Galluping Toward Christmas

A few days prior to writing this, we saw the first serious snow on mountains just east of my front door. I call it “termination dust,” a term that originated in Alaska. According to something called the “Wictionary,” termination dust is “a light, high-altitude snowfall that indicates the end of summer.” Reflexively, I broke out the hunting packs, loaded up my .22-caliber pistol and started planning a little trek in the woods to find late-season grouse or snowshoe hares.

Christmas and New Year’s Day both fall on Wednesdays, and since we’re talking about time, it never occurred to me that I’d have this much. As this year comes to an end, I can look back at the hours I spent at the range or up on a ridge where my older son helped me produce a couple of short videos or the solo hunts I did this past autumn. None of that time was wasted, although others may disagree.

I did a little rough research this year about how much time I spend on reloading individual rifle cartridges. This is important since I own rifles in at least five different calibers, so every time I press a trigger, I can estimate how much time it’ll take to restore my ammunition supply.

By my calculations, it takes an average of maybe 10-12 minutes per cartridge when I include the case prep (sizing, trimming, chamfering and priming), except for tumbling, which takes at least 2.5 hours for a batch of brass. Then I add in measuring the powder charge and finally seating the projectile. It all adds up to enjoyment, so on a scale of things, I’m probably ahead.

But what about other rewarding uses of time? Earlier this year, I spent a few pleasant hours with my younger son driving over a mountain pass in his new 4×4 pickup — just me and him — to buy a box of bullets, a pound of pistol powder and, quite by surprise, a 100-count bag of Starline brass for my .41 Magnum revolvers. The return trip took us off the pavement and way up into the mountains, where we burned a little powder, punctured a few targets and enjoyed some truly fresh air.

In September, I encountered a big blue grouse, a bird known for its often-surprising stupidity, and this one didn’t break the pattern. He took off but landed on a tree limb about 35 yards away and stayed there long enough for me to stick a magazine into my Ruger 10/22, work the action and conk him with a 40-grain RNL bullet. It has never bothered me that I didn’t pop a grouse with a shotgun instead of using a rimfire. At the dinner table, they eat just as good either way. I’m hoping Santa isn’t one of those annoying purists who think a bird must be taken with a shotgun while hunting over a dog.

It was later that afternoon when I drove up to a couple of guys zeroing a muzzleloader in a big gravel pit, and one of them turned out to be a reader! Spending several minutes with those guys talking about guns and loads was clearly time well spent.