My first revolver

I bought my first revolver in the early 1970's as a camp defense weapon. The Dog Bar massacre had shown us that tent walls can be quickly breached by a man with a knife. The idea of waking up, finding your weapon and responding in an effective manner is a bit far-fetched. It is light-years ahead of calling 911 (this was before cell phones) and getting a professional response. 
California was an open-carry State in those days and I had been influence by the writings of Elmer Keith and the example of a brave driver that picked up my brother and me while hitch-hiking the western United States. My choice was a Ruger Super-Blackhawk in the impressive .44 Magnum caliber. Concealed carry of the foot-long, three-pound revolver was a low priority while effectiveness against bears, wild pigs and crazy people was much higher. I did carry the big revolver on many camping trips, including backpacking adventures in the Sierras. One time my partner's dog was rummaging through his pack for food. Another time a Pomeranian had perched on my mother's chest. No shots were fired, but it was comforting to have the capability. 
While purchasing forty-rounds of full power cartridges with the .44, I cautiously purchased another fifty rounds of far-milder .44 Special from a local hardware store. I bought a Lyman Tong-Tool, smokeless powder, primers and Speer half-jacket bullets. I also bought some neat plastic bullets to be powered by magnum primers alone for backyard practice.
Soon, my brother and I could hit a soda can fairly reliably at 25-yards. I remember clearing four of five cans and challenging my brother to beat that performance. Sure enough he fired one shot and knocked over all five beer cans. After hoisting my jaw off the ground, we realized he had shot a little low and hit the plank supporting all the target cans. Early design single actions can fire when the hammer is struck over a live cartridge. Loading only five rounds is a prudent practice with these guns.
Full power rounds resulted in a pumpkin size and color ball of fire erupting from the muzzle while the barrel jumped towards the sky. My knuckles suffered from contacting the trigger guard and the pistol now sports rubber grips. 
Decades later, I was invited to a thirty round competition with ten rounds each at 25, 15 and 10-yards. My ammo supply had been neglected so my first ten rounds were magnums to the chagrin of the closest shooters. The thunderous noise earned me the sobriquet of Canon Fire Kester.

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