Showing posts with label don't be a pathetic lib. Show all posts
Showing posts with label don't be a pathetic lib. Show all posts

Sunday, August 25, 2019

Boston


This one's for our Georgia correspondent and no comment except, "Vatican 2? Empty the pew."

God bless,

LSP


Monday, March 11, 2019

Monday Shoot



One of the good things about Mondays is you can shoot, provided the new Ice Age doesn't have you snowed in and it didn't, so off I went to the range. Nothing fancy, just a Ruger American .22 and a Glock 21 .45.




I hadn't shot the Glock in a while and wondered if it'd work. It did, blasting rounds into the X Ring like a good 'un at around 15 yards. Things opened up a bit at 25 yards and I wasn't surprised, given lack of practice.




Then it was time for the old playing card trick at 10 yards and they met their match, thanks to Austrian engineering and the mighty .45 ACP. But my shooting was getting erratic, time to move on while the going was good.




And there it was, the humble .22, ready to go with a fixed 4 power scope. Was it on? Kind of ish but to be honest I'd forgotten what the little beast was zeroed for, so I unscientifically dialed it in at 50 yards.




After a bit of tweaking the scope seemed on enough and Little Green was taking damage. Sorry, fella, you lose this thankfully one sided firefight.




Then it started to rain and it was time to head back to the Compound, mission accomplished. Needed pistol practice and a pleasant zero-in plinkathon with the Ruger.




The trail out of the range always looks as though it'll present some target of opportunity, like a coyote, a small gang of pigs or even a rabbit, but it never does, oddly. Regardless, there it was, a good afternoon out in the country well spent.

Gun rights,

LSP

Thursday, January 31, 2019

Virtues And Gifts



Our diocesan retreat's over and the conferences were excellent. A classical exposition of the virtues, theological and cardinal, and their perfection under the impulse of the sevenfold gifts of the Spirit. 

So for example, the gift of understanding perfects the infused virtue of faith, giving us profound insight into divine truth. And on; thank you Fr. Ward for bringing Aquinas to Texas along with the tried and true application of the matter in hand to the lives of the Saints, living icons of the Spirit's munificence.

It was all good but I was struck by this. The gift of fortitude or courage perfects the moral virtue of the same name, seen by Aristotle as courage in battle for the good end/telos of the city, elevated or "taken into a larger room" in the context of the Faith. Now we face danger or death for the good of the heavenly city as opposed to Athens or, say, Abilene.

Yes indeed and we can see how the gift of fortitude, and it is a gift, impels the martyrs and all heroes of the Faith. Stick with it, don't give up on your journey to the beatific vision. Obvious enough, if a mystery, and we can see why this bravery extends to all the virtues. But consider.


First Crusade. Result.

Fortitude applies to our earthly struggle. It's not easy to stick with the program when Pink Moloch strides like Behemoth across the land. No doubt, but the gift also extends to the heavenly. 

We need courage to face the next life, our moving on to something entirely, radically, utterly new and with it a total detachment from earthly things, all that we've known. That takes bravery and it's given us by the Spirit.

Thank you, Fr. Ward for the insight and many more. If you want to learn more about this and you should, see here and here and go from there. 


Not Fortitude

So don't give up, readers, like some kind of pathetic beta and run in panic for the nearest safe space, onesie or crying towel.

FORTITUDE,

LSP

Wednesday, August 30, 2017

Shoot!



In Aberystwyth you're not allowed to shoot Glocks or AR15s because they're far too dangerous. So when my brother drove over from Dallas, where he's taking a vacation from "Aber", I loaded up the rig with some deadly assault rifles and a couple of .45s. And off we went to the range.

First off, we tackled a green silhouette at 30 and 50 yards with a banned-in-the-UK carbine, topped with a Primary Arms red dot. It's a fun gun to shoot and my brother did well, handily putting down the green terrorist. Take that, paper aggressor, you lose.


Note Cooking Glock

Then it was time for some banned-because-Brits-can't be-trusted-with-pistols Glock action. Mostly against steel plates at 10, 18, 24 and 30 yards. Big excitement as the workmanlike bit of Austrian engineering roared in the hand with explosive fury. Great enjoyment.

The best shots of the day went to my brother, who scored a series of headshots at 100 yards against the green enemy. Not bad, given no magnification and a dot.




Moral of the story? Shoot more.

Gun rights,

LSP

Tuesday, February 21, 2017

Fish, You Fool



For a country blogger you sure don't seem to do much country stuff, so-called LSP, I thought bitterly to myself. To set the record straight, I drove over to the dam after visiting the sick.

The sun was out, the air was fresh and the water churned in the spillway, but would I catch any fish? Only one way to find out, cast off, which I did, using an earthworm as bait. No science, just throw the thing out there and let the current do its work. 




Soon enough, boom, fish on and a fighter. I reeled him in, struggling all the way, and was pleased with a decent Whitney dam Striper. Good result. 




Just as I was putting him back another fisherman arrived and started casting off with what looked liked fake minnows or shad. I was curious to see how he'd do compared to my nightcrawlers.


I Gave it Away

Another Striper later I felt vindicated, not a bad fish at all, and I gave it to my new pal who told me he'd caught a 30 incher yesterday. But here's the thing, he went on to catch a lot of fish with his fake minnows and I only caught one more. So I'm tempted to try his method and see how it goes.




And that was that, an hour or so of fishing and some fast action with it. For my next trick I'll go out and shoot some guns, if only to see if I remember how.

God bless,

LSP

Tuesday, May 10, 2016

In Search of Texas



There's a lot of noise in the media these days about Texas. Is it some kind of neo-fascist Platonic Ideal, instantiated, Aristotle-style, in a landmass that's as big or bigger than a lot of lesser countries?

Or is it a place where the frontier, with its God, guns, church and country life, looms large? A place where people don't look too kindly at latte swilling coastal elites telling them to get with the program and ride the rainbowWhatever the case, I took my dog for a walk after Morning Prayer and went in search of Texas. 


Hey, Look at This.

The Nepalese woman at the pick 'n steal accepted my money for a coffee, while a crew of Park Department workers played scratch card lottery. Some were black, some were white, some were Latino. They were having fun, loudly, at losing the lottery and the coffee tasted pretty good. Have to hand it to the Nepalese, they make damn good fighting knives and excellent coffee. Was that Texas?


Texas

On the way home, I passed 4 churches in the space of 4 blocks. Blue Destroyer used the entrance of one as a "convenience," he's a cow dog. Maybe that's Texas? Then I found a snake skin on the side of the road.

Satisfied with finally finding Texas, I went back to the Compound.

That is all.

LSP



Saturday, April 30, 2016

Elk Hunt Bear Wrangler



I was talking to a friend, I ride out at his ranch, and he started telling stories about being a guide on elk hunts in the Rockies.

They'd go in on horseback, set up camp in the mountains and then hunt for elk. My friend's job was to make sure the horses were all online. He liked it well enough because he loved horses and the wilderness, but sometimes they didn't just get elk, they got bears.


Millionaire Socialist Taken by a Bear

A bear would attack out of the forest and have to be shot, either you or the bear. When that happened, they'd clean the bear and put the skin on a pack horse. No easy thing, because the horses didn't like having a bearskin on them. The trick of it, apparently, was to get them used to the smell of the bear. And so they rode out, bear, elk and whatever else, through the mountains.




"I didn't know you were a bear wrangler, old chap," I remarked over a beaker of vintage port at the club. "Well I was," said my friend, sipping an ice tea because of his Baptist nature, "Yes indeed. Some of these boys that'd come out to shoot elk were from Dallas and not too fit. In fact they were pretty fat, which comes from sitting behind a desk all day and no exercise. And they'd get up there and have a heart attack. Honest to God, every year it's a deal, elk hunters getting a heart attack."




Chastened by reference to lack of exercise, I arranged for a ride next week and, to be honest, I'd like little better than a week or so's go at it in the Rockies. Bear and all.

Your Old Buddy,

LSP


Thursday, April 7, 2016

Range Warriors



"People don't need to be afraid of a citizen's militia," said LL as he idly swung a razor sharp tomahawk at the head of a passing snake, "No, not unless they're a pajama boy, living in their parent's Upper West Side apartment, wearing a onesie and whining about microaggression."


Deadly Assault Carbine and a Truck

"And most people aren't like that," I replied, in between fusillades of 5.56 at an unsuspecting piece of steel some 100 yards away, "Especially in Texas." LL agreed, "Not in Texas." Small cal semi training over, we moved on to the next evolution. Riot control.


Get That Riot Under Control!

The riot control component of the day's course was simple. Two shooters take a Glock 21 each and suppress a riot from close range, 25-30 yards, the riot being an old metal kettle and accurate speed shooting being the method. 13 rounds, fast, on the riot kettle.


A Typical Wheel Gun

Go! Off went the Glocks and down went the kettle mutiny in a blaze of .45 ACP. OK, the .45 isn't the mighty .460 Magnum, which can take out a grizzly bear, and it's not the awesome .357 Magnum, which has the raw power to shoot through an engine block. But still, it gets the job done and done well.


Python Power

A good day was had by all, and rumors of celebratory ribeye steaks are entirely with foundation.

Shoot straight,

LSP

Monday, March 14, 2016

This Is Not The Cotswolds



With the racket of a trees going down around the Compound, I figured it'd be a good idea to drive off in search of Texas. And I found a bit of it, in Irene, Hill County.


The Post Office, Irene

Irene, named after a prominent townsman's daughter in 1878, was originally known as Zollicoffer's Mill, in honor of Edwin Zollicoffer, who settled there in 1848. At it's peak in the first two decades of the last century, the town boasted some 400 souls, the railway, a post office, a school, a store and as many as 10 businesses.


2nd Street, Irene

Today the railway is gone, along with the store, the businesses and most of the people, but the post office remains. You get the feeling, as you explore Irene, that it's really a farm which happens to have several houses on it. 


No Trespassing in Irene

Sheep graze across the road from an abandoned store, and round bales lay in lines in the sun behind the post office, which faces what looks like a cattle operation of some sort.


1st Street, Irene

That's not to say that the town's dead, or especially ruinous, despite the abandoned trailer home next to the Windstream junction shed. No, it's just very small and right there in the middle of the farms. Perhaps it is a farm, to all intents and purposes.




There's a small cemetery outside of town. It was sad to see the children's graves and I reflected on the character of the people who lived through the death of their infants. I feel they were made of stern stuff; I doubt that they had much choice in that.

I like Irene, even though it doesn't have a pub or a store.

God bless Texas,

LSP

Thursday, February 25, 2016

It's Bushcraft Wednesday, on Thursday!



The thing about Bushcraft is that it's all about surviving in the bush, in the wild, and part of that means knowing you're not in some kind of petting zoo.

Here at the Compound we hope you find this short infovideo helpful.

Be prepared or, as we say in the community, loaded for bear.

Your Friend,

LSP

Thursday, February 18, 2016

Keep Your Hat On!



How do you keep your cowboy hat on? Staples. But seriously, there you are, riding along, and you pick up a canter and then a gallop, which is great but you want to go further and faster, so you change gear and accelerate to a run. A fast full-tilt run across the open countryside, wind in your face, at one with the horse, the landscape blurring by on either side and then, oh no! your hat flies off. Not so awesome, eh?

Don't worry, it happens; the wind gets under the brim of the wretched hat and blows it off your head, and you have to stop everything to go back for the thing. But it doesn't have to be that way, all's not lost.




You can get a hat with a deep crown, unlike mine, and jam it on your head when you pick up speed. That may help, or you can attach a stampede string, or "chin strap," which will keep the hat on your head as long as you make sure the string's attached to the hat band. If you rely on bent cotter pins alone you might find that they straighten up under the pressure of the wind and off flies the hat as the string detaches.




Or you can try this. Turn down the sweatband at the back of the hat and discover that doing this makes a kind of suction, which grips the hat firmly onto your head, as if by magic. You can also pad out the sweatband to produce a tighter fit; that'd probably do in place of a string, but I haven't tried it.

If you want extra hat security, try using a string and the magic sweatband trick, it's worked for me. And if you're the kind of horseman that rides in a ball cap, you can attach it to your coat with a cord, paracord will do. When it comes off it dangles, annoyingly, but you don't lose it.




There. Problem, solution, and that's what this blog is all about.

Stay on the horse,

LSP

Tuesday, November 24, 2015

Go Visiting



In a bold attempt to escape the appalling news, I drove off to visit some of the flock. Blue Traveller got to come along for the ride.


It was sunny


There were trees



And it was good to get out in the countryside.

I celebrated this excursion by roasting up some beef, and that was good too.

God bless,

LSP