Celebrating the 2nd* on the 4th AAR

Yesterday Castle Argghhh! hosted its largest gathering yet - 28 family and friends including the Master and Mistress of the Castle for the 2nd annual Celebrate the 2nd on the 4th at Castle Argghhh!

There are no pictures.  SWWBO and I were just too busy running the ranges - me the firing range and her the cooking range and smoker, and no one assumed the duties of visual chronicler.

The brisket was demolished, as were many burgers and brats.  Much food was brought by visitors, and there were surprisingly few leftovers - which the Fowl of Argghhh! consumed with great relish this morning, along with the three-and-a-half leftover burgers and the half-brat.

Castle Argghhh! Cordite Amber Ale was very well received, with people willingly trooping up and down the stairs into the basement to tap the keg.  All hail Chuck Z, the brew-master of that batch!

Argghhh!aritas were consumed in near mass quantities, but everyone who was a driver self-tapered-off on consumption in a massive display of good judgment and civic duty.  Alcohol and the firing line did not mix.

Many PDW's** were brought and exercised at the range.  At my request, the Armorer's best buddy Beau (who's collection makes the Arms Room look like Romper Room) brought his M1941 Johnson rifle, which was great fun to fire, but the Armorer had the most fun firing Beau's Swedish Krag.  The Armorer had great fun pulling the trigger on both, and is pleased to note that the only shot he fired from the deck as the 150m target that missed was due to the deck swaying a bit under the near-capacity load it was carrying as all three firing points were in use.

The Armorer then lived up to his self-imposed moniker as PDWs started failing and the Armorer sat at his bench discussing politics with beer-tappers while tinkering with the innards of recalcitrant firearms.  Memo to shooters: If you *never* clean that semi-auto .22 rifle, it will jam.  A lot.  And removing so-jammed-they're-damn-near-welded-to-the-lifter rimfire rounds is a delicate process, because you can't get the needle-nose pliers, grab the base, and start yankin'!

Also ran into an issue beyond my toolage of a Springfield Armory M1A that needs the feedramps lapped to smooth a tiny burr - just big enough to interfere now and again with feeding from the right hand column.

Those of you who declined the invitation to attend - you missed watching the Armorer live a moment that will have CAPT H smirking with shameless indulgence in schadenfreude - the Armorer managed to shell himself during the end-of-evening fireworks.

Due to a lapse in good safety procedures in the darkness, the Armorer grabbed the wrong mortar tube for the last set of aerials - it was just a smidge too large - and the shells went up about 6-8 feet and blew in their sparkly, whistley, firecrackery glory.

As I observed to the crowd - I'm used to being *paid* for it when I face artillery rounds air-bursting 30 feet away.  We did discover the source of the problem, and the rest of the shells went skyward to expiate their sins and collect their virgins in the more customary fashion.

The assembled crowd, btw - was *much* amused.  CAPT H would have been insufferable.  He'll be bad enough as it is, I have no doubt. 

And all this was un-dampened by the light rain that fell most of the day, but which did serve to keep things cool, and remove any serious fire dangers.

The Master and Mistress are indebted to the Armorer's high-school and beyond buddy Prestonius, who came to visit this weekend, and without whose able help and near OCD-attention to detail the event would have been much more stressful than it was.

A good time.  And, long about January, I'll start looking forward to the 3rd Annual Celebration of Independence, secure in the knowledge that SWWBO and I can probably pull off a blogmeet.

If Preston shows up, anyway.  But until January, methinks SWWBO and I will bask in the success, and be happy we don't have to do it again any time soon!