concepts of design as applied to the revolver!
-=[ Grant ]=-
On Revolver Aesthetics, Part 1 - Introduction
Monday, July 30, 2007
What makes one revolver look
better than another? Have you ever stopped to think about the
design cues that make the difference between a classic and an
eminently forgettable gun?
In this series, I'm going to relate my opinions and prejudices regarding revolver design, primarily (though not exclusively) from the standpoint of factory guns. All of the concepts, however, are equally applicable (perhaps "especially applicable") to custom guns.
One thing to keep in mind as you read that these are my opinions, nothing more. I don't claim to be a design guru like, say, Jonathan Ive. What I can claim is to be a casual student of industrial design, and of art in the larger sense. (Growing up with a mother who was an accomplished artist and designer assured that I would understand such things, even if I wasn't terribly creative myself! I guess that's the best description of a critic.)
There exist well accepted design concepts, but that isn't to say that good design is carved in stone; if it were, we could just program robots to spit out our stuff and get some extra sleep! It is in the combination of design elements, with the occasional surprise or personal interpretation, that keeps the process of designing from becoming formulaic.
Some of what is people consider "good design" is really quality of execution. A great design, badly executed, is crap; a less grand design, but well executed, can be superb. Sometimes learning to recognize quality is a necessary prerequisite to appreciating good design.
(Engraving is a good example; I've been to gun shows where there was a good cross section of engraving quality. Invariably those guns with the most coverage get the most attention, but to the trained eye their lack of quality detracts from what might have been a great work of art. In my view, bad engraving is worse than no engraving.)
Finally, remember that 'popular' isn't necessarily the same as 'good'. I dare say that there are far more Velvet Elvii floating around this world than works of Rembrandt, but that hardly makes them equivalent!
Stay tuned for more...
-=[ Grant ]=-
In this series, I'm going to relate my opinions and prejudices regarding revolver design, primarily (though not exclusively) from the standpoint of factory guns. All of the concepts, however, are equally applicable (perhaps "especially applicable") to custom guns.
One thing to keep in mind as you read that these are my opinions, nothing more. I don't claim to be a design guru like, say, Jonathan Ive. What I can claim is to be a casual student of industrial design, and of art in the larger sense. (Growing up with a mother who was an accomplished artist and designer assured that I would understand such things, even if I wasn't terribly creative myself! I guess that's the best description of a critic.)
There exist well accepted design concepts, but that isn't to say that good design is carved in stone; if it were, we could just program robots to spit out our stuff and get some extra sleep! It is in the combination of design elements, with the occasional surprise or personal interpretation, that keeps the process of designing from becoming formulaic.
Some of what is people consider "good design" is really quality of execution. A great design, badly executed, is crap; a less grand design, but well executed, can be superb. Sometimes learning to recognize quality is a necessary prerequisite to appreciating good design.
(Engraving is a good example; I've been to gun shows where there was a good cross section of engraving quality. Invariably those guns with the most coverage get the most attention, but to the trained eye their lack of quality detracts from what might have been a great work of art. In my view, bad engraving is worse than no engraving.)
Finally, remember that 'popular' isn't necessarily the same as 'good'. I dare say that there are far more Velvet Elvii floating around this world than works of Rembrandt, but that hardly makes them equivalent!
Stay tuned for more...
-=[ Grant ]=-
What makes for a "favorite" gun?
Monday, July 23, 2007
One day, as I was preparing
to go "out" and run some errands, I grabbed one of my revolvers and
a holster and stuffed both into my pants. (Yes, I had a gun in my
pants and no, I wasn't happy to see someone. Everybody's a
comedian.)
Now, as I was saying...as I tightened my belt, I made the mental note that this gun seemed to be with me more commonly than the others in the safe. For some reason it just seemed "right" to carry it most often.
Why? Was it the size, the weight, the caliber, the color, the...??? I wasn't sure, and I'm still not sure. The choice was made, not on the basis of any one of those traits (or any other), but rather in spite of them. It is the indefinable "rightness" of the thing; it is friendly in some way that I can't quite isolate.
Yet I keep thinking of the thing, every time I put it on. I even consciously decide (on an occasional basis) to carry something else. The substitute is always a fine gun, fully capable of good performance, but on those days I miss my "favorite."
Even if the gun is "right" in every way, it still won't be a "favorite." Good example: a number of years ago, I decided to build the "ultimate" .22LR rifle. I took a Ruger 10/22 (naturally), and replaced just about everything in and on the gun. I intended it to be the most accurate, reliable, and good looking .22 rifle in my safe.
What came out - which I still refer to as "The World's Most Expensive 10/22" - was indeed a superbly accurate, easy shooting, good looking rifle. It is light, handy, has a beautiful walnut stock that fits me perfectly, and a great trigger; in short, everything you could ask for in a .22 rifle.
Why, instead of this terrific little rifle, do I usually grab my early-1950s vintage Marlin 39A - which isn't as light, accurate, or handy as the Ruger? After all that time and effort, why did it not become my "favorite"? In every objective way, it is a better gun, but it seems that specifications alone do not elevate a gun from mere possession to prized status.
I'm thinking about this a lot lately. I feel - or intuit - that if I can capture what makes a "favorite", if I can distill into steel what propels a specific gun for into that position, something special will come of it. I'll let you know how I progress in what is starting to sound like a quest!
-=[ Grant ]=-
Now, as I was saying...as I tightened my belt, I made the mental note that this gun seemed to be with me more commonly than the others in the safe. For some reason it just seemed "right" to carry it most often.
Why? Was it the size, the weight, the caliber, the color, the...??? I wasn't sure, and I'm still not sure. The choice was made, not on the basis of any one of those traits (or any other), but rather in spite of them. It is the indefinable "rightness" of the thing; it is friendly in some way that I can't quite isolate.
Yet I keep thinking of the thing, every time I put it on. I even consciously decide (on an occasional basis) to carry something else. The substitute is always a fine gun, fully capable of good performance, but on those days I miss my "favorite."
Even if the gun is "right" in every way, it still won't be a "favorite." Good example: a number of years ago, I decided to build the "ultimate" .22LR rifle. I took a Ruger 10/22 (naturally), and replaced just about everything in and on the gun. I intended it to be the most accurate, reliable, and good looking .22 rifle in my safe.
What came out - which I still refer to as "The World's Most Expensive 10/22" - was indeed a superbly accurate, easy shooting, good looking rifle. It is light, handy, has a beautiful walnut stock that fits me perfectly, and a great trigger; in short, everything you could ask for in a .22 rifle.
Why, instead of this terrific little rifle, do I usually grab my early-1950s vintage Marlin 39A - which isn't as light, accurate, or handy as the Ruger? After all that time and effort, why did it not become my "favorite"? In every objective way, it is a better gun, but it seems that specifications alone do not elevate a gun from mere possession to prized status.
I'm thinking about this a lot lately. I feel - or intuit - that if I can capture what makes a "favorite", if I can distill into steel what propels a specific gun for into that position, something special will come of it. I'll let you know how I progress in what is starting to sound like a quest!
-=[ Grant ]=-
One of my inspirations
Monday, July 16, 2007
I may have mentioned that I
spent a period of time in the early 80s as a commercial
photographer. Honestly, I didn't make it all that far; though a
good technician, I wasn't creative enough on demand to sustain a
career. I did learn a lot, though, and I took some of those lessons
and put them to good use in other areas of my life.
One of those lessons - and one of the most important - came in the form of an article written by Ben Helprin. I have a copy of this hanging above my workbench, where it serves to inspire me. I don't know that I'm yet at the "master" stage of revolversmithing, but I work every day to get a little closer to that ideal.
While obviously photography-centric, this is a profound article for which you will no doubt find applications in your own life. Enjoy!
-=[ Grant ]=-
One of those lessons - and one of the most important - came in the form of an article written by Ben Helprin. I have a copy of this hanging above my workbench, where it serves to inspire me. I don't know that I'm yet at the "master" stage of revolversmithing, but I work every day to get a little closer to that ideal.
While obviously photography-centric, this is a profound article for which you will no doubt find applications in your own life. Enjoy!
-=[ Grant ]=-
Expert or Master - What's the Difference?
by Ben Helprin
At the top of every craft, there are masters and experts. The difference between the two was defined by Will Connall (master photographer, photography teacher, and former head of photography at the Art Center College of Design in Pasadena, California) this way:
"Let me", he said, "use the exacting art of platemaking as an example." (Platemakers are the skilled craftsmen who produce printing plates for books and magazines.) "If you ask an expert how he produces the negative for a fine plate, he'll answer: "that's easy. First I choose the correct size glass plate for the negative I want. Then, I compute the surface area of the plate and, holding it absolutely level, I pour exactly one ounce of emulsion for every 40 square inches of surface precisely onto the center of the plate. Then I rock the glass side-to-side and front-to-back, exactly the same amount each way, to spread the emulsion evenly. When the plate is dry, I load it into the copy camera, adjust my lights so that the original art work is absolutely evenly illuminated and, with the level of illumination that I use, expose the plate for 20 seconds. I develop the plate for precisely five minutes, process it normally, the end up with a perfect negative for reproduction.
"Now," said Connall, "let's ask a master the same question. He'd reply: Oh, that's easy. First I choose the correct size glass for the negative. Then, I compute the surface area of the glass and, holding it exactly level, I pour one ounce of emulsion for every 40 square inches of surface exactly onto the center of the plate. Well, no, that's really not true. Sometimes I use more than an ounce of emulsion per square inch. Sometimes less. It depends on the original copy. And sometimes I don't pour the emulsion exactly on center. I'll swirl it across to get a different spread. That also depends on the copy. Anyway, after I pour the emulsion, I rock the plate side-to-side and front-to-back, exactly the same each way, to spread the emulsion evenly. But sometimes, of course, I don't want the emulsion spread evenly. Again, it depends on the copy. I might want to rock the plate more to one side to get the emulsion heavier there, or rock it more to the front...anyway, I rock it, dry it, load it in the camera, and light the copy exactly evenly - unless of course I want to slightly shade a corner to knock it down, or highlight a portion of the copy to lighten it up. I'm not sure exactly how I'll light it until I do it. But after it's lit, I give it a 20-second exposure. Well, not always 20 seconds...."
And so it goes. Each step of the master's procedure depends, not on a set series of exacting rules, but on the interrelationship of the medium, the copy, and the desired final product.
What does this have to do with photography? Well to begin with, it doesn't mean that you can forget technique or be sloppy in your execution of it. As Will Connall noted, every master had first to be an expert. Without that initial perfection of technique, they could never advance to the master's stage.
Will's apocryphal examples were, however, meant to point out that technique is by no means the be-all and end-all of photography. Technique is the base from which you build. But the product itself, the photograph, must go beyond set rules of technique or composition, or anything else that says "this, and only this, is the correct way of producing a photograph."
Look at the work of master photographer Ansel Adams and compare it to the thousands of technical experts who attempt to imitate him. The large majority of Adams' imitators do not understand expressive content, they understand only technique. The do not trust their inner feelings, the trust only a rigorous set of technical rules.
A creative photograph is a very unique personal statement, and the technical aspects of that statement must depend on what you, as an artist, want to say. Thus, the perfect exposure isn't always one the reproduces the tonalities of a scene in exactly the same manner they originally appeared, but one that reproduces them in exactly the manner you want them to appear. Nor is the perfect print the one that always exactly matches the contrast of the paper to the density range of the negative, but the one that exactly matches paper and film to the contrast as seen by your inner eye. As Paul Klee said, "the purpose of art is not to reflect the visible, but to make visible."
So, look at your recent photographs. Are they technically perfect? If not, you still have a lot of work to do to reach the "Expert" stage. On the other hand, if your work is technically perfect and perfectly boring, if it is indistinguishable from everyone else's technically perfect work, then you have a lot of even harder work to reach the Master's stage.
Just to set the record straight
Wednesday, June 20, 2007
One of my
favorite blogs is Marko's "The Munchkin
Wrangler." Marko is
yet another prolific and intelligent blogger from Tennessee whose
interests include firearms and Second Amendment rights.
He wrote an interesting piece a while back, titled "Why the Gun is Civilization." While one could (and some do) argue that his premise is not fully developed, I found it thought provoking. It's worth reading, if only to get you thinking more abstractly.
It seems that I'm not the only person who liked that little essay, as it has apparently been turning up in various guises and attributed to someone else. This is my little contribution to helping the cause: if you see his writing under someone else's moniker, or even unattributed, do your part and let people know who wrote it.
It's a karma thing.
-=[ Grant ]=-
He wrote an interesting piece a while back, titled "Why the Gun is Civilization." While one could (and some do) argue that his premise is not fully developed, I found it thought provoking. It's worth reading, if only to get you thinking more abstractly.
It seems that I'm not the only person who liked that little essay, as it has apparently been turning up in various guises and attributed to someone else. This is my little contribution to helping the cause: if you see his writing under someone else's moniker, or even unattributed, do your part and let people know who wrote it.
It's a karma thing.
-=[ Grant ]=-
Sight options
Monday, June 04, 2007
Much as it pains me to admit this,
my eyesight is degrading with distressing rapidity. No, it's
nothing out of the ordinary, nor is it anything serious - it's just
that I'm getting older!
I'm close enough to the big "five-oh" to count the years left on one hand (with fingers left over), and the closer it gets the further out I need to hold the restaurant menu. Oh, yes, my prescription is current - but after wearing bifocals for the better part of the last decade, I'm now told I need trifocals. The indignity!
Sound familiar? It should, given the number of questions I field about sight options. Consistently, the two most common queries concern fiber optic front sights, and the "Big Dot" from XS Sight Systems (or whatever they're calling themselves this week.)
I have some personal experience with the fiber optic inserts, and frankly I'm not terribly impressed. Aside from their fragility (the encased ones are somewhat better in that regard), they don't really help the sight visibility all that much. Yes, their neon glow does attract the eye, but if your eyesight is like mine the resulting sight picture isn't all that crisp. The bright fiber tends to "bloom" - that is, it looks larger than it really is and develops a fuzzy corona. This makes precise shot alignment more difficult; it's very much like when someone turns on the bedroom lights in the middle of the night, and your eyes struggle to adjust to the situation - everything seems to be "flared." Squinting helps, but wasn't that what you were trying to avoid in the first place?
The "Big Dot" sights are another matter. The Big Dot is just what its name says: a very large, round front sight. The idea is to make the sight so big that even Mr. Magoo couldn't miss it. While I've never owned a set personally, I've test fired guns that carried them, and I've found the sights are so large that they just can't be shot all that accurately. Their sight picture (particularly with the companion "express" v-notch rear sights) is just too coarse for good shot placement.
I'm not alone in my opinion of the Big Dot; I've installed several of them on client's guns, and they have all elected to switch back to the original sights. If that isn't enough of a non-endorsement, I've watched one of the best handgun shooters I know - a police officer who has been a state IPSC and PPC champ - struggle to keep in the A-zone at 15 yards with the things, when at that distance he usually shoots single, ragged holes. Most people who aren't as good as he is do far worse. As you might guess, he doesn't like them either.
What works for those of us who are pushing 50 (or dragging it, as the case may be)? Well, for quite some time I've been told to simply use a wide rear sight notch - one big enough to have roughly one-third to one-half a sight-width of light on either side of the front sight. (I must admit that a very good friend has been preaching the widened rear sight for the past several years. Frankly, though he is one of the best instructors I've ever met and a phenomenal shot, I thought he was nuts. As the front sight got harder and harder to see, however, I grudgingly made room for the idea that he might be right.)
Recently one of my clients asked that I widen the rear notch on his sight to give "lots of light on either side." I did so, making the space on each side of the front sight appear to be roughly 1/3 of blade width. Surprisingly, it was definitely easier to shoot the resulting gun. It focused sharper and much cleaner, and the sights aligned a lot faster. It was a definite increase in shootability compared to my own guns.
Of course, now I need to find time to do the same to all of my sights....
-=[ Grant ]=-
I'm close enough to the big "five-oh" to count the years left on one hand (with fingers left over), and the closer it gets the further out I need to hold the restaurant menu. Oh, yes, my prescription is current - but after wearing bifocals for the better part of the last decade, I'm now told I need trifocals. The indignity!
Sound familiar? It should, given the number of questions I field about sight options. Consistently, the two most common queries concern fiber optic front sights, and the "Big Dot" from XS Sight Systems (or whatever they're calling themselves this week.)
I have some personal experience with the fiber optic inserts, and frankly I'm not terribly impressed. Aside from their fragility (the encased ones are somewhat better in that regard), they don't really help the sight visibility all that much. Yes, their neon glow does attract the eye, but if your eyesight is like mine the resulting sight picture isn't all that crisp. The bright fiber tends to "bloom" - that is, it looks larger than it really is and develops a fuzzy corona. This makes precise shot alignment more difficult; it's very much like when someone turns on the bedroom lights in the middle of the night, and your eyes struggle to adjust to the situation - everything seems to be "flared." Squinting helps, but wasn't that what you were trying to avoid in the first place?
The "Big Dot" sights are another matter. The Big Dot is just what its name says: a very large, round front sight. The idea is to make the sight so big that even Mr. Magoo couldn't miss it. While I've never owned a set personally, I've test fired guns that carried them, and I've found the sights are so large that they just can't be shot all that accurately. Their sight picture (particularly with the companion "express" v-notch rear sights) is just too coarse for good shot placement.
I'm not alone in my opinion of the Big Dot; I've installed several of them on client's guns, and they have all elected to switch back to the original sights. If that isn't enough of a non-endorsement, I've watched one of the best handgun shooters I know - a police officer who has been a state IPSC and PPC champ - struggle to keep in the A-zone at 15 yards with the things, when at that distance he usually shoots single, ragged holes. Most people who aren't as good as he is do far worse. As you might guess, he doesn't like them either.
What works for those of us who are pushing 50 (or dragging it, as the case may be)? Well, for quite some time I've been told to simply use a wide rear sight notch - one big enough to have roughly one-third to one-half a sight-width of light on either side of the front sight. (I must admit that a very good friend has been preaching the widened rear sight for the past several years. Frankly, though he is one of the best instructors I've ever met and a phenomenal shot, I thought he was nuts. As the front sight got harder and harder to see, however, I grudgingly made room for the idea that he might be right.)
Recently one of my clients asked that I widen the rear notch on his sight to give "lots of light on either side." I did so, making the space on each side of the front sight appear to be roughly 1/3 of blade width. Surprisingly, it was definitely easier to shoot the resulting gun. It focused sharper and much cleaner, and the sights aligned a lot faster. It was a definite increase in shootability compared to my own guns.
Of course, now I need to find time to do the same to all of my sights....
-=[ Grant ]=-
Allow me to elaborate...
Thursday, May 10, 2007
In last Monday's post I mentioned
that the Ruger Mini-14 demands factory magazines to work reliably.
That statement may have given a bit of a wrong impression.
The point I was trying to make, and apparently didn't, is that the only reliable Minis I have seen were using factory magazines. I have actually encountered many examples that wouldn't run, and changing to factory mags made them work properly. All is not perfect in Ruger-land, though - in my experience, there is still a large percentage of Mini-14s that are not reliable, even with factory magazines.
The other side of the coin is that I have never seen a reliable Mini using aftermarket mags. Ever. Aftermarket Mini-14 magazines consistently cause Minis - every one I've ever seen - to choke.
Bottom line: factory mags alone will not ensure that any given Mini will run well. However, using non-Ruger magazines is a virtual guarantee that you will have trouble making the thing work properly. (I won't even get into their renowned lack of accuracy, but that isn't the fault of the magazines!)
I hope this clarifies things a bit.
(Oh, by the way - the cheapest I've been able to find Ruger factory 20-round mags is $55.00. That's three times the cost of good quality AR-15 mags. Wow!)
-=[ Grant ]=-
The point I was trying to make, and apparently didn't, is that the only reliable Minis I have seen were using factory magazines. I have actually encountered many examples that wouldn't run, and changing to factory mags made them work properly. All is not perfect in Ruger-land, though - in my experience, there is still a large percentage of Mini-14s that are not reliable, even with factory magazines.
The other side of the coin is that I have never seen a reliable Mini using aftermarket mags. Ever. Aftermarket Mini-14 magazines consistently cause Minis - every one I've ever seen - to choke.
Bottom line: factory mags alone will not ensure that any given Mini will run well. However, using non-Ruger magazines is a virtual guarantee that you will have trouble making the thing work properly. (I won't even get into their renowned lack of accuracy, but that isn't the fault of the magazines!)
I hope this clarifies things a bit.
(Oh, by the way - the cheapest I've been able to find Ruger factory 20-round mags is $55.00. That's three times the cost of good quality AR-15 mags. Wow!)
-=[ Grant ]=-
"Bullshit Tenths"
Wednesday, May 02, 2007
Pardon my French!
This is a term used by tool & die makers to indicate unobtainable levels of (perceived) precision. Why do I bring this up?
Last week, I was advising a reader on selecting pin gages for use in measuring chamber throats. The discussion revolved around which gages to buy, and whether or not he needed both plus- and minus-tolerance gages (no, in case you're wondering.) He was concerned about their variance of .0002" (that's 2/10,000th of an inch, or 1/20th of the thickness of an average human hair. In machinist parlance, that would be "2 tenths.") As I explained to him, in practice it's not really possible to measure to that level.
As I thought about my answers to his questions, I flashed back to a conversation related to the posts I've made about measuring tools. A fellow who identified himself as a gunsmith contacted me to argue about my advocacy of quality measuring tools. "I don't need any of them overpriced tools - I use [insert name of well known retailer of low end Chinese tools here], and I can measure down to a ten-thousandth!" I asked him if what he was measuring was under the same environmental conditions as the calibration on his micrometer, and he replied "my mic reads to a tenth - it don't need to be calibrated!"
Sigh.
When a measuring instrument is calibrated - that is, checked against known standards and certified as to accuracy - the environmental conditions of that calibration are recorded. The calibration is really only valid for those same conditions; if the temperature goes up or down, that accuracy is not guaranteed.
How much different does a change in temperature make? I did a little experiment. I got out my Grade 2 Brown & Sharpe gage blocks, and picked out the .125" block. (The tolerance for Grade 2 blocks is +/- .000002", or two-milliionths of an inch.) On the calibration certificate, it gives you the deviation from the nominal dimension in millionths of an inch for each block. In the case of my .125" block, it has no variance - in other words, it is guaranteed to measure .125000" at 68 degrees F. Coincidentally, that is the temperature that my shop generally maintains outside of the coldest winter and warmest summer months.
After checking the temperature, I pulled out my best Etalon (Swiss) micrometer and the .125 block. I handled the mic with gloves while I secured it in its stand; the block was handled with insulated tweezers (yes, there are such things.) I measured the block under these conditions, and not surprisingly it measured .1250" on the nose.
I took the block out of the micrometer, and held the non-measuring surfaces between by thumb and forefinger for about a minute, then remeasured. Guess what? Just that small amount of heat had caused the gage to grow to a bit more than .1251" (a typical mic only measures to a ten-thousandth, and this fell just between the .1251" and .1252" marks.) Had I held on to it longer, it would have grown a bit more. Had I held the mic in my hand while measuring, it too would have been "off."
That's why they're called "bullshit tenths" - because, without knowing exactly the temperature of both the micrometer and work, and at what temperature the micrometer was last calibrated, you really don't know to the ten-thousandth of an inch how big that part really is. In other words, until you've met all of the above, you can't measure to a ten-thousandth of an inch, no matter how optimistic you are!
Since pin gages are usually held in the hand, as is the piece to be measured, it would not be possible to get closer than several ten-thousandths. Factor in the other environmental variables, it's clear that a) the gages are more accurate than they need to be for the job asked of them; b) you can't measure to the limit of the gages, so you don't need both the plus and minus coverage; and c) worrying about their allowed +/- .0002" isn't at all productive. Save your stomach lining for more important things.
Hope this all makes sense!
-=[ Grant ]=-
This is a term used by tool & die makers to indicate unobtainable levels of (perceived) precision. Why do I bring this up?
Last week, I was advising a reader on selecting pin gages for use in measuring chamber throats. The discussion revolved around which gages to buy, and whether or not he needed both plus- and minus-tolerance gages (no, in case you're wondering.) He was concerned about their variance of .0002" (that's 2/10,000th of an inch, or 1/20th of the thickness of an average human hair. In machinist parlance, that would be "2 tenths.") As I explained to him, in practice it's not really possible to measure to that level.
As I thought about my answers to his questions, I flashed back to a conversation related to the posts I've made about measuring tools. A fellow who identified himself as a gunsmith contacted me to argue about my advocacy of quality measuring tools. "I don't need any of them overpriced tools - I use [insert name of well known retailer of low end Chinese tools here], and I can measure down to a ten-thousandth!" I asked him if what he was measuring was under the same environmental conditions as the calibration on his micrometer, and he replied "my mic reads to a tenth - it don't need to be calibrated!"
Sigh.
When a measuring instrument is calibrated - that is, checked against known standards and certified as to accuracy - the environmental conditions of that calibration are recorded. The calibration is really only valid for those same conditions; if the temperature goes up or down, that accuracy is not guaranteed.
How much different does a change in temperature make? I did a little experiment. I got out my Grade 2 Brown & Sharpe gage blocks, and picked out the .125" block. (The tolerance for Grade 2 blocks is +/- .000002", or two-milliionths of an inch.) On the calibration certificate, it gives you the deviation from the nominal dimension in millionths of an inch for each block. In the case of my .125" block, it has no variance - in other words, it is guaranteed to measure .125000" at 68 degrees F. Coincidentally, that is the temperature that my shop generally maintains outside of the coldest winter and warmest summer months.
After checking the temperature, I pulled out my best Etalon (Swiss) micrometer and the .125 block. I handled the mic with gloves while I secured it in its stand; the block was handled with insulated tweezers (yes, there are such things.) I measured the block under these conditions, and not surprisingly it measured .1250" on the nose.
I took the block out of the micrometer, and held the non-measuring surfaces between by thumb and forefinger for about a minute, then remeasured. Guess what? Just that small amount of heat had caused the gage to grow to a bit more than .1251" (a typical mic only measures to a ten-thousandth, and this fell just between the .1251" and .1252" marks.) Had I held on to it longer, it would have grown a bit more. Had I held the mic in my hand while measuring, it too would have been "off."
That's why they're called "bullshit tenths" - because, without knowing exactly the temperature of both the micrometer and work, and at what temperature the micrometer was last calibrated, you really don't know to the ten-thousandth of an inch how big that part really is. In other words, until you've met all of the above, you can't measure to a ten-thousandth of an inch, no matter how optimistic you are!
Since pin gages are usually held in the hand, as is the piece to be measured, it would not be possible to get closer than several ten-thousandths. Factor in the other environmental variables, it's clear that a) the gages are more accurate than they need to be for the job asked of them; b) you can't measure to the limit of the gages, so you don't need both the plus and minus coverage; and c) worrying about their allowed +/- .0002" isn't at all productive. Save your stomach lining for more important things.
Hope this all makes sense!
-=[ Grant ]=-
Interesting people
Wednesday, April 25, 2007
The firearms world attracts the
most interesting people. I'm not talking about my business,
specifically, but in general; shooting attracts good, solid
citizens who often have a great story to tell.
I've yet to meet the pensive, frightening loner; the crazed, wild-eyed revolutionary; the bloodthirsty, gleeful animal slaughterer; or any of the other stereotypes that the media cooks up to "represent" gun owners. I have, however, met a lot of well-adjusted, happy folks who just happen to like shooting, and occasionally are just iconoclastic enough to lead an out-of-the-ordinary life.
This week, I ran into one such person.
This fellow does a couple of things for a living. First, he buys and sell aircraft (planes, helicopters) and related parts. (Do you know what a starter motor for a Boeing 737 costs? Whole bunches of money, and he's sold them.) That's out of the ordinary, and no doubt about it, but it's the other thing he does that catapults him into the "interesting" category: during the summers, he runs a mobile military surplus store!
He's got this box truck that he's outfitted as a store selling BDUs, canteens, caps, and other such materiel. He travels around California from June through about October, setting up on street corners and empty parking lots. He'll spend a couple of days in one place, then move down the road. By the time winter has set solidly in, he's back home where he spends the coming months divesting himself of the airplanes and parts that he's come up with during his trip.
For those of you living in, or perhaps traveling through, the state of California, be on the lookout for the mobile military surplus store on a streetcorner near you. It's easy to recognize: next to the door of the store he's got a female mannequin dressed in BDUs. Stop in, perhaps buy something, and be sure to tell him that Grant says "hi."
-=[ Grant ]=-
I've yet to meet the pensive, frightening loner; the crazed, wild-eyed revolutionary; the bloodthirsty, gleeful animal slaughterer; or any of the other stereotypes that the media cooks up to "represent" gun owners. I have, however, met a lot of well-adjusted, happy folks who just happen to like shooting, and occasionally are just iconoclastic enough to lead an out-of-the-ordinary life.
This week, I ran into one such person.
This fellow does a couple of things for a living. First, he buys and sell aircraft (planes, helicopters) and related parts. (Do you know what a starter motor for a Boeing 737 costs? Whole bunches of money, and he's sold them.) That's out of the ordinary, and no doubt about it, but it's the other thing he does that catapults him into the "interesting" category: during the summers, he runs a mobile military surplus store!
He's got this box truck that he's outfitted as a store selling BDUs, canteens, caps, and other such materiel. He travels around California from June through about October, setting up on street corners and empty parking lots. He'll spend a couple of days in one place, then move down the road. By the time winter has set solidly in, he's back home where he spends the coming months divesting himself of the airplanes and parts that he's come up with during his trip.
For those of you living in, or perhaps traveling through, the state of California, be on the lookout for the mobile military surplus store on a streetcorner near you. It's easy to recognize: next to the door of the store he's got a female mannequin dressed in BDUs. Stop in, perhaps buy something, and be sure to tell him that Grant says "hi."
-=[ Grant ]=-
Speaking of the people who are supposed to protect you...
Wednesday, April 18, 2007
It seems that a Secret Service
agent's weapon just up and fired all by itself. At least,
that's the way the media is reporting the
incident.
See, it's the gun's fault. Always. This proves it. (I'm being facetious, for those who can't tell.) Expect more of this kind of reporting as the push for extended gun control gathers steam.
-=[ Grant ]=-
See, it's the gun's fault. Always. This proves it. (I'm being facetious, for those who can't tell.) Expect more of this kind of reporting as the push for extended gun control gathers steam.
-=[ Grant ]=-
On Virginia Tech
Wednesday, April 18, 2007
At first, I wasn't going to
comment on the sad crime perpetrated on the campus of Virginia Tech
this week. I figured that everyone, everywhere, was going to do so
(with varying degrees of erudition and insight.) I decided there
wasn't anything I could add. Until...
Listening to the news on the radio, I heard an interview with two students who said that they were in "the room where he was shooting." According to these people, students and faculty were hiding under and behind anything in the room that they felt would provide them some protection, or flat on the floor in the absence of same.
It's what they said next that prompted me to comment: as the gunman shot, he naturally ran out of ammunition, and had to stop to refill his magazines. After taking the time to refill then reload his weapon, he continued his unfettered spree.
He was out of ammunition, and had stopped to reload - why didn't someone, anyone, in the room take that golden opportunity to tackle the murderer? At that point the criminal couldn't shoot anyone, and the risk even to the person who would choose that course of action would have been relatively minor compared to letting him get his firearm back up and running.
The answer is as obvious as it is sad: our society has fully inculcated the victimhood and helplessness mentalities into the last several generations of people. They didn't do anything because they have been taught their entire lives to rely on someone - anyone - else for their safety and well being.
This is what the nanny state has given us. This is what our Founding Fathers, I think, understood when they listed the natural right to keep and bear arms in their Constitution: yes, it's about the ability to resist tyrannical governments. More importantly, though, is the choice inherent in the right.
You see, it's not the exercise of the right in and of itself that matters; it's the existence of the choice to exercise the right that is so very important. Even if one chooses not to exercise the right, in making the choice one has experienced the self-actualization that leads to great inner strength and a heightened sense of self-worth. The very personal decision - no matter what the decision itself is - is what makes for citizens who are self reliant, who can think for themselves, and cannot be corralled like sheep.
When the "transaction cost" of the individual choice is raised - when the ability to decide for oneself is restricted or controlled in any manner - the choice is made not by the individual, but by someone else. The benefits of making the decision are denied the individual, and he/she learns (bit by bit) how to be a subject rather than a sovereign individual. Given long enough, an entire people is conditioned to be subordinate themselves to authority figures; when the "badge" of "authority" is the firearm, the people will prostrate themselves to anyone who wields one. Even a crazed killer.
Milton Friedman was right.
-=[ Grant ]=-
Listening to the news on the radio, I heard an interview with two students who said that they were in "the room where he was shooting." According to these people, students and faculty were hiding under and behind anything in the room that they felt would provide them some protection, or flat on the floor in the absence of same.
It's what they said next that prompted me to comment: as the gunman shot, he naturally ran out of ammunition, and had to stop to refill his magazines. After taking the time to refill then reload his weapon, he continued his unfettered spree.
He was out of ammunition, and had stopped to reload - why didn't someone, anyone, in the room take that golden opportunity to tackle the murderer? At that point the criminal couldn't shoot anyone, and the risk even to the person who would choose that course of action would have been relatively minor compared to letting him get his firearm back up and running.
The answer is as obvious as it is sad: our society has fully inculcated the victimhood and helplessness mentalities into the last several generations of people. They didn't do anything because they have been taught their entire lives to rely on someone - anyone - else for their safety and well being.
This is what the nanny state has given us. This is what our Founding Fathers, I think, understood when they listed the natural right to keep and bear arms in their Constitution: yes, it's about the ability to resist tyrannical governments. More importantly, though, is the choice inherent in the right.
You see, it's not the exercise of the right in and of itself that matters; it's the existence of the choice to exercise the right that is so very important. Even if one chooses not to exercise the right, in making the choice one has experienced the self-actualization that leads to great inner strength and a heightened sense of self-worth. The very personal decision - no matter what the decision itself is - is what makes for citizens who are self reliant, who can think for themselves, and cannot be corralled like sheep.
When the "transaction cost" of the individual choice is raised - when the ability to decide for oneself is restricted or controlled in any manner - the choice is made not by the individual, but by someone else. The benefits of making the decision are denied the individual, and he/she learns (bit by bit) how to be a subject rather than a sovereign individual. Given long enough, an entire people is conditioned to be subordinate themselves to authority figures; when the "badge" of "authority" is the firearm, the people will prostrate themselves to anyone who wields one. Even a crazed killer.
Milton Friedman was right.
-=[ Grant ]=-
Measuring chamber throats: apparently, I have critics!
Monday, March 12, 2007
This is an expansion on an email I
replied to recently. A loyal reader noted that my name had been
brought up on one of the forums (sadly, he couldn't remember which
one) regarding my
blog article on measuring chamber throats.
Apparently, the gist of the discussion was that the forum's "expert" (every forum has one) opined that I was full of it for suggesting that throats couldn't be measured accurately with a caliper. What's more, someone expressed the thought that a caliper would show an out-of-round condition, whereas a pin gage wouldn't, and therefore anyone who didn't use a caliper didn't know what he/she was doing.
Sheesh! Let's start from the top.
A caliper - whether vernier, dial, or digital - is most assuredly not a precision measurement tool. Feel free to ask any tool & die maker the question: "how accurate is a caliper?" I have yet to meet one who would trust a caliper for anything less than 2/1,000ths of an inch (.002") For reference, this is the difference between measuring, say, .357" and .359". On a good day (meaning a very experienced operator) with good equipment (meaning not a Harbor Freight special) one might be able to do a bit better, but most people aren't all that experienced, and most do not possess the top-quality equipment necessary.
This is actually extremely easy to test: take a caliper to a local tool & die shop, and ask the owner if he'll let you measure his certified, calibrated toolroom gage blocks. If he lets you (he probably won't), you'll probably find that getting to within .002" with any consistency is not possible. I have a set of said blocks, and I can't do much better - even though I'm experienced, and have top-end Swiss Etalon calipers with which to work!
There's a reason watchmakers measure parts that must be fitted to incredibly close tolerances with micrometers, and not calipers. The same goes for precision machinists. Do I need to keep flogging this deceased equine?
(I haven't even touched on the need to hold the calipers perfectly perpendicular to the axis of the bore, and to get the jaws as close to centered on the inside surface as possible. It's darned difficult to do under the absolute best toolroom conditions, let alone at a kitchen table! Errors multiply under less-than-ideal conditions.)
Let's tackle the second criticism: that one can't measure an out-of-round condition with a pin gage, therefore the best way to do it is with a caliper. By now, the answer should be obvious: if a hole is, say, .002" out of round, and the measuring system can't get within that range to begin with, it follows that one can't measure the condition because it's within the amount of "slop" already present!
In other words, if a caliper indicates that the hole isn't round, we can't trust it because we don't know if what we're seeing is real or simply the result of the errors inherent in the device. Conversely, the absence of a round error doesn't mean that the throat is round - because it may be within the normal error of the caliper being used! (This is why one does not use imprecise instruments when one expects a precise result.)
The exception is if the condition is sufficiently severe that it exceeds the error of the tool - but if it's that far out, it can be easily spotted with the pin gage anyhow. While we can't measure an out-of-round condition with a pin gage, we can certainly identify that an out-of-round condition exists, and elect to measure it with more accurate means.
Whew!
Now I'd like to expand on the recommendation in my earlier article. The reason I suggested using calibrated pin gages for measurement is because they're cheap (a set to cover, say, the range of a .357 cylinder costs less than $20), readily available, and last forever. There are other tools that can be used, but all are much more expensive and require occasional testing & recalibration, as well as a certain amount of technique.
The best choice is a "tri-mic", made by various companies, which measures holes at 3 points spaced 120 degrees apart. This is extremely accurate - the most accurate way to measure a hole - but that accuracy comes with a price tag of several hundred dollars for the least expensive example. That's why I didn't recommend them, though in hindsight I should have at least acknowledged that they exist.
Bottom line: there is no substitute for knowledge, experience, and the proper quality tools when one is doing precision work.
I hope this puts the matter to rest - though I somehow doubt it!
-=[ Grant ]=-
Apparently, the gist of the discussion was that the forum's "expert" (every forum has one) opined that I was full of it for suggesting that throats couldn't be measured accurately with a caliper. What's more, someone expressed the thought that a caliper would show an out-of-round condition, whereas a pin gage wouldn't, and therefore anyone who didn't use a caliper didn't know what he/she was doing.
Sheesh! Let's start from the top.
A caliper - whether vernier, dial, or digital - is most assuredly not a precision measurement tool. Feel free to ask any tool & die maker the question: "how accurate is a caliper?" I have yet to meet one who would trust a caliper for anything less than 2/1,000ths of an inch (.002") For reference, this is the difference between measuring, say, .357" and .359". On a good day (meaning a very experienced operator) with good equipment (meaning not a Harbor Freight special) one might be able to do a bit better, but most people aren't all that experienced, and most do not possess the top-quality equipment necessary.
This is actually extremely easy to test: take a caliper to a local tool & die shop, and ask the owner if he'll let you measure his certified, calibrated toolroom gage blocks. If he lets you (he probably won't), you'll probably find that getting to within .002" with any consistency is not possible. I have a set of said blocks, and I can't do much better - even though I'm experienced, and have top-end Swiss Etalon calipers with which to work!
There's a reason watchmakers measure parts that must be fitted to incredibly close tolerances with micrometers, and not calipers. The same goes for precision machinists. Do I need to keep flogging this deceased equine?
(I haven't even touched on the need to hold the calipers perfectly perpendicular to the axis of the bore, and to get the jaws as close to centered on the inside surface as possible. It's darned difficult to do under the absolute best toolroom conditions, let alone at a kitchen table! Errors multiply under less-than-ideal conditions.)
Let's tackle the second criticism: that one can't measure an out-of-round condition with a pin gage, therefore the best way to do it is with a caliper. By now, the answer should be obvious: if a hole is, say, .002" out of round, and the measuring system can't get within that range to begin with, it follows that one can't measure the condition because it's within the amount of "slop" already present!
In other words, if a caliper indicates that the hole isn't round, we can't trust it because we don't know if what we're seeing is real or simply the result of the errors inherent in the device. Conversely, the absence of a round error doesn't mean that the throat is round - because it may be within the normal error of the caliper being used! (This is why one does not use imprecise instruments when one expects a precise result.)
The exception is if the condition is sufficiently severe that it exceeds the error of the tool - but if it's that far out, it can be easily spotted with the pin gage anyhow. While we can't measure an out-of-round condition with a pin gage, we can certainly identify that an out-of-round condition exists, and elect to measure it with more accurate means.
Whew!
Now I'd like to expand on the recommendation in my earlier article. The reason I suggested using calibrated pin gages for measurement is because they're cheap (a set to cover, say, the range of a .357 cylinder costs less than $20), readily available, and last forever. There are other tools that can be used, but all are much more expensive and require occasional testing & recalibration, as well as a certain amount of technique.
The best choice is a "tri-mic", made by various companies, which measures holes at 3 points spaced 120 degrees apart. This is extremely accurate - the most accurate way to measure a hole - but that accuracy comes with a price tag of several hundred dollars for the least expensive example. That's why I didn't recommend them, though in hindsight I should have at least acknowledged that they exist.
Bottom line: there is no substitute for knowledge, experience, and the proper quality tools when one is doing precision work.
I hope this puts the matter to rest - though I somehow doubt it!
-=[ Grant ]=-
On pairing women with guns
Wednesday, March 07, 2007
This article in the Tennessean newspaper
explores the
"phenomenon" of women who choose to carry a gun for their own
protection. It's an interesting read, and when I saw it I was
reminded of my own wife's journey to self-empowerment (in the
ballistic sense.)
I'm of the belief that women should always be proactive with regards to their own safety. Sadly, our current society has inculcated a fear of weapons into the collective conscious of the female half of the population. It takes real fortitude for a lady to swim against that tide and arm herself, and I salute those who choose to do so.
Drawing from my own wife's experience I've formed some very specific opinions on the topic of introducing women to shooting. Guys, if there is a woman in your life who has decided to travel down the road of self protection, I offer you Grant's Rules For Helping Ladies Who Want To Shoot.
1) Don't try to teach her yourself. Aside from passing on bad habits that you have (I don't care if you did qualify as "expert" when you were in the Army), it's difficult to impart what you do right no matter how sincere your desire to help.
Women learn differently than men; precious few men understand this, and even fewer understand how to teach to it. It's not uncommon for women to become extremely frustrated under these conditions, and give up entirely. It may not happen until the lessons are over - you may never know of the damage you've done. Let someone else - someone who is experienced teaching women - do this for you. It doesn't mean you're any less of a man, and it just might save you some grief.
2) Rule #1 is increased by a factor of 10 if she is your GF or wife! Ignore this at your peril! I am not kidding!
3) If possible, get her to a women's only class that is actually taught by a female instructor. (If you're on the west coast, I highly recommend that you take advantage of the women's only classes taught by Gila Hayes at the Firearms Academy of Seattle. She's tops. Seriously.)
4) Don't pick her gun for her. So many times a woman, bowing to the desires of the man who proffers her shooting advice (solicited or otherwise), ends up with a lightweight titanium or scandium revolver that is incredibly ill-suited for her physical makeup. The recoil is brutal (hey, even I don't like shooting them), and their stock triggers can be difficult for petite forefingers to actuate. Yes, you could send it to me and have that problem eased, but let her decide if it is right for her!
(Listen, if you've read my blog for any length of time you know that I'm a rabid proponent of the revolver for personal protection. As far as I'm concerned, there isn't a problem extant that a good revolver can't solve. Even so, I acknowledge an autoloader is often the better choice for a woman.) The very best thing you can do is curb your own opinions and take her to a gun range that rents guns, where she can pick her own way through the models. If she picks an autoloader, it won't hurt my feelings. (Not for long, anyhow.) The important thing is that it be her own choice.
Following these simple rules will result in an exci
I'm of the belief that women should always be proactive with regards to their own safety. Sadly, our current society has inculcated a fear of weapons into the collective conscious of the female half of the population. It takes real fortitude for a lady to swim against that tide and arm herself, and I salute those who choose to do so.
Drawing from my own wife's experience I've formed some very specific opinions on the topic of introducing women to shooting. Guys, if there is a woman in your life who has decided to travel down the road of self protection, I offer you Grant's Rules For Helping Ladies Who Want To Shoot.
1) Don't try to teach her yourself. Aside from passing on bad habits that you have (I don't care if you did qualify as "expert" when you were in the Army), it's difficult to impart what you do right no matter how sincere your desire to help.
Women learn differently than men; precious few men understand this, and even fewer understand how to teach to it. It's not uncommon for women to become extremely frustrated under these conditions, and give up entirely. It may not happen until the lessons are over - you may never know of the damage you've done. Let someone else - someone who is experienced teaching women - do this for you. It doesn't mean you're any less of a man, and it just might save you some grief.
2) Rule #1 is increased by a factor of 10 if she is your GF or wife! Ignore this at your peril! I am not kidding!
3) If possible, get her to a women's only class that is actually taught by a female instructor. (If you're on the west coast, I highly recommend that you take advantage of the women's only classes taught by Gila Hayes at the Firearms Academy of Seattle. She's tops. Seriously.)
4) Don't pick her gun for her. So many times a woman, bowing to the desires of the man who proffers her shooting advice (solicited or otherwise), ends up with a lightweight titanium or scandium revolver that is incredibly ill-suited for her physical makeup. The recoil is brutal (hey, even I don't like shooting them), and their stock triggers can be difficult for petite forefingers to actuate. Yes, you could send it to me and have that problem eased, but let her decide if it is right for her!
(Listen, if you've read my blog for any length of time you know that I'm a rabid proponent of the revolver for personal protection. As far as I'm concerned, there isn't a problem extant that a good revolver can't solve. Even so, I acknowledge an autoloader is often the better choice for a woman.) The very best thing you can do is curb your own opinions and take her to a gun range that rents guns, where she can pick her own way through the models. If she picks an autoloader, it won't hurt my feelings. (Not for long, anyhow.) The important thing is that it be her own choice.
Following these simple rules will result in an exci