What is it with leverguns? voodoo? witchcraft??

[fatoldfool]

Besides my Red Ryder love affair as a farm kid in the early 50's, I have liked leverguns since back in the late 60's, when I bought a Glenfield Mod 30 for my Dad's birthday. Killed my first deer with it, killed the largest deer with it, killed a bear with it. Returned it to Pop where it sat neglected in a closet till my half-brother sold it after Pop's death. BUT mostly I was a handgun lover for years. A few years ago my son got me interested in leverguns again when he gave me an old 25-36 Marlin, and since then I have swapped around till the safe holds 5 old Marlins and 3 Relica model 92's (.357 Rossi, .44-40 Taylor take-down, .45 Hartford). I regret swapping off two Marlin 94 .38-40's and my first year (new) production 1895 .45-70. What I am trying to say is that leverguns are growing in the safe while my handguns and bolts have dwindled a lot.....what causes that????

[RKrodle]

Welcome to the forum. I not sure of the cause and haven't found a cure. So, I just gave in to it and buy as many Lever guns as I can afford .

[Gun Smith]

I believe it was the brainwashing we all received as we watched westerns on tv and in the movies when we were kids. I can find no other reason for this sometimes serious malady. There is NO cure however. And over time this builds up an immunity that requires more an more leverguns to control the addiction.

[COSteve]

It's amazing how that happens to us 'more seasoned' guys. Somewhere in the back of the safe is my last remaining bolt gun, a Winny Model 70 in 30-06 that I got back in 1961 when I was 14. I haven't even taken it out of the safe except to clean and oil it in over 20 years. Now if it were a Model 88, I'd play with it regularly.

[kimwcook]

I believe it was the brainwashing we all received as we watched westerns on tv and in the movies when we were kids. I can find no other reason for this sometimes serious malady. There is NO cure however. And over time this builds up an immunity that requires more an more leverguns to control the addiction.

That's the only conclusion my therapist can come up with.

Welcome to the forum.

[Wrangler John]

Lever rifles appeal to the same spirit that enjoys steam locomotives. All that machinery working in concert, the clicks, ratcheting, eccentric motion and thunks leading to a result. Like the steam locomotive they represent a time when men were in control of things, not computers, when the individual had to learn things during a long apprenticeship, and prove himself capable. A time when strenuous labor done well was its own reward.

The lever rifle calls to the sense of historical profundity; here I am now, because of all that occurred before. This rifle in my hands, or one similar, may have been held by those generations that settled vast wild lands at the risk of their lives. They bring to mind scenes of a pastoral life, idyllic in pace yet harsh and unforgiving for the timid and unprepared. Images pour forth of harness teams and individuals eking crops up from hard scrabble dry ground while fending off wild animals and wilder still humans of a savage disposition. They remind us of a time when the rifle was equated with sustenance, when a marksman ate while others went hungry. They call to mind pictures of frontier towns, bustling with pilgrims newly arrived with high expectations of prosperity mingling with those who once shared their enthusiasm only to find it crushed under a burden of reality.

There is something heady in the figured depth of good American walnut, that luster of blued steel and iron turning to patina through use, graced by the small scars remaining from close calls in battling the vagaries of life, each a story in itself. There is the scent of gun oil, powder residue and cleaning solvent that suggests a time just beyond memory where oil lamps and flickering gaslights brought their own warming scent to the indoors. They fit well with the scents of a tack room, a well oiled saddle, and general mercantile stores piled high with Levi Strauss' new riveted trousers. In short, they are a ticket to our origins, back through that tangled weave of genetic serendipity that led us here. They are the ladder we climb from the past to our future, allowing us to pause and look down into the fading world that is our heritage, and by doing so, bring with us those virtues that have stood the test of time. They are uniquely American, and need offer no other justification.

[Blaine]

Global Warming......

Levers are to Bolts as 1911s are to Glocks.

Best way I know how to put it.

[BigSky56]

Leverguns were made to fit on a horse what more could you want other than a sixgun. danny

[wm]

I won't discount the effect that history, nostalgia, and romance might play in some folks choices but for me I pick them because of the balance between light, handy combined with a range of caliber choices that provide knock down punch at normal hitting distances.

Certainly my 30 WCF can not be compared to a 300 Win Mag at 500 yards but I don't shoot game (or targets) at that range. At 100 yards my 30 WCF will kill anything just as dead, will cause less meat damage, and my poor arthritic shoulder will stand up to 20 or 40 rounds of practice with a 30 WCF. If I shot a 300 mag that much in an afternoon I would be flinching & seeing the surgeon.

Wm

[Doc Hudson]

From one fat old fool to another, Welcome Aboard!

You might as well face it, leverguns are addictive.

This forum is somewhat like a reverse 12-Step Program. We don't try to cure you, we simply help you enjoy your addiction more.

[Doc Hudson]

Lever rifles appeal to the same spirit that enjoys steam locomotives. All that machinery working in concert, the clicks, ratcheting, eccentric motion and thunks leading to a result. Like the steam locomotive they represent a time when men were in control of things, not computers, when the individual had to learn things during a long apprenticeship, and prove himself capable. A time when strenuous labor done well was its own reward.

The lever rifle calls to the sense of historical profundity; here I am now, because of all that occurred before. This rifle in my hands, or one similar, may have been held by those generations that settled vast wild lands at the risk of their lives. They bring to mind scenes of a pastoral life, idyllic in pace yet harsh and unforgiving for the timid and unprepared. Images pour forth of harness teams and individuals eking crops up from hard scrabble dry ground while fending off wild animals and wilder still humans of a savage disposition. They remind us of a time when the rifle was equated with sustenance, when a marksman ate while others went hungry. They call to mind pictures of frontier towns, bustling with pilgrims newly arrived with high expectations of prosperity mingling with those who once shared their enthusiasm only to find it crushed under a burden of reality.

There is something heady in the figured depth of good American walnut, that luster of blued steel and iron turning to patina through use, graced by the small scars remaining from close calls in battling the vagaries of life, each a story in itself. There is the scent of gun oil, powder residue and cleaning solvent that suggests a time just beyond memory where oil lamps and flickering gaslights brought their own warming scent to the indoors. They fit well with the scents of a tack room, a well oiled saddle, and general mercantile stores piled high with Levi Strauss' new riveted trousers. In short, they are a ticket to our origins, back through that tangled weave of genetic serendipity that led us here. They are the ladder we climb from the past to our future, allowing us to pause and look down into the fading world that is our heritage, and by doing so, bring with us those virtues that have stood the test of time. They are uniquely American, and need offer no other justification.

WOW!!!!!

That is some kind of eloquent!!!

I wish I'd said something that profound.

[Ysabel Kid]

Welcome to the fire!!!

[Hobie]

Lever rifles appeal to the same spirit that enjoys steam locomotives. All that machinery working in concert, the clicks, ratcheting, eccentric motion and thunks leading to a result. Like the steam locomotive they represent a time when men were in control of things, not computers, when the individual had to learn things during a long apprenticeship, and prove himself capable. A time when strenuous labor done well was its own reward.

The lever rifle calls to the sense of historical profundity; here I am now, because of all that occurred before. This rifle in my hands, or one similar, may have been held by those generations that settled vast wild lands at the risk of their lives. They bring to mind scenes of a pastoral life, idyllic in pace yet harsh and unforgiving for the timid and unprepared. Images pour forth of harness teams and individuals eking crops up from hard scrabble dry ground while fending off wild animals and wilder still humans of a savage disposition. They remind us of a time when the rifle was equated with sustenance, when a marksman ate while others went hungry. They call to mind pictures of frontier towns, bustling with pilgrims newly arrived with high expectations of prosperity mingling with those who once shared their enthusiasm only to find it crushed under a burden of reality.

There is something heady in the figured depth of good American walnut, that luster of blued steel and iron turning to patina through use, graced by the small scars remaining from close calls in battling the vagaries of life, each a story in itself. There is the scent of gun oil, powder residue and cleaning solvent that suggests a time just beyond memory where oil lamps and flickering gaslights brought their own warming scent to the indoors. They fit well with the scents of a tack room, a well oiled saddle, and general mercantile stores piled high with Levi Strauss' new riveted trousers. In short, they are a ticket to our origins, back through that tangled weave of genetic serendipity that led us here. They are the ladder we climb from the past to our future, allowing us to pause and look down into the fading world that is our heritage, and by doing so, bring with us those virtues that have stood the test of time. They are uniquely American, and need offer no other justification.

WOW!!!!!

That is some kind of eloquent!!!

I wish I'd said something that profound.

I thought the same thing.

[Nate C.]

Well, whatever the cause, it is definitely catching and the bug is going around down this way.

[Old Savage]

Romance! I was in Lone Pine today where many of the old western movies were filmed. Film festival is next weekend. Saw a great old nickel Colt in an AM PM minimart. Old Colts are lever guns.

[Griff]

a) It's simply a refusal to admit that the world has passed us by;

b) Attempt to recreate our childhood years;

c) What Wrangler John said.

I'm hopin' it's "c"! My wife accuses me of both "a" and "b" enough as it is!

[Paladin]

WOW!!!!!

That is some kind of eloquent!!!

I wish I'd said something that profound.[/quote]


+1

Welcome

[pokey]

Lever rifles appeal to the same spirit that enjoys steam locomotives. All that machinery working in concert, the clicks, ratcheting, eccentric motion and thunks leading to a result. Like the steam locomotive they represent a time when men were in control of things, not computers, when the individual had to learn things during a long apprenticeship, and prove himself capable. A time when strenuous labor done well was its own reward.

The lever rifle calls to the sense of historical profundity; here I am now, because of all that occurred before. This rifle in my hands, or one similar, may have been held by those generations that settled vast wild lands at the risk of their lives. They bring to mind scenes of a pastoral life, idyllic in pace yet harsh and unforgiving for the timid and unprepared. Images pour forth of harness teams and individuals eking crops up from hard scrabble dry ground while fending off wild animals and wilder still humans of a savage disposition. They remind us of a time when the rifle was equated with sustenance, when a marksman ate while others went hungry. They call to mind pictures of frontier towns, bustling with pilgrims newly arrived with high expectations of prosperity mingling with those who once shared their enthusiasm only to find it crushed under a burden of reality.

There is something heady in the figured depth of good American walnut, that luster of blued steel and iron turning to patina through use, graced by the small scars remaining from close calls in battling the vagaries of life, each a story in itself. There is the scent of gun oil, powder residue and cleaning solvent that suggests a time just beyond memory where oil lamps and flickering gaslights brought their own warming scent to the indoors. They fit well with the scents of a tack room, a well oiled saddle, and general mercantile stores piled high with Levi Strauss' new riveted trousers. In short, they are a ticket to our origins, back through that tangled weave of genetic serendipity that led us here. They are the ladder we climb from the past to our future, allowing us to pause and look down into the fading world that is our heritage, and by doing so, bring with us those virtues that have stood the test of time. They are uniquely American, and need offer no other justification.

WOW!!!!!

That is some kind of eloquent!!!

I wish I'd said something that profound.

I thought the same thing.

+2 or 3

and welcome home sir

[348WCF]

I could not say it better than Wrangler John put it. It's come to the point where I look for levers at the gun shop and nothing else. The only rifles I have now that are not levers are two Mannlicher-Schoenauers and a Winchester 62A.

[AJMD429]

I never was that 'into' westerns as a kid, although I watched them and appreciated the adventure, and the spirit of hard work, honesty, and justice usually involved in the stories. Although I appreciated the role 'guns' played in the plots, what kind they were I could have cared less.

As a kid, I remember reading Mel Tappan's "Survival Guns" and making a list of 'the basics' - thinking in terms of ammunition stocking, reliability, etc., I think the 'list' went something like this:

1. Ruger 10/22 (accurate, high-cap, and fast - why worry about 'slinging empties' if it isn't a reloadable round?)

2. Ruger Mark-I (as above, plus 'pairing' made sense to reduce inventory).

3. Marlin 1894 44 Mag (reloadable powerful and shares ammo with revolver).

4. Ruger Super Blackhawk 44 Mag (as above).

The list went on, but those DID become my first four guns.

The only reason I didn't have a Ruger 77/44 BOLT gun was just because they didn't make them back then, and the Ruger semiauto .44 would have been on my list, but was THEN a tube-loader that 'only' held 4 rounds, and what serious survival-kid would want THAT?

SO, my infatuation with leverguns didn't start for the 'traditional' reasons, but rather because picking the .44 Mag as a handgun/carbine pair limited my choices (as would have the .357 Mag or .32-20 which I'd also considered). I figured that between those four guns I had the 'basics' covered, though. I'd still stand by that statement for a person who just wanted 'four guns'; maybe add a shotgun.

FYI,

5. Ruger Mini-14 .223
6. Contender pistol .223
7. Remington pump shotgun 12 gauge - for really close bad things (I never hunted birds)
8. Ruger 6mm Rem M77 Heavy-barrel
9. Marlin 1894-CB .45-70 - for things needing shot with a 100-year-old round (I was really sentimental as a kid)
10. Ruger 7mm Mag No.1 (dunno why - just seemed like a cool gun at the time - still is)

It wasn't until years later (with several deviations from 'the list') that the .45-70 Marlin would re-kindle my levergun interest.

Now, I do value their nostalga, aesthetic walnut/blue (AND laminated/stainless) appearance, and mechanical attributes, plus their 'big-ol-slow-bullets'. I still like bolt guns, semiautos, breakopens, etc., but the 'handiness' factor is hard to beat, combined with the speed of fire, and less-finiky-than-semiautos ammunition useable.

[bsaride]

Levergunitis

NO cure, once succumbed you must live with it forever.

Only bolt guns here are 22's

[Wrangler John]

My words may seem eloquent, but each of you are a living example of God's eloquence in spirit and flesh, far more worthy of praise than anything a man may author. You are far more important to the universe than any great star, or heavenly wonder. While our lives may seem ordinary, mundane and superfluous, each of us has a profound effect on the whole of creation. That is the purpose of history, to gain insight on our origins, our struggle toward perfection and grace, as a reminder of where we have been and where we are going that offers a hint of the paradise that awaits.

As for me, I am trapped in a place between centuries, and like Janus, the Roman god of gates, doorways and time, I look forward and backward all at once. Lever rifles, mustang ponies, walking with Mexican spurs without tripping, warm beer before refrigeration, sailing schooners bringing cargoes of ice to cool tropical beverages, biplanes and Duesenberg SSJ convertibles, Studebaker wagon axles, laundry plungers and washboards, the warm glow of an 1890's Edison carbon filament light bulb, all seem jumbled up with electronics, computers and things technological. Yet it is my modest collection of lever rifles that speak to me of what it is to be an American. Thank you for your kind words.