May 2025 – The ExhaustNotes Blog

Ruger No. 3 .45 70 Loads

By Joe Berk

We recently published a blog on my de-Bubba’d .45 70 Ruger No. 3. I wrapped that one up with the promise of a follow-up blog to tell you how the rifle shoots. This is that report. The bottom line up front? The .45 70 No. 3 is a cantankerous beast, but I found loads that it likes. What the No. 3 doesn’t like is the barrel band on the fore end. Leave it on and the rifle strings like a plumb bob. Take it off, and the No. 3’s capabilities emerge.

I shoot a fair amount of .45 70 in my Marlin Guide Gun, so I had my loads for it, some additi0nal recipes, and I even had a box of .45 70 factory ammo. Shooting factory ammo was unusual for me. Years ago, one of the guys at the range had a couple of boxes of factory ammo he wanted to unload for cheap, and I was happy to oblige Normally, the only factory stuff I shoot is .22 Long Rifle, but this ammo was cheaper than new unprimed brass, so I pounced.

Old ammo: Remington 45 70, loaded with their 405-grain jacketed soft point bullets.

If only it was still this inexpensive. Those days are long gone. That same box of ammo today sells for $58.

I had several loads I wanted to try:

- The above mentioned Remington 405-grain factory ammo.
- A load with the same 405-grain bullet the factory ammo used (I loaded with 42.0 grains and with 38.0 grains of IMR 3031 propellant).
- A load with the Hornady 300-grain jacketed hollowpoint bullet and 16.2 grains of Trail Boss.
- A load with the Hornady 300-grain jacketed hollowpoint bullet and 54.0 grains of XBR 8208 propellant (this is the accuracy load in my 26-inch barreled Ruger Circassian 45 70 No. 1).
- A load with the Hornady 350-grain jacketed softpoint bullet and 42.0 grains of IMR 3031.
- A load with the Missouri cast 405 grain bullet and 35.0 grains of IMR 4198 (this is my accuracy load in the Marlin Guide Gun).

I’ll warn you up front that not all of my accuracy testing is what I would call an apples-to-apples comparison. During the course of this testing, I found that the Ruger No. 3’s barrel band had a detrimental accuracy impact (after one or two shots, it induced extreme vertical stringing). I suppose I should do all of this testing again without the barrel band, and I probably will, but not in the near future. This testing was intended to be a quick look and point my loads in the right direction.

Reloads with Remington’s 405-grain jacketed softpoint bullet.

Also, I didn’t fire the same number of shots for each group, and I didn’t measure group size. Others might quibble with this. Measuring group size when shooting with iron sights is kind of silly. The smaller number of shots fired for some of the groups I tested will artificially reduce the extreme spreads and standard deviations. Hey, I’m writing a blog, not a doctoral dissertation.

With the above caveats out of the way, here are my results:

I thought I would share some of the targets with you, along with my comments.

This first target shows the results with the Remington 405 grain bullet and 42.0 grains of IMR 3031, and the Hornady 350-grain bullet and 42.0 grains of IMR 3031.

50-yard results with a couple of my reloads, with the barrel band on. The two groups in the upper left quadrant used the logo as a target. The first three shots formed the group in the upper red circle. The next three grouped well, but the group printed lower, showing the effects of vertical stringing from the barrel band.

On the target above, I shot at the big bullseye in the center for the first bit of shooting (all at 50 yards with iron sights), then I shifted to the logo in the upper left corner. The rifle is shooting a little bit to the right. I tapped the rear sight a little to the left in its dovetail when I got home because I may take the No. 3 with me on an upcoming pig hunt and I’m a perfectionist. That said, I think the slight bias to the right won’t make any difference to the pig.

On this issue of vertical stringing: For the first two and sometimes three shots, the rifle shoots okay. The stringing would not be a problem in the field because I’m pretty sure the pig would either be DRT (dead right there) on the first shot, or if the shot was a miss, the pig would probably initiate aggressive evasive action. In either situation, the vertical stringing is moot.

Vertical stringing with a warmer barrel is apparent when shooting my 405-grain jacketed bullet reloads. With the barrel band removed and using factory ammo, the group tightened right up.

No barrel band, 16.2 grains of Trail Boss, and the 300-grain Hornady jacketed hollow points grouped well. Windage is close to perfect. This is an easy shooting load.

A few more points:

- Once again, the above testing shows there is not perfect correlation between low extreme spreads, low standard deviations, and accuracy. The cast bullet load with IMR 4198 (which is stellar in my Marlin Guide) had the lowest extreme spread and standard deviation I’ve ever recorded (granted, it was only for three shots), but it was not accurate at all. On the other hand, the Trail Boss load showed a similarly tiny extreme spread and standard deviation, and it was very accurate.
- Once again, the above testing confirmed that each rifle is an entity unto its own. The 300-grain Hornady jacketed hollowpoint with XBR 8208 (which performed extremely well in my 26-inch Circassian No. 1) returned unacceptable accuracy in the No. 3.
- These loads were in the trapdoor Springfield and modern lever gun range (which is to say, they were relatively mild .45 70 loads). The recoil was still attention-getting, but even with the Ruger No. 3’s metal buttplate, the recoil was tolerable.
- The rear sight that came with the No. 3 does not offer sufficient elevation adjustment for hotter loads. These all shot several inches lower than the lighter loads at 50 yards. I had the rear sight elevated as high as it would go just to get the rifle to print in the black bullseye with the factory ammo and the Trail Boss loads; with the warmer loads, I couldn’t raise the rear sight leaf any higher. I have a higher rear sight that came off my .458 Win Mag Ruger No. 1, and that sight will replace the one that is currently on the No. 3.

As mentioned above, I did most of my shooting for this series at 50 yards, as I regard the open sights and the No. 3 .45 70 as a 50-yard rifle. That notwithstanding, I tried my luck at 100 yards with a couple of loads. The first was the 405-grain Remington jacketed softpoint with 42.0 grains of IMR 3031. My results with my reloads were embarrassing; I only put one shot on paper. When I tried the Remington factory ammo with the same bullet, though, I was very pleasantly surprised. I put eight shots (the last of my factory ammo) into a 3 1/2-inch circle.

100-yards with Remington .45 70 factory ammo and the Ruger No. 3. That one low shot was the single shot that found its way to the paper with my reloaded ammo. It was a humbling experience.

I like my .45 70 Ruger No. 3. It’s a kicker and it’s accurate.

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India 2025: Karni Mata Temple (the Rat Temple)

By Mike Huber

India Part IX

After ensuring we didn’t have any tails on us from our highway escapades, it was a short turnaround at the hotel before a visit to a temple in Deshnoke. I had heard much about this temple over the years and really wasn’t sure what to expect. What was urban legend and what was actually the truth surrounding this strange place? This temple was named the Karni Mata Temple, or as it is better known, the Rat Temple.

Well, it turns out this temple is everything I imagined it would be, but actually experiencing it was something for which none of us were prepared. Karni Mata is a Hindu Temple that believes rats are the reincarnated souls of a local story teller family that died during a famine. The rats are everywhere. There are just thousands all over and they are fed quite well. There are even several troughs for them to eat out from, and donations of grains and milk are frequently left to appease these local deities.

To add to the cringe factor, you must remove your shoes to enter the temple. As we removed our shoes and began our walk down the long hallways, out of the corner of my eye I would see things scurrying from left to right, and then right to left, and then just everywhere. After entering the temple, there are several long hallways with raised troughs that the rats climb up to eat grains and seeds. Every corner we cautiously walked around we would just see more and more rats. Surreal doesn’t begin to describe the place. The rats are so well fed, however, that when walking around the other parts of the city there wasn’t a rat to be seen. It seems they all stay in the temple. With such an abundance of food, why not? This didn’t help us get to sleep any easier, though, as our hotel was across the street from the temple.

We weren’t getting nearly as much sleep as we wanted (due to the temple’s close proximity) and we were anxious to get out of town and put as many kilometers between us and the rats as possible. Nonetheless, the temple was an experience to be had that few people get the opportunity to embrace.

Our next stop would be Amritsar, including a special trip to the Pakistan/India Border Closing Ceremony and the famous Golden Palace. This would prove to be one of our more adventurous days in India, in more ways than one.

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Undoing Bubba

By Joe Berk

Back in the mid 1970s, I was in the Army at Fort Bliss, Texas, and I was both a pistolero and a rifle shooter. It was a great time and a great place to be a shooter and a gun collector. One of the reasons for that was that Ruger had all their guns manufactured in 1976 stamped with “Made in the 200^th Year of American Liberty.” I especially loved Ruger’s single-shot rifles. Ruger had the uber-slick and elegant No. 1, and they also offered an econo-version of it called the No. 3. I guess they skipped No. 2 because they didn’t want anybody calling their guns turds. Trust me on this: They were anything but.

In those days, the No. 3 carried an MSRP of $165, but you could buy them all day long for $139. The No. 3 was offered in three chamberings: .22 Hornet, .30-40 Krag, and 45-70 Government. I bought all three, and then I sold them when I left the service. That decision to sell my No. 3 Rugers bothered me for years. About 15 years ago I acted to correct my No. 3-less status.

The .45 70 cartridge. It’s one of my favorites to shoot, and it’s one of my favorites to reload. My usual load is 35 grains of IMR 4198 propellant with the Missouri Bullets 405-grain cast bullet.

Like all things, Ruger No. 3 rifles had gone up in value substantially. Used ones were going for around $650 (today, they are going for anywhere between $1000 and $1500). I picked up a .22 Hornet, a .30 40 Krag (I paid a lot for it; they were relatively hard to find), and a .45 70. All were 200th Year Rugers.

The .45 70 No. 3 I bought had been Bubba’d, and the Bubba-ing was done by a clumsy and nearsighted Bubba. The stock and fore end had scratches all over, the black anodizing on the butt plate and the fore end clamp was worn and scratched, the bluing was well worn, and good buddy Bubba ham-fistedly added sling swivel mounts that weren’t quite centered. But, it was a 200^th year rifle and it shot well. I know that some folks get off on honestly-acquired patina, and sometimes I’m one of them. But this wasn’t one of those times. I wanted the rifle to make up for me selling my .45-70 No. 3 back in the ’70s. When I was young. And stupid. I liked the used .45 70 No. 3 I bought, but its cosmetic condition kept me up at night.

A view of the No. 3 from the starboard side.

The Ruger No. 3 had been out of production for nearly 30 years when I called Ruger 15 years ago to see if they would reblue it. The guy I spoke to had to check, so I waited on the phone. He was back in minute, the answer was yes, and the price was right: $130. While I had the guy on the phone I described the other cosmetic defects, and asked if they had any higher quality wood laying around. That answer was no. I figured that would be okay; I could refinish the stock and fore end myself.

So I sent the rifle to Ruger and it was back in about 10 days. That was fast. When I took the rifle out of the box, I was blown away at how nice the bluing turned out. All the lines and letters were crisp, nothing was blurred, and the bluing was way nicer than the No. 3 rifles had originally been finished. My No. 3 Ruger’s bluing is like the high-polish bluing that Ruger used to provide on the Super Blackhawk. It’s really nice.

The No. 3 actipn. These are great rifles.

A .45 70 cartridge in the trough. You load these one at a time. When the lever below is pulled up, as block behind the cartridge rises and the rifle is ready to fire.

The re-anodized metal buttplate. In later production, Ruger started using plastic buttplates. The metal ones are cooler.

As I stared at the rifle, there was something else about it that was different. It took me a few seconds before I realized that contrary to what they said on the phone, they had indeed replaced all the lumber (as well as the black anodized buttplate and fore end clamp). My 1976 No. 3 had become a new rifle. I looked at the invoice, and Ruger hadn’t charged anything for the new wood and metal bits. Somebody back there is an enthusiast, I realized. They did have a stock set laying around, and he (or she; I have no idea) didn’t think it was right for a freshly (and nicely) reblued No. 3 to leave the factory with lumber by Bubba.

The “Made in the 200th Anniversary of American Liberty” inscription. Note the new fore end and the re-anodized fore end clamp.

Back in ’76, there were no warnings on the barrel. I like the simpler labeling you see here much better. It’s classier.

The pictures you see here are what came back from Ruger, all for $130 plus shipping. It was a hell of a deal.

A big hole. The .22 Hornet, .30-40 Krag, and .45 70 No. 3 rifles all have the same external dimensions. The bigger bore of the .45 70 makes it the lightest of the three chamberings.

The Ruger No. 3. It is a classy logo. I almost never see another one of these rifles on the range these days.

Okay, that’s enough for now. You’re probably wondering how the rifle shoots. So am I. I’m going to get out to the range soon, and you’ll read about it right here. Stay tuned.

Do you like No. 1 and No. 3 Rugers? Me, too. Read our other No. 3 stories here.

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India 2025: Bhang, Construction, and Unwelcome Highways

By Mike Huber

India Part VIII

Awakening the following morning (still with some uneasiness from our close encounter the previous day), it took more than one coffee to jar us back into the present and rid yesterday’s cobwebs. We had a full day planned and although weren’t rushed, we wanted to get moving to ensure we could fit everything in.

Our first stop was a beautiful fort in Jaisalmer. This was an incredible structure from every angle. Forts in Rajasthan all dominate each city’s backdrop. While this was an incredible location and area, I couldn’t help but notice when we parked one of the guys slyly snuck off and went into a small store. The sign said “Govt. Authorized Bhang Shop.” He returned with what looked like a pile of cookies so I assumed it was just some Indian bakery and didn’t give it any more thought. We took a few photos and then it wasn’t too much longer until we were on our way further north.

As we continued north we encountered a nasty patch of construction. The construction dragged on for over an hour. There was nothing but breathing in dust, and loose gravel challenging our ability to remain upright. Upon nearing the end we stopped for a quick bottle of water, and we were relieved to see the highway ramp that would take us about 50 kilometers to our destination to wrap up the day. The entertainment at this stop was a guy who was beyond hammered. He could barely stand, much less form any sort of sentence (in English or Hindi). We did our best to ignore him prior to saddling up and making our way toward the highway.

As we approached the entry gate to the highway the person controlling the gate wasn’t going to let us on and I knew right away this was one of those highways where motos were not allowed. Instantly, the thought of having to return for another hour of riding through construction popped into my head, and I could see the same wash over my friends’ faces as well. Just as we were about to concede, who comes stumbling up but the drunk from the rest stop, more animated than ever. He nudged the toll worker aside and raised the gate himself for us to pass under. Just like that, we were on our way.

We were each pretty happy to not be revisiting that construction mess and the highway conditions were pristine. There was minimal traffic with new pavement. Life was good, obviously too good, and I knew that somewhere between our current location and the 50 kilometers we had remaining that we would be paying for this one way or another. I noticed the other vehicles looking intently at us and of course there were no other motos on the highway.

The 50 kilometers went by fast and as we took our exit we saw another gate which was closed and a couple people coming out to “greet” us. They spoke no English but it was clear they wanted us to turn around. Turning around made no sense to any of us. It was like doing the same violation, but twice. After we took turns with our failed attempts to get them to raise the gate (and with turning around a hard no for a solution) we spotted a sidewalk with no gate. This would be our new exit. We quickly took the initiative to exit the highway using the sidewalk. The workers were chasing us with pens and paper in a failed attempt to write our license tag numbers down. What we did sounds a bit dodgy, but I solely blame it on the drunk guy who originally raised the gate. Either way, we made great time, had a story, and to the best of my knowledge, none of us got in any trouble for it. We needed that extra time, too, as it was late in the day and we still had one more Temple to visit: The Rat Temple.

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El Puerco Times Two: Part 2

By Joe Berk

An upfront warning: If you’re squeamish, you should skip this blog.

It rained hard after Tom, John, and I returned from our first day’s hunt, but that was okay. The Dunton Ranch has nice accommodations. Heat, hot water, cooking gear, refrigerator, shower, comfortable bunks, and more. Just bring food and ammo. It’s a gentlemanly way to hunt, and if nothing else, John and I are gentlemen. No more pitching tents and sleeping on the ground for us.

Subaru Outbacks, parked in front of our Dunton Ranch cabin. John and I are both Subie fans.

When Tom picked us up the next morning, he told me my hog weighed 219 pounds, and that he recovered the bullet. It had come to rest just inside the hog’s hide on the opposite side of where I shot it. I was very interested in seeing that bullet. Tom had prepped the hog and two sides of pork were hanging in the Ranch’s freezer. Tom told us he had stood outside in the rain the previous night skinning and dressing it. My pig weighed 219 pounds.

Tom showed me the bullet. My hog was a clean kill, but the bullet had failed. Its lead core separated from the cupper cup. Not that it made any difference to the pig.

My bullet, post impact. The copper jacket should the bullet had mushroomed nicely (which is what you want), but when I turned it over, I was disappointed (see below).

My bullet’s copper jacket. The jacket peeled back nicely. The lead core was gone. It should have still been in the jacket. John’s bullet would behave the way it was supposed to, but mine had not.

Tom told me the bullet had cleanly impacted the hog’s spine and taken out a fist-sized chunk of it. The hog was dead before it hit the ground, but the bullet had separated. It bothered me enough that I called Hornady when I returned home, and I’ll tell you about that later in this blog.

Tom, our guide, and Baja John checking the zero on John’s .25 06 Browning. The zero was exactly where it needed to be. We were good to go.

John’s rifle is a beautiful curly maple Browning A-Bolt chambered in .25 06. That’s a cartridge I had never owned, but not because I didn’t like it. Everything I’ve ever read about the .25 06 has been positive. Flat shooting, accurate, easy to find ammo and brass for…it has all the right things going for it and it rings all the bells. And I love A-Bolt Brownings. John’s rifle is all stainless steel, it has an octagonal barrel, and it wears a Nikon 3×9 telescopic sight finished in silver to match the rest of the rifle. It’s a beautiful firearm.

When John first bought his Browning several years ago, he visited us and we spent some time at the West End Gun Club zeroing it. John hadn’t shot the rifle too much since then, and he wanted to check the rifle’s zero before we hunted. Tom took us to a place where we could do so by firing at a pile of large boulders he knew to be a hundred yards away. John fired two shots and both hit exactly where he intended.

I took my Ruger with me again, but I already had my pig. I didn’t intend to shoot my rifle again unless we encountered a Russian boar.

Yakkety Yak! Yaks on the Dunton Ranch. Shooting a yak is not something that’s made my bucket list. Your mileage may vary.

Although we had seen several Ossabaw hogs yesterday, none were around that second morning. Tom said he had been out earlier (before retrieving us) and he hadn’t seen any pigs, either. He said the previous night’s downpour most likely had driven them away. We did see several yaks and a bison. Dunton keeps a lot of game on his ranch. Neither John nor I had any desire to shoot one of these large animals.

A Dunton Ranch bison. These are too cool to shoot, in my opinion. Your opinion may be different. I respect your right to be wrong.

After riding around in the truck and walking most of the morning, we finally spotted several hogs. Tom scoped them and put the distance at 77 yards. It was John’s turn at bat and he took but a single swing. Just as had occurred the day before, all it took was one shot and it was game over. The .25 06 did its job.

John and his Ossabaw. We both had our pigs for this trip. Our hunt was a success.

When we walked up to the pig, we grabbed a few more photos, including the one of John and I posing behind his pig. It’s the photo you see at the top of this blog.

Tom asked if we’d like to go to one of the blinds and sit around waiting for a Russian to possibly stroll by while he dressed John’s pig. I asked if they would enter this part of the ranch with the Ossabaws present. “Yep, they will,” Tom said. “They’ll mate with the female Ossabaws.”

“I guess they’re not too particular,” I said. John, Tom, and I had a good laugh.

John said he’d like to go back and watch Tom dress his hog. Neither of us had seen that before. I realized I wanted to see it, too. We went back to the ranch proper, and wow, we really had our eyes opened. It’s not like you see meat at the supermarket, all neatly packaged and ready to go.

The first thing Tom showed us was my hog, all dressed out, with both sides hanging in the refrigerator. Tom pointed to where my bullet had hit the hog’s spine. The damage was staggering.

We went back outside and Tom used a Bobcat tractor to lift John’s hog out of the trailer. The hooks had a scale attached, and John’s hog came in at 225 pounds. He outdid me by 6 pounds (not that we were competing).

John and his Ossabaw. The little thing on the chain (it looks like an iPhone) is a digital scale.

Tom went to work on the pig and what followed was amazing. I had no idea dressing out a hog was so labor intensive. It took Tom a good hour and a half, maybe more, to complete the job. It probably would have taken Tom less time if John and I hadn’t asked so many questions and taken so many pictures. All the while, chickens wandered into the area and were eating bits and pieces that fell off the hog as Tom worked on it. They’re carnivores, you know. There were turkeys strutting around, too, but they kept their distance (but not their silence). It was hard not to laugh as the turkeys gobbled up a storm at each other. It reminded me of what passes for political discussion these days.

Speaking of storms, while Tom worked on John’s hog it started raining again. Hard. John and I stepped into the metal building and watched Tom work from under cover. When the rain turned to hail, Tom took a break and joined us in there.

I looked around inside the metal building and realized again that the Dunton Ranch offers all kinds of hunting. It really is an impressive operation. I felt lucky being able to experience it.

The dressing room. Not the kind of dressing room I’d been in before.

Tom finished up his chores on John’s hog and as he neared completion, he found John’s .25-caliber bullet. John used Federal factory ammo with 120-grain jacketed softpoint bullets. Unlike my Hornady bullet, the Federal bullet performed exactly as it was supposed to, mushrooming in a manner worthy of a bullet ad. It was located just under the skin on the opposite side of the hog.

The bottom side of John’s .25-caliber bullet. Note how the copper jacket had flowered out, and the lead adhered to the jacket petals.

The business end of the John’s .25 06 bullet. It mushroomed to more than twice its original diamter and remained intact. This is stellar bullet performance.

That night (which was only the second day we’d been on the Dunton Ranch), John and I decided to head into Kingman for dinner. We could have cooked in our cabin, but we were reveling in our pig-hunting success and we wanted to celebrate. Tom recommended a Mexican restaurant in town (El Palacio) and his recommendation was a home run.

My Mexican plate at El Palacio. It was great!

On Interstate 40, headed back to California, just west of Kingman. It was clear sailing all the way home.

The ride home was enjoyable. It rained hard all night Tuesday and it rained as I was leaving Wednesday morning, but as soon as I passed Kingman I could see the skies clearing. It was an easy ride back to California. I stopped at Del Taco in Barstow and had a taco (they’re the best Del Taco anywhere).

Once I was home, I unpacked, ran a patch soaked in Patch-Out (my preferred rifle solvent) through the No. 1’s barrel, and then I called Hornady. I spoke with a nice guy there and told him what happened with my .30 06 bullet. “It happens,” he said. It’s more likely to happen, he went on, if the bullet is traveling at extremely high velocities or if the game was too close (before the bullet had a chance to slow). I explained that my .30 06 load’s muzzle velocity was just below 2900 feet per second (I knew this because I had chronographed the load, I explained) and the hog was a measured 117 yards away (and I knew this because our guide had a rangefinder). The Hornady man was impressed that I knew all that, and then mentioned that if a bullet strikes bone, it is also more likely to separate. Ding ding ding! That was exactly what happened on my hog.

The Hornady engineer told me that one way to avoid cup and core separation is to use a monolithic bullet (they are made of solid copper, with no lead core). He was almost apologetic when he explained that monolithic bullets are more expensive than lead bullets because copper costs more than lead. That may be my next step at some point in the future.

We are not allowed to hunt with lead bullets in California (the folks in our legislature are afraid that we might kill an animal, leave it, and then a California condor might eat it and get lead poisoning). You know, the California Condor, the super rare endangered species (that there are almost none of) might ingest an animal carcass with the remnants of a lead bullet fragment in it and die of lead poisoning. I’m serious; that’s what our politicians here in California are worried about. I shouldn’t be too hard on them, I suppose, because we have something in common. I and the rest of the TDS loonies here in California can both make this statement: None of us ever found any Russians. For the TDS-afflicted, it is imaginary secret agents in Moscow. For me, it is a Russian boar. My Russians are real, though, and on one of these trips, I’ll get one.

Anyway, it might be time to start experimenting with monolithic bullets. Maybe it’s a good thing we have that no lead law here in LooneyLand.

To get back on topic: Our hunt was a rousing success. The Dunton Ranch showed us a great time, and John and I each got our pigs. I can’t wait to do it again.

Missed Part 1 of the El Puerco story? It’s right here.

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El Puerco Times Two: Part 1

By Joe Berk

It had been way too long since I hunted pig, and that was a character flaw I aimed to correct. Baja John immediately said “Hell, yeah” when I asked if he wanted to join me on an Arizona pig hunt, and it was game on. I’ve known John for half my life, and that means I’ve known him for a long time. We’ve done a lot of trips through Mexico and elsewhere on our motorcycles. We know how to have fun.

My Ruger No. 1 in .30 06. It’s a long time favorite. I mounted a 4X Redfield the year I bought the Ruger, and it’s never left the rifle.

Getting ready for the hunt was nearly as much fun as the hunt itself. I knew I’d be bringing my 200th Year .30 06 Ruger No. 1A with me. It’s a rifle I’ve owned and hunted with for 50 years. You’ve read about it before here on the ExhaustNotes blog. On a previous hunt, I used Hornady’s 150 grain jacketed softpoint bullet in my Model 70 Winchester and it worked well. I had not developed a load with that bullet for the Ruger, though, so I set about doing that. The secret sauce was 51.0 grains of IMR 4064, which gave an average velocity of 2869.3 feet per second (with a tiny 14.1 feet per second standard deviation) and great accuracy. The load was surprisingly fast for the Ruger’s 22-inch barrel; the No. 1 shot this load at the same velocity as my Weatherby’s 26-inch barrel.

A week before the hunt, I checked the Ruger No. 1’s zero at 100 yards. The first shot from a cold and oiled barrel was a scosh high; the next two were right on the money. The rifle was ready.

I knew I needed binoculars, which I already had, and a way to carry ammo (which I didn’t have). I found a cool belt-mounted ammo pouch on Amazon; the next day it was delivered to my home.

A cool little belt-mounted ammo pouch. It costs $8 on Amazon.

I had everything I needed; I loaded the Subie and pointed it east. We would hunt on the Dunton Ranch, about 325 miles away in Arizona. The weather was going to be a crapshoot. Everyone was predicting rain, and they were right. We would be lucky, though. It would be overcast and rain a lot, but not while we were in the field.

My six-hour ride under gray skies to Kingman was pleasant. It rained a bit, but it stopped just before I reached Kingman. Sirius XM blasted ’50s hits the entire way.

On the road to the Dunton ranch. I had a travel mug full of coffee Sue had prepared for me. I enjoyed the drive.

When I arrived at the Ranch, Tom (our guide) met me. John wouldn’t be getting in until later that evening. Tom asked if I wanted to hunt that afternoon, before Baja John arrived. You bet, I said, and we were off.

Ossabaw hogs in Arizona. They are an even-tempered pig. They are what Tom calls “meat pigs.”

Scott Dunton keeps his ranch stocked with at least three flavors of hog, including Russians and Ossabaw pigs. I had not seen a Russian boar on my last hunt, and I would not see one on this hunt, but that’s okay. It’s good to set goals in life, and one of my goals is to someday get a Russian boar. It didn’t happen on my Dunton Ranch pig hunt a decade ago, and it wouldn’t happen on this trip, but we started seeing Ossabaws almost immediately. Wikipedia tells us that the Ossabaw pigs are descendants of feral hogs on Ossabaw Island, Georgia. The Ossabaws were originally released on that island by Spanish explorers in the 16th century. Imagine that.

Tom and I set out and like I said above, we saw Ossabaws fairly quickly. I told Tom that I really wanted to get a Russian. “They’re smaller, they’re harder to find, they’re nocturnal, and they’re mean,” Tom said. “Some boys out here last week got a nice one.” He told me he could set me up in a blind, but the odds of seeing a Russian were low.

A while later, we came upon a group of Ossabaws. Tom had a rangefinder and he scoped the distance at 117 yards. “What do you think?” he asked.

My mind was racing. I started thinking about Mike Wolfe on American Pickers. He often says the time to buy something is when you see it. You don’t know if you’ll ever see it again. I thought it would be cool to have John there when I shot a pig, but I didn’t know if we would see any later. I wanted a Russian; these were Ossabaws. But they were there. I could hear Mike Wolfe: The time to shoot a pig is when you see one. “Can I shoot one of these and then take a Russian if we see one later?” I asked.

“You can do whatever you want,” Tom said.

Tom set up his tripod, which is a cool field version of a rifle rest. I had never used one before (I’d never even seen one before). I looked at the Ossabaw 117 yards away through the 4-power Redfield. The hog was standing broadside to me. Fifty years ago, I used to shoot metallic silhouette pigs that were a third that size at three times the distance (385 meters, to be precise), with no rest, shooting offhand. But that was 50 years ago. My eyesight isn’t what it used to be, my ability to shoot a rifle offhand isn’t what it used to be, and hell, I’m not what I used to be.

It was time. I rested the Ruger in the tripod rest and held on the hog’s shoulder. I watched the reticle sashay around against the hog’s dark form and started applying pressure to the Ruger’s trigger. Things felt right. I was in the zone. I didn’t hear the shot, and I didn’t feel the recoil, as is always the case for me when hunting. The hog fell over, away from me, just as a metallic silhouette javelina would do.

“That was a nice shot,” Tom said. I don’t think he said it because I was the client. He probably sees a lot of misses out here from other clients. The hog’s rear legs twitched in the air.

“Should I put another round in him?” I asked Tom.

“No, he’s gone,” Tom answered. “It would just destroy more meat.” I looked again and the hog was still.

Success: 117 yards, my Ruger No. 1, and an Ossabaw hog.

We walked up to the hog. I could see where the bullet entered (satisfyingly just about where I had aimed). I was surprised; I could not find an exit wound. When I .30 06’d a hog at the Dunton Ranch on my last visit, the bullet sailed right through. Not this time, though. More on that later.

I posed with my Ossabaw for the obligatory Bwana photo. Tom and I struggled to roll El Puerco over. We tried to lift it onto the back of the truck and could not. Tom told me he needed to get the trailer (which had a winch), and he told me he would drop me off at a blind. “You might see a Russian come by,” he said. That was enough for me. “I’ll come back out here later with John to pick you up.”

I got comfortable in the blind, which overlooked a watering hole about a hundred yards away. I scoped everything I could through my binoculars, imagining every rock and bush in my field of view might be a Russian. I felt like a Democrat looking for the imaginary Russians (I really wanted to see one, but they just weren’t there). A small group of Ossabaws showed up at the watering hole. I watched them through my binoculars. They did what pigs do, and then they started meandering around a bit. Towards me.

An Ossabaw hog just outside the blind’s window. Were they coming for payback?

Golly, I thought. The Ossabaw hogs were getting close. Then, they literally walked right up to the blind. I could feel it rock around as the pigs rubbed up against the walls. They know, I thought. I had shot Porky (or maybe it was Petunia?) and it was payback time. They had come for me.

I could hear the pigs grunting just below the blind’s window. I remembered my iPhone. I took a picture, holding the phone just outside the window. I don’t mind sharing with you that I was more than a little bit afraid. My Smith and Wesson Shield and its nine rounds of hot 9mm ammo were back in the Subie. The sportsman-like snob appeal of hunting with a single-shot rifle suddenly didn’t seem like such a good idea. I had my one round I could put in the chamber, but I wouldn’t be able to reload quickly enough if the pigs wanted to exact their revenge on me. One shot. I was the Barney Fife of pig hunters.

Nah, I thought, these are just pigs being pigs. Or were they?

If you crank up your computer’s volume all the way up and listen, you can hear their grunts.

After the pigs had their fill of terrorizing this septuagenarian New Jersey refugee, they wandered off. My heart rate returned to its normal bradycardic 50 bpm or so. I went back to glassing the surrounding vista. Nobody’s going to believe this, I thought.

An hour or so later, Tom and Baja John were back in the truck. No Russians had wandered by. I was glad John had made it okay but I was disappointed I had seen no Russians. I imagined I knew what Adam Schiff must have felt like when Robert Mueller testified before Congress. Where the hell are these Russians?

Stay tuned: El Puerco Part 2 airs tomorrow!

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ExNotes Review: Norco ’80

By Joe Berk

I moved to southern California in 1979 and settled in what we call the lnland Empire, which is the area that includes the Pomona Valley and extends east to San Bernardino. Basically, it’s everything south of the San Gabriel Mountains and east of the 57 freeway. How I ever missed the 1980 Norco bank robbery is beyond me. It was, as the cover of Norco ‘80 states, the most spectacular bank robbery in American history, and it went on to include a police pursuit up into the San Gabriels and the northern side of Mt. Baldy, which is just to the north of my home today. More than a dozen police officers were injured by the five bank robbers, a police helicopter was shot down, nearly 40 police vehicles were disabled or destroyed, and two of the robbers were killed during the pursuit. The remaining three were charged with 46 crimes including murder, murder with special circumstances, kidnapping, bank robbery, resisting arrest, and more. Found guilty, they received life without parole prison sentences.

I first heard about these events only a few days ago when good buddy Paul sent a YouTube link to me summarizing the crime. I was astounded I had not heard of it and I Googled for more info. Norco ‘80 came up in that search.

Peter Houlahan wrote Norco ‘80, and I couldn’t put it down. It’s true crime drama at its best. I read all 387 pages in three sittings. It’s that good. What made it even more compelling for me is that I am very familiar with all the locations described in the book and in the chase scenes that followed. The chase went right past the West End Gun Club, into the little village of Lytle Creek (where Gresh and I enjoyed a few cold ones last year), and on and up the dirt roads running through the San Gabriels (roads I explored on my RX3 and KLR 650 motorcycles).

At the time, police were armed with .38 revolvers. The bad guys had semi-auto handguns and assault rifles, and the effects of this imbalance resulted in the police not being able to stop these guys. This episode, posits the author, is what directly led to police departments nationwide equipping their patrol officers with military-style weaponry.

If you enjoy a good crime story (and a true one), check out Norco ‘80. You can thank me later.

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India 2025: Om Banna

By Mike Huber

India Part VII

The number of temples and shrines we visited throughout Rajasthan in India had become mind boggling. They each had their appeal and draw for one crowd or another. It seems as though there was a temple for everyone, and as soon as I began wondering just how far apart and diverse the temples were we pulled into one that finally fully resonated with all of us. It was the Temple of Om Banna.

This wasn’t just any temple. Temple Om Banna is a temple dedicated to fallen motorcycle riders and to provide a safe journey blessing for all travelers. As legend has it in 1988, a motorcyclist lost control of his Royal Enfield here and hit a tree and was instantly killed. His motorcycle ended up in a nearby ditch. The police recovered it and brought it to their station. The following day the motorcycle was missing from the police station and rediscovered back where it had originally crashed. This happened several times until the locals declared this a miracle and the Om Banna Shrine was created.

The Shrine is located right off the highway and is hard to miss with all the food carts, people, and yes, motorcyclists. It is said that travelers who do not stop at this Temple will have bad luck for the continuation of their journey. Not wanting to have any bad luck (and more importantly, to check out this cool temple) we quickly pulled in on our Royal Enfields.

There were probably a couple hundred people there as we entered the open air temple. There was incense burning and just a few meters past that we could see the Royal Enfield encased in glass with offerings surrounding it. These offerings included food, money, and small liquor bottles (makes sense right?). The entire scene was surreal. The motorcycle did seem to have a life of its own. I am not sure if it was just from the ambience surrounding it or if it was indeed a miracle we were gazing upon. Either way, the temple was something that we each connected with in our own way and in our own space.

Upon packing up to leave one of my friends decided he would go ahead of us and get some kilometers in as he was a faster rider and would find a hotel for us for that evening. The rest of us were in no rush and decided to get off the highway to just go slower and take in the countryside. We were all pretty relaxed as another busy day was winding down. It seems that anytime riding in India, as soon as you lower your guard India feels it, and will throw something at you as a reminder to respect your surroundings.

The two of us were on a long straight. My friend was leading as I was gazing outward I saw something dart under my friend’s moto. Whatever it as it was for a moment was consumed underneath the bike and seemed to have disappeared. By the time this all processed (split seconds) I realized it was a small child that was being called by her sibling on the other side of the road. The child was underneath the bike from my perspective. My mind quickly raced through about 100 different reactions and emotions. It seems I blinked and then the child reappeared on the other side of the motorcycle still running, seemingly oblivious to what had almost happened. Neither of us could fully process how the child wasn’t killed or injured in anyway. It was just that close.

We both pulled over instantly. My friend needed about 10 minutes and a call to his family back in Canada to calm down and process what had happened, or almost happened. Once having regained our composure we began the short and very quiet ride to our hotel where we met up with our friend. He instantly could tell something was up as we pulled into the hotel. When he asked what as up the only reply I could say was “Om Banna.”

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