The sprawling Sadr City slum helped deliver a surprising victory in Iraqi elections for cleric Moqtada al-Sadr, the son of the man who gave the Baghdad neighborhood its name. Now, Mr. Sadr’s alliance faces a tough task: Carrying out his lofty promises of change for the urban poor.
In February, shortly after SpaceX launched a rocket carrying a sports car to Mars, the company’s founder Elon Musk declared a new era in exploration. “We want a new space race,” Musk told reporters. “Races are exciting.” But Amazon founder Jeff …
It took a long time for the city of Syracuse to achieve good health. Surrounded by swamps, using unsanitary sewers and drinking from an unsafe water supply, often tainted by disease-carrying bacteria, Syracuse, from its founding to the early decades of the …
There is a new lawsuit in Ohio – spearheaded by Institute for Justice – claiming Customs and Border Protection seized the life-savings of an immigrant family at Cleveland Hopkins International Airport without charging anyone with a crime. The suit says Rustem Kazazi was headed to Albania to do work on a home when he was accosted by CBP for the $58K in his carry-on. Via IJ:
While going through security, Rustem was detained by a group of CBP agents, who took him to a small room. The agents questioned Rustem in English—a language he only partially understands—and refused his requests for a translator. They stripped him naked and searched him from head to toe, but found nothing illegal. As if these indignities were not enough, the agents then took every penny of the Kazazis’ savings and gave Rustem a receipt for “U.S. Currency” that did not state the amount seized. Rustem was not arrested—he had not broken any law. The CBP agents simply took his money and sent him on his way.
There are plenty of pejoratives to describe this situation: baseless, authoritarian, police state, and un-American. The fact Rustem, who is an American citizen, had his money stolen by the government for the simple reason he had it in his carry-one is asinine. It’s a clear violation of the 4th Amendment because CBP seized the cash without bothering to make a reasonable effort to find an interpreter to establish whether probable cause existed. It’s a major failure on the government’s part, which shouldn’t be surprising because it’s government.
A little background on Rustem Kazazi. He’s a former Albanian police officer who immigrated to the U.S. with his family in 2005. IJ notes he became a citizen in 2010. Why was he carrying $58K on his person? The suit says Kazazi and his family didn’t want to deal with banking fees and figured it was easier to just have cash on hand. You or I might find it a little weird to carry that much money in a carry-on (or anywhere else) but it was his choice.
The suit itself has more details on the bureaucratic idiocy Kazazi and his family are going through. It doesn’t paint the government in a good light. Remember…Kazazi was never charged with a crime or arrested. Via the suit:
While Rustem was still away in Albania, CBP sent him a Notice of Seizure on December 1, 2017 claiming that the amount taken from him had been $57, 330 ($770 less than the amount the agents had seized in October). This document also announced, for the first time, that the agents had seized the money for being “involved in a smuggling/drug trafficking/money laundering operation.” The notice informed Rustem that CBP intended to seek civil forfeiture of his money using an internal administrative process. And it appraised Rustem of his right to submit a claim to the money and request, instead, that civil forfeiture proceedings be referred to federal court. However, this initial seizure noticed included conflicting deadlines for responding. With [his son]’s help, the family contacted CPB about the conflicting dates, which the agency eventually corrected by sending an amended seizure notice, which set Saturday, January 13, 2018 as the deadline for receiving claims and any demand for federal court action.
So far, the Kazazis are following the process by which people can dispute any civil asset forfeiture seizures. Here’s where things get more fun – if by more fun you mean completely stupid. Court documents say the family didn’t want to go through the administrative process because they wanted a judge to decide on the cash. CBP didn’t want to play ball (which makes sense because better to trust bureaucrats than judges) and the suit claims things went further downhill (emphasis mine).
[O]n March 30, a CBP attorney in Chicago called [Rustem’s son] and left a voicemail, saying she wanted to discuss, “whether you want [the case] to go to court or if we could handle this administratively.” The attorney urged [Rustem’s son] to call back quickly because the agency’s deadline to begin the court process would expire “within the next week”- that is, no later than April 6, 2018. Three weeks later, when still no forfeiture complaint had been filed, [Rustem’s son] wrote to his contact at CBP to ask why the family’s money had not been returned. The response was distressingly bureaucratic: CBP had no idea. For the first, CBP told the Kazazis that it had no control over the case; instead, the U.S. Attorney’s Office was in control. When [the son] asked whom he could contract at the U.S. Attorneys’ Office, the agency claimed that it had no contact there and would not know who was handling the case until “a decision is made.”
Today, more than seven months since CBP agents unconstitutionally seized the Kazazis’ money and upended their lives, the government still has not begun civil forfeiture proceedings. It cannot do so now, as the deadline to seek forfeiture of the money expired no later than April 17. For the reasons explained below, the Court should order CBP to return the money.
This is why civil asset forfeiture has to be reformed on a federal level. I’ve written on the awfulness of civil asset forfeiture before and believe the Justice Department’s 2017 guidelines on the issue are obscene. I think it should be made illegal and the only asset forfeiture allowed is criminal asset forfeiture i.e. after a conviction.
Policing for profit needs to stop. Hopefully this case will force Congress to act on reform legislation.
The post Cleveland family suing on claims CBP seized life-savings at airport appeared first on Hot Air.
London became something of a laughing stock when they banned the carrying of knives. It seems that while the law-abiding citizens of London were already disarmed, the criminals in the city weren’t and were using knives to wreak havoc on the defenseless population.
So, London Mayor Sadiq Khan announced that the carrying of knives was to be banned.
How did that work out? You tell me.
Well, isn’t that special. From the Daily Mail’s story on YouTube:
A cyclist wielding a huge ‘zombie’ knife tried to smash a motorist’s window during a terrifying rush hour road rage row in front of stunned London commuters. Dashcam footage captures the horrifying moment the young man sprinted after a Volkswagen Polo on a busy high street in Croydon before trying to break through the driver’s side window in a frenzied attack. The chilling attack comes amid a knife crime epidemic in London that has so far claimed 43 lives this year.
I’m not going to comment on the driving because, well, England is weird when it comes to cars. They’re all tiny, and they drive on the wrong side of the road and…it’s just weird.
But not quite as weird as someone whipping out a knife that Rambo would be proud of trying to attack the driver. Clearly, this isn’t possible. Carrying knives is illegal, and everyone knows that you don’t break the law, right? It’s just impossible!
Or, maybe–hear me out here–those who are inclined toward violence will disobey any law they want to and justify it however they want to. They’re simply going to act out violently with whatever weapon they can get their hands on and guess what? The innocent victim was completely defenseless. He had no recourse but to either stay and be killed or run for his life.
And these are the options many people want for us Americans. They want us to either run for our lives or to be slaughtered by maniacs wielding whatever weapons they choose, lambs to the slaughter.
This is also why so many of us refuse to budge on the issue of guns. We know that the bad guys will always have weapons. We want to make sure we have them ourselves. The difference is that I can put a gun in the hands of a 98-pound individual and they could take down someone the size of Dwayne “The Rock” Johnson. I wouldn’t count on that happening with a knife.
Laws like these that London has embraced, and that so many Americans seem to want for us, don’t make people safer. They endanger those who most need protecting. They make them vulnerable rather than empower them. They create victims, not survivors.
When anti-weapon fanatics target a particular weapon, they’re only looking at the weapon itself. They’re failing to look at the ramifications over the long term. Maybe they don’t care. I don’t know, and I don’t care.
What I do care about is the video above. That’s our future if we’re not careful. We’re going to be that guy in the blue car, scared out of our minds because some guy with a knife striving for machete status is banging on our window and seemingly desperate to get at us.
It’s why we must fight and why we must fight smart. We can’t afford to lose.
The post London Proves Once Again How Weapons Laws Are Useless appeared first on Bearing Arms.
Earth has a “30-year window of opportunity” to tackle climate change, according to World Meteorological Organization secretary-general Petteri Taalas. He called for greater urgency in carrying out the Paris Agreement as the leaders of the World Health Organization and United Nations Environment Program together with WMO launched a brand-new climate change coalition.
Quitting your job and selling your house and all of your possessions to travel the world is something many people find themselves daydreaming about when they feel their lives have fallen into a state of predictable motion. A fair number of rather reasonable arguments typically dissuade most people from pursuing the notion.
But the feeling of being an alien in a foreign land is intoxicating. I often thought of leaving California behind and breaking with my routine to embrace the unknown and in so doing becoming an alien to everything, including myself. The fire continued to rage in my mind, and when I spoke to my partner about it, I learned that the same fire burned inside her as well. Within two months, we sold our house, all of our belongings, quit our jobs and bought four one way tickets to Australia; two adults and two children.
I felt embarrassed telling my friends and family about our decision and worried that it would make me seem irresponsible. The idea of leaving a great job and uprooting our family was met with as much judgmental condemnation as one would get for choosing to drink or gamble with abandon. I avoided speaking of our intentions again until we were just about to board a plane that would take us away from California. I updated my status online that described our exodus, and with 40-liter backpacks strapped on our respective backs, our three-year-old boy gripping tightly to my hand and our five-year-old boy gripping tightly to my partner’s, we boarded the plane and never looked back.
We spent the summer in Australia, surfing Bondi Beach, walking Graffiti Alley in Melbourne and sunbathing along the Sunshine Coast. After three months, we had exhausted the amount of time we were permitted on our Australian visas. With summer transitioning to fall, we set our sights on New Zealand.
Much of our time in our previous life was spent losing ourselves in Yosemite and Lassen National Parks or trail running the Marin Headlands and Point Reyes. We often hiked through the pine forests of Tahoe or the redwood forests nestled behind the Mendocino coastline. We made a pact before the trip that this particular quality of our lives would travel along with us, and we did just what most outdoor adventurers would do upon landing in Nelson airport: salivated at the thought of conquering the great tracks of New Zealand’s South Island.
Our first hike with the boys began with exploring a pocket of nestled beauty called the Abel Tasman, located on the northeast coastline of the South Island. We took a water taxi that dropped us off on a small exposed sandbar in an estuary that existed for only a few hours, expanding as quickly as the tide receded into the Tasman Bay and disappearing upon its return. We ferried the boys across one at a time on our backs, moving slowly through the surprisingly crisp, knee-deep water that bridged the exposed and isolated raft of yellow sand to the thin Tasman coastline.
We approached this tramp with our boys with a sink or swim attitude, wholly accepting our punishment of having to carry them on our backs should they not rise to the challenge. Our parenting style had always differed from those in the community we left a few months prior. We allow them to fall and scrape their knees, to make their own mistakes, to concede defeat in the face of a valiant effort. We pushed them to try before they could accept their own presumed limitations. My partner and I controlled the wind that passed across their boughs in a manner meant to strengthen their branches but not break them. They would, more often than not, surprise themselves upon rising up and working through their own challenges.
We assumed the 22-kilometer hike would be a pretty strong gust, but to our surprise, we found that the adults were trying to keep pace with the boys. We were evidently the weak links in the chain. Was it their center of gravity that made tramping come more easily to them or the efficiencies of their metabolic engine that constantly turns over calories for energy like a Ferrari turns petrol into horsepower? Their enthusiasm and seemingly endless supply of energy that remained, even after concluding the day-long tramp with burgers at The Fat Tui, motivated us to tramp progressively longer and more difficult terrain. Soon we felt confident in our plan of tramping across New Zealand with our sights set on accomplishing an expert-level overnight hike up Mt. Robert to the Angelus Hut in Nelson Lakes National Park.
* * *
I peered across the shifter to my partner and said, “There’s only one direction we can go and that’s forward.” We were all alone on the one-way road that hugged Mount Robert. Just ahead of us, the gravel gave way to mud, stretching a quarter mile ahead of us. I scanned ahead and saw that the first half of the road had a forgiving upward slope, but then a handful of orange traffic cones were scattered in front of a section of road that appeared to go vertical. I slammed the shifter into first gear, revved the engine of the rented Honda Fit and held my breath until we reached the other side. My quads were on fire from riding the clutch while lifting my body above my seat to be able to see the road. When we summited past the cones and fell back onto level and graveled road, I turned to my partner and saw her hands wrapped white knuckled around the “Oh Shit Handle” that had been previously dangling freely just above her head.
“It wasn’t that bad,” I said as her dilated pupils relaxed and her eyes rolled in that special way that lets me know I have no idea what I am talking about.
After we parked, we collected our gear and tried to focus on the moment instead of on what lay ahead of us: 24 kilometers over 36 hours. We moved quickly through the small section of beech forest that separated the car park and the start of the aptly named Pinchgut Track. A thick canopy of beech trees retained the water in the air, humidifying the organic plumes of earthy aromatics emanating from the detritus scattered across the forest floor. Microbeads of water sat atop green carpets of moss blanketing the decaying stumps and fallen branches lining the trail.
Exposed tree roots snagged the boys’ boots more times than I could count. My shoulder ached from having to reach my arm out quickly and grip whatever fabric I could to prevent the boys from falling flat on their faces several times, so I called an impromptu family meeting. My partner and I established a rule that we have repeated on every hike since and have now woven into the philosophy we teach the boys: Every step matters, every step is important, every step counts, and how you take that step directly affects the outcome of how you move forward towards the next one. A rock is a rock, whether it’s in the car park, on the trail, in a river crossing or on top of a mountain, but the consequences of tripping over it can vary depending on the circumstance, from insignificant to deadly.
The mid-morning sun began to penetrate the canopy ahead of us, revealing the exposed path leading us to the start of the serial switchbacks that would carry us up 800 meters over 90 minutes. Under our boots, soft earth turned into coarse and dry gravel. The flora transitioned from green ferns to mountain wildflowers and the clear blue sky stretched out towards infinity overhead. Purple and red foxgloves began to fill the empty spaces along the trail.
As we made our ascent, Lake Rotoiti’s blue expanse beckoned us, offering up its cold and crisp waters to rinse the sweat off our skin and resolve the dryness in our throats. My muscles began to burn again. The day hikers that had passed us expanded their distance, while the ones we had previously passed were reducing it. This expansion and contraction between the groups persisted, and in this way, we all accordioned our way up the mountain.
We reached the start of the Robert Ridge Track with another shift in climate and terrain. The wind gusts were strong atop the ridge, and with our guts pinched from the switchbacks, the cold and crisp alpine air cooled us down while also taking some of the weight off our tired legs as it pushed against our backs. We reached the Relax Shelter and exchanged pleasantries with day hikers taking a break before heading back down Paddy’s Track on the opposite side of the ridge. Children on the ridge, we grew to learn, were an unusual sight, given the reactions we received. Responses were split between admiring the boys’ courage (and our patience) and skeptical optimism.
We split from the group and continued along the ridge, not knowing that that would be the last time we would see another hiker while on the ridge. After a few hours, the trail grew narrow and slowly began to recede into the mountain beneath us. The sky continued to reflect the blue from Lake Rotoiti; however, quickly shifting light grey clouds could be seen swirling further up the ridge, waiting for our arrival. We were approaching the Julius Summit, nearly 1,800 meters above sea level, when a drop in pressure and temperature caused the water in the air to suddenly condense all around us. We stopped and became mesmerized at witnessing the birth of a cloud. A wisp of white candy floss suddenly materialized from nothing, swirling in a funnel created by two disparate pressures colliding in a moment. The nascent tuft of white air released and drifted like a leaf trapped in a whirlpool, fixed in constant motion, until its mass grew large enough to be ejected from the turbulent air.
After stopping for lunch to let rain pass ahead, we pressed on. The clouds gathered and dispersed for several kilometers, occasionally releasing their contents upon us but never enough to hinder our momentum. We summited the mountain and found being positioned above everything around us, including the clouds, allowed the trail markers to be easily visible as we scanned ahead. The ridge began to slope downward and our legs felt the relief of not having to work as hard; however, the recent rains made our descent more difficult than previously presumed.
Over the next kilometer, I realized the risk my partner and I took in bringing the boys on the tramp. I accepted my punishment by moving a few meters ahead, releasing my pack from my back, then returning back to the boys in order to ferry them one at a time across the difficult and dangerous terrain, only to collect my pack and start all over again at the next sign of apparent risk. We moved in this way until we reached an expansive scree field that buried several trail markers in its path. I turned to my partner and we discussed the risks of moving forward or turning back. Having already experienced the difficult terrain as I ferried the boys down the wet cliffside, I was worried how much more difficult it would be to repeat it while working against gravity. On the other hand, the terrain ahead of us was unknown, offering a variety of unknown possibilities. “A rock is a rock,” we reminded ourselves.
This fractured landscape wouldn’t let me move ahead and ferry the boys across it as I had before. We had to move slowly, as a unit, across the scree field, lifting the boys to rocks they couldn’t climb onto and holding their hands as they jumped down from ones they could. To the boys, it was fun to rock climb. But we had not come across another human since we started on the ridge. The boys didn’t realize that if something happened, a response would not be immediate, but we did. To compound our worry, the sun seemed to drop faster across the horizon than our descent on the cliff, and should another scree field lie further ahead on our path, we would have to cross it in the dark.
The mantra that we established at the start of our tramp carried us across without incident. We breathed a sigh of relief and silently hoped that we wouldn’t need to cross another scree field on our path to the hut. The boys, on the other hand, were excited at the prospect of scrambling across another. In the end, we ended up going past several more, and fortunately they were only a few meters across. We didn’t hesitate when we scanned ahead to find boulders had collapsed the trail ahead of us; we were still riding off the adrenaline from having successfully traversed what ended up to be the longest and most difficult scree field on the ridge. We discovered that this irregular trail — solid ground with sections of scree intermixed — carried a rhythm in its terrain. We glided swiftly across the wet rock and loose gravel as our steps harmonized to it, moving back up the ridge and arriving at the top of the valley as twilight fell across our shoulders.
When the boys asked how much further until we arrived to the hut, I lied. “It’s just passed the next trail marker,” I replied, buying us a few hundred meters of silence before they asked again. “I meant to say past the next trail marker . . . or the one after that,” I said, all the while, secretly wishing that my non-answer was true. My stalling wouldn’t last, and their motivation could dissipate when they realized I had no idea how much further until we arrived at the hut.
We tramped with the clouds above our heads and below our feet, and fortunately, everything at eye level was clear, albeit damp. We stopped as a gust of wind pushed us off the trail, and after allowing it to pass, we stepped back onto the ridge and saw that the wind pushed the clouds away from the valley to the east, exposing a series of ponds spread across the mountain. It was getting darker. Although it was becoming more difficult to see the worry on my partner’s face, I could feel it radiate off of her body. What was even more troubling was the sudden awareness of the boys’ silence; there were no more questions about when we would arrive, no brotherly banter, just silence and their pace had slowed.
The boys were tired and needed to take a break. The weight on my shoulders grew heavier. The air was transitioning from dark blue to purple, and I knew that taking a break would all but ensure we would be tramping in the dark. I sprinted into the fog to scout ahead, leaving my pack behind.
I returned in a few short minutes with a smile from ear to ear. I threw my pack over one shoulder and instructed the boys to get up and muster as much courage and energy as they could because the hut was in the valley just below us. A hundred or so meters ahead of us was the trail that led down into the valley. As we sprinted towards the branch, the sky opened up, basking us in a light that had previously fallen beneath the top of the alpine ridge. The air quickly transitioned from purple to blue carried by strands of yellow that shimmered off Lake Angelus and poured over the edges of the hills that bordered the valley. We ran to the edge of the ridge and peered down over the valley below; the momentary silence was broken by laughter coming from the boys.
“Every step counts,” I said, as we broke from the ridge and moved down the loose gravel trail that would lead us to shelter.
Tired, hungry and cold, but filled with relief, we slowed our pace, knowing there was nothing more to worry about beyond securing a bunk space. I looked up and saw the yellow lights growing bigger and brighter the closer we got to the hut. The light began to leak from the windows and illuminate the porch, then the wire boot brush on the ground next to the steps to the deck, then the last few meters of the trail. The dark receded to reveal a dozen smiling faces watching our every step as we drew closer to them. I heard the people clapping as the yellow light illuminated the face of my youngest and then his brother. The boys stopped, unsure of what was happening, and looked back at us with both confusion and surprise in their smiles.
* * *
The next morning, we joined a table of fellow hikers for breakfast. The boys spoke of their courage across the wet scree and informed the table of our mantra, “Every step counts.” Over the course of the next half hour, the hut began to empty. Our brief respite needed to come to an end.
We took the track down the mountainside, winding back and forth across several arteries flowing with water; our socks that had dried overnight were drenched within the first kilometer. We followed the water through mud and marshland, ferrying the boys across rushing streams and carrying them over my head across waist deep rivers until the path brought us to the edge of the beech forest that we started from. The forest canopy brought respite from an unrelenting midday sun but blanketed the remainder of the trail in a persistent twilight.
As we passed another kilometer deeper into the forest, the temperature began to drop and the boys began asking how much longer again. Our youngest was becoming more vocal with his narrative of the status of his body and mind. We encouraged them to keep moving by distracting them with topics in mammalian and plant biology, zoology, philosophy and English. This worked for a spell, until the discussion began to grow exponentially more complex with every “but why?”
I could hear whimpers from our youngest. I stopped to lean down and asked him if he was OK, if he needed to be picked up. He said he did, that his legs hurt, but he thought he would be able to continue on if he only had his “Buggies” — two ladybug snuggle toys he has slept with every night of his life. We carried our sleeping bags, food and water on our backs; “Buggies” had been deemed nonessential and remained behind in the car.
Before starting the hike, my partner and I agreed that if the boys could no longer go on of their own free will, we would accommodate their needs, either by picking them up or ending the tramp and turning back around. We wanted them to hit their wall, feel their boughs creak and bend, and let them decide for themselves. My son brought something different to the table: a quid pro quo. I wondered how far he would be willing to take it. We decided that my eldest and I would sprint ahead until we reach the car, drop our gear off and retrieve the Buggies to motivate him to finish the tramp.
I reminded my eldest son of our mantra: “Every step counts.” We took a deep breath and started sprinting up the trail while my partner kept a walking pace with our youngest. We ran two kilometers up through the forest, jumping over rocks and exposed roots that crossed our path, until reaching the car park and finding leaf litter blanketing our rental car. I threw my pack in the trunk and opened the back door, finding Buggies next to a half-eaten leftover carrot cake in the rear cup holder. I grabbed Buggies, stole a bite of cake and handed the rest to my son. “Don’t tell your brother we ate his cake.”
We ran down the path, two plush ladybugs in hand, and I trusted my eldest to keep his own pace as I began to sprint back to meet the others. Only a kilometer away from the car park, my youngest son dropped my partner’s hand and began screaming and crying with joy while running towards his long lost friends. After he settled down, he kept repeating, “I can do this now, I can do this now.” He squeezed one bug in each hand and picked up his pace as he started to move up the path. The three of us continued, collecting our eldest son along the way. The boys fell silent; they were focused on finishing now. My partner and I were silent too, astonished at the resolve our boys displayed. We reached the car park and turned back towards the forest, sharing a collective sigh of relief and pride. With little fanfare, we returned to the car, dropped it in gear and slowly drove past the head of the trail we had conquered, the momentary silence broken by a voice from the backseat: “Hey, where’s my cake?”
Reloader, Bob Shell, tests a range of assorted powders loads and bullet weights in 30-30 Ammunition and finds it still is an effective round 120+ years later.
Editors Note: Caution, Reloading is dangerous, read our “Reloading Disclaimer“. The reloading data published by this website is intended for discussion purposes only. As with all data collection, mistakes are possible. You have been warned.**
Apache Junction, AZ –-(Ammoland.com)- One of the very first smokeless rounds designed for sporting purposes was the 30-30 cartridge introduced in the Winchester model 94 rifle.
It became generally available in 1895. The original factory ammo offering was a 160 grain at 2,000 FPS.
In that day such velocities were almost unheard of. Typical black powder rounds usually produced 12 to 1400FPS. While 2,000 FPS sounds pedestrian by today’s standards, it did the job and hunters quickly realized that this was the wave of the future. For much of the woods hunting the 30-30 has plenty of power. Later on, the 150 and 170-grain bullets were added, and velocity increased.
A few years later other manufacturers realized the potential of the 30-30 ammunition round and brought out their versions as the Winchester model 94 rifle was selling like hotcakes, and they wanted a piece of the pie.
Savage brought out the 303 Savage also in a lever action though it had a box type of magazine and Remington introduced the 30 Remington round in some pump and semi-auto rifles. I have owned and shot all of them, and ballistically they are virtually identical to the 30-30. It would be a personal choice as to the type of gun as they all perform the same. The 30 Remington and 303 Savage were popular for some years, but they are no longer made. Guns can still be found as well as ammo and reloading components with a little shopping.
However, the 30-30 Ammunition Cartridge is as popular as ever.
One of the companies that makes manually operated firearms have been around for a number of years and they advertise that everything is made in America. Another unusual thing is they advertise on TV which few others do. Evidently it works or they would drop it. If you want something different you should definitely check out Henry Arms. They have a large variety of rifles including rimfires. They have the mares leg handgun, a lever action in 410 gauge and the Henry 45-70 rifle among other arms. Single shot shotguns are available as well. For info you can go to www.henryusa.com for info.
Henry Lever Action .30-30 Rifle
One of their products is a lever action rifle chambered for the 30-30 in various models. My model is a Henry Lever Action .30-30 Rifle, model H009 which is a blued steel model with a round barrel.
It is drilled and tapped for a top mounted scope which will enhance accuracy beyond a hundred yards. A Hawke scope is the planned one for this review. I have used the Hawke on many occasions and they always come through. They are reasonably priced and the rifle selection is good so for info you can go to us.hawkeoptics.com on their products. For a budget conscious hunter who wants a good scope at a reasonable price, you would be missing out if you don’t check the HAWK Scopes out. I have done quite a bit of testing with this scope and everything checks out. It is clear at all ranges and power settings. With this scope, you have the ability to take a long shot if available and using something like the Flex Tip bullet. Based on my experiences with the Hawke brand I recommend it.
The wood of the Henry Lever Action .30-30 Rifle has a pleasing figure while the bluing is not glossy but even. Another odd feature is it loads by a tube under the barrel as many 22 RF guns do. Most 30-30 lever guns load through the receiver. There is no politically correct safety of any kind which is a plus. Common sense gun handling tends to prevent those types of accidents. The trigger pull is good not too light or heavy.
We did find that the lever screw and a tang screw were loose. Not a big deal but perhaps they might want to look at during production.One other thing we noticed is the way it loads. Most people will put a round in the chamber in order to get the seven rounds. However, when loading the tube your hand may be in front of the muzzle at various times. So, if the chamber has a round in it and is cocked a small misstep may cause it to fire. Such an incident may cause a serious hand injury so be careful see pix.
One thing that was noticeable is the figure on the stock. It has some of the most attractive wood I have seen for a while. Yes, composite stocks are more durable but if looks are important to you then this rifle will definitely have a place in your cabinet.
There are other chamberings and styles available plus some shotguns. So why a 30-30 rifle? It has been around for over 120 years, and one would think that it would be obsolete and no longer made. Nothing is further from the truth. There are several other rifle makers, and the Henry 30-30 is one of the top sellers. Most are lever guns, but some single shot and bolt action rifles are available. The 30-30 round has been used by many hunters, and when used as designed it produces good results often ending with a deer in the pot. It is usually considered a woods gun meant for moderate ranges. However, with the new and improved powders and flex tips the range can be extended. Some people feel that as long as a bullet produces 1,000 FT-LBS of energy at the target, it is considered adequate for deer sized game. With Hornady Flex Tip bullets that number can be obtained at 300 yards with safe loads and regular lever action.
30-30 Cartidge Loadings
Here are some examples when the powder charged is increased by one grain. Some brands of bullets were more consistent than others which is normal. That is why if you are working up a load for serious purposes it is important to try different powder and bullet combos. Each gun has its preferences.
|32gr RL #7||110gr FMJ-RN||2521.6||Very Consistent|
|18gr 5744||150gr Berry||1478.9||Consistent|
|Barnes||150gr Vortex||2404.6||Good Hunting Load|
|32gr 8208||150gr Speer||2212||Ok but can increase|
|33gr 8208||150gr Horn||2263.36||Ok|
|34gr H-4895||150gr Combined||2304.4||Decent|
|37gr CFE-223||150gr Horn||2250.55||Very Consistent|
|37gr Leverrevolution||150gr Barns||2385||Nice Load|
|36.5gr Leverrevolution||160gr Flex||2335||Long Range Potential|
|Hornday||160gr Flex Tip||2369.80||Nice Load|
|18gr 5744||160gr Cast||1573.89||Consistent|
|10gr Unique Mossberg||165gr cast||1347.60||Very Consistent|
|10gr Unique Henry||165gr cast||1336.44||Very Consistent|
|31gr 8208||170gr Speer||2060.71||Deer Load|
|32gr 8208||170gr Speer||2107.4||Consistent|
|35gr Leverrevolution||180gr Horn RN||2144||Consistent|
|30gr 8208||180g Horn RN||2008.8||Decent|
|14gr 5744||220 gr cast GC||1286.7||Ok Load|
Just for info, the 10 grains of Unique and the 165 gr cast was fired in a Mossberg and Henry both lever actions and a 20” barrel. The results were very similar, and Unique is one of the very best powders for reduced loads.
For those who are interested in the potential of a 30-30 at different ranges here is some info that may help.
150 grain RN
Muzzle 2390/1902 – 100 yards 1959/1278 – 200 yards 1581/832
160 grain Hornady FTX which is a pointed bullet safe in a tubular magazine.
Muzzle 2400/2046 – 100 yards 2150/1636 – 200 yards 1916/1309 – 300 yards 1699/1025
As you can see the 150 grain drops below 1000 LBS before reaching 200 yards while the FTX extends the range to 300 yards a 35% increase in usable range. The 170-grain flat point launched at 2200 FPS drops below 1000 FP LBS of energy at over 150 yards so the 160 grain FTX would double the useful range. Therefore it would be a mistake to sell the 30-30 short.
I wanted to see what 30-30 ammunition could do in a stronger rifle and I have a TC single shot and used it for the test.
I wont be listing the loads here as someone would try them in a lever action which could cause a catastrophic event. It would probably hold them but would cause excess wear and could damage the gun. So why take the chance especially if you don’t understand the ramifications of using such loads.
For this experiment, here is list of the top velocity of the bullets tested. It will become obvious quickly that these velocities are quite a bit above normal and I know that they are that is why the loading data isn’t included. If you have a TC or strong bolt action then these velocities can be safely obtained. This is a little off the subject but it shows that the 30-30 is more than just a short-range woods load. The Henry rifle is well built and has as good an action as any 30-30 but I would not try these loads in it. If you were carrying a 30-30 in grizzly country them one of the heavy bullets may serve but for 99% of us the factory spec loads will do just fine. These are the velocities obtained in a single shot rifle.
Factory 30-30 ammunition is usually produced with a 150 or 170 grain bullet. That takes care of most hunting situations that a 30-30 should be used for. Recently they added a 160 grain Flex Tip which enhances its range. One thing that puzzles me is they never offered a 180 or 190 grain RN. The 303 Savage offered it in the 190 grains at one time and it had a good reputation.
The 180 would give a little extra penetration if you were hunting large black bear or large boar. They shoot well and have their uses through a 150 or 170 would cover deer and similar game. The Hornady 180 grain feeds ok but care must be taken to seat deep enough in fact with any gun and ammo types you should cycle them before you go hunting. You can’t seat it in the cannelure, doing so will make it too long. Since it has a long neck a cannelure isn’t needed. However, if you have a bullet that needs that procedure that is an easy task. I have a CH cannelure tool which comes in handy on many occasions. In the last decade or so factory ammo has improved a lot.
In fact, it can be a challenge to do better than the factory loads. The only downside is the cost. An indication of how popular round is the variety offered by various ammo companies. Hornady a leading ammo maker offers 5 different loads for this round. For more info, you can go to www.hornady.com/ammunition for a listing on their products. Another fine ammo maker is Barnes. They brought out the copper bullets which have turned out to be great hunting bullets. They offer the 30-30 ammunition in the 150 gr Vor Tex and they shoot well for info you can go to www.barnesbullets.com for more info.
Handloading, the 30-30 ammunition, brings out the potential and with a Henry rifle with the Hawke scope your usable range will increase. Some hunters tend to look down on the 30-30 ammunition as obsolete and no longer effective. Apparently, since 1895 deer have grown tougher and may have some armor at least that so is the thought process for many when buying a rifle these days. They go with the short, medium and long magnums for woods hunting. They feel that a bullet screaming along at over 3000 FPS is needed to kill a deer at moderate ranges.
After some years pass some of those super magnums will be a footnote while 30-30 ammunition will carry on.
About Bob Shell
A Custom Reloader of Obsolete and Antique Ammo, Bob Shell, writes about the subject of Guns, Ammo, Shooting and Related Subjects. Visit: www.bobshellsblog.blogspot.com
The post 30-30 Ammunition, A Historic Cartridge Continues to Carry On : Load Testing appeared first on AmmoLand.com.
Faced with an unrelenting spread of invasive Burmese pythons that have mostly wiped out marsh rabbits, bobcats and other small mammals, Everglades National Park is doing something for the first time in its 70-year history: opening park borders to paid hunters.
On Thursday, Superintendent Pedro Ramos announced plans to team up with state wildlife officers who last year began hiring hunters to kill the voracious snakes.
“We’ve been chasing this problem trying to find a solution and frankly we ran up against a wall over and over again,” he told the Miami Herald. “That history requires us to be open-minded and flexible.”
Adding the park to territory already being patrolled by Florida Fish and Wildlife Conservation Commission and South Florida Water Management District hunters will open up the epicenter of the python invasion to hunters’ cross-hairs more than two decades after they first appeared.
But the move is not without controversy.
In 2015 when Ramos agreed to allow volunteer hunters into the park for the state’s popular Python Challenge, backlash from an environmental group prompted him to scale back participation to all but a few permitted trappers.
The National Park Service bans sport hunting in parks, but not managed removal of unwanted wildlife. Rock Creek Park, north of downtown Washington, has been holding a contentious hunt to cull deer since 2013 to save the park’s native plants. About 75 areas managed by the National Park Service covering more than 50 million acres allow hunting, which sometimes causes confusion over rules in parks.
The park has also allowed the Swamp Apes, a volunteer group of military vets, to trap snakes for about a decade.
But competition with paid programs for hunters appears to be driving down participation: In the last year just 70 or so snakes were caught inside the park compared to about 200 snakes during each of the previous two years, said chief biologist Tylan Dean.
After years of failed efforts — including snake-sniffing dogs and tagged Judas snakes — Ramos said it’s time for more aggressive tactics.
“This to us is clearly not hunting in a national park. This is a serious effort to bring people who want to help us with this problem get these things out of the park,” he said. “It is a program aimed at removing an exotic species that is having some very deep negative impacts on this landscape.”
It’s also an attempt to learn more about their habits, he said, and slow a spread that in 2016 reached the northern Florida Keys for the first time. The snakes are so difficult to detect, and marshes so impenetrable, that even determining their numbers remains difficult, said Kristin Sommers, the state’s exotic species coordinator.
“The low range would be tens of hundreds and the high range would be hundreds of thousands,” she said.
South Florida may never be free of the snakes, but managed hunts in recent years have shown promise. Last year, the wildlife commission and the University of Florida brought snake hunters from India for a month-long pilot project that bagged 14 pythons in two weeks, including a 16-foot female carrying dozens of eggs. The water management district’s paid hunt topped 1,000 last week.
Authorized hunters will be vetted by the Fish and Wildlife Commission and need to meet a handful of qualifications including proof that they’ve legally bagged at least three pythons. Hunters will also earn the same rate paid to district hunters: minimum wage plus $50 for every four-foot snake and $25 for each additional foot.
They will be given access to almost every corner of the park at all hours, but will not be allowed near visitors including the Coe Visitor Center and Anhinga Trail, while the park is open.
The park hopes to get hunters started as early as July and eventually have up to 120, which would triple the number of volunteers now trapping snakes.
“Using current technology to eliminate pythons is impossible, so we’ll try to eliminate as many as we can,” Ramos said. “Maybe some day we’ll find a way to really get the upper hand.”
© 2018 Miami Herald
Distributed by Tribune Content Agency, LLC.
It began with an attempt by the Palestinian Islamic Jihad (PIJ) to plant an improvised explosive device on the security fence separating Israel from the Hamas-controlled Gaza Strip, and ended with a near full-scale conflagration on a scale not seen since the summer of 2014. Tensions for the time being have tapered off but the recent fighting demonstrates why the Israeli Army (IDF) maintains a constant state of readiness along its volatile borders.
On Sunday, security forces monitoring the Gaza border detected an object attached to the border fence. Upon closer examination, it turned out to be a bolt cutter of the type used by Palestinian rioters to breach the fence in weeks prior. A remote controlled robot was sent in to inspect and remove the object utilizing a long cord. During the course of removal, the bolt cutter exploded. Fortunately, no one was injured but the situation could have just as easily resulted in casualties.
PIJ terrorists who planted the IED were then spotted manning a nearby observation post. An Israeli Merkava IV tank fired at the OP instantly killing two PIJ operatives. A third was mortally wounded and died soon after. Islamic Jihad swore vengeance.
Two days later, southern Israeli border towns and communities came under intense indiscriminate rocket and mortar bombardment. A kindergarten was hit but fortunately, the children had not yet arrived. Over the course of 22 hours, Hamas and PIJ fired over 100 rockets and mortars, 25 of which were shot down by Israel’s anti-rocket defense system, Iron Dome. According to military sources, the system also succeeded in intercepting incoming mortar rounds, a first in the annals of warfare. There were no fatalities but there was some property damage and three IDF soldiers were wounded, two lightly and one moderately. A civilian was also lightly injured.
The unprovoked attacks inevitably drew Israeli retaliatory strikes which came in two waves. Some 65 Hamas and PIJ positions were targeted including a U-shaped, two-kilometer long tunnel that extended into both Egypt and Israel. It was to be used for smuggling contraband as well as for facilitating terrorist attacks. Rocket and weapons storage facilities were also hit and destroyed. A Hamas naval armory which the army said contained “advanced, unmanned submarine vessels, capable of maritime infiltration and carrying out maritime terror attacks,” was hit and destroyed as well.
Israel informed Hamas through intermediaries that if it continued its attacks, the IDF was prepared to conduct a large-scale military operation, similar to those conducted in 2009 and 2014. Hamas, still smarting from the defeats of 2009 and 2014, understood that Israel meant business and ordered its operatives as well as the PIJ to cease fire. The question is how long will the cease fire hold? The answer to that is anyone’s guess.
Nevertheless, the recent round of fighting highlighted several interesting takeaways. First, the discovery of a Hamas tunnel in Egypt is likely to further strain relations between Egypt and Hamas. Egypt has accused Hamas of aiding Islamist terrorists in northern Sinai and the revelation of a Hamas-dug tunnel in Egypt further erodes Hamas’s credibility in the eyes of the Egyptian government.
Second, the Iron Dome system continues to impress. In 2014, Iron Dome succeeded in shooting down rockets but had yet been incapable of downing mortar rounds. In 2014, a mortar round fired from a Gaza school killed a four-year-old Israeli boy named Daniel Tragerman, who lived in a kibbutz near the border. Modifications and software upgrades to Iron Dome have enabled the system to now have the ability to intercept incoming mortar rounds. This is an unprecedented development in warfare.
Third, during the Obama years, Israel received equivocal support at best, when it carried out anti-terror operations against Islamist terrorist groups. Europe, taking cue from Obama, was downright hostile. But in the latest round, Israel received unequivocal political support from both the United States and the European Union, while Hamas was roundly condemned. This positive development signals a seismic shift in favor of Israel and may have been a contributing factor in Hamas’s decision to call it quits. Hamas recognizes that in any confrontation with Israel, it will lose both militarily and politically, whereas in the past, it at least had a chance of scoring political points.
Fourth, the malevolent role of the Iranian regime in stoking the recent round of violence cannot be overlooked. Iran has its fingerprints all over this one. Hamas and Islamic Jihad leaders have readily and publicly acknowledged that they receive aid in the form of cash, training and weapons from Iran. For years, the Iranians have been cultivating proxies to do their bidding and these Palestinian groups are willing participants. Iran has recently been on the receiving end of some sharp blows from Israel, and the mullahs were looking for a way to strike back but without engaging Israel in direct confrontation. Gaza appeared to be Iran’s venue of choice. Nevertheless, despite Hamas’s dependence on Iran, the group still exercises some independent thought, and they wisely cried uncle for they recognized that this was a battle they had no hope of winning.