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Nevada sits in an interesting legal and cultural middle ground — and this piece actually does a decent job mapping how it got there. The Comstock to Las Vegas Strip framing is a little dramatic, but the historical throughline holds up. A lot of shooters in Idaho don't think much about Nevada beyond the drive to Cabela's in Reno or a match weekend in Vegas, but the post-2017 legislative wave down there has real implications for anyone crossing that border with a carry piece. The territorial legislature moved quickly on practical matters — land claims, water rights, and the rudiments of civil law — but firearms regulation was largely left to individual mining camps and their own ad hoc governance structures. That's not unique to Nevada — most of the West developed that way. The interesting part is how that ad hoc culture baked itself so deep into the rural counties that it's still functionally running the show outside Clark County. Rural Nevada and Las Vegas might as well be different states when you're talking gun culture. The federal bump stock ban issued by the ATF under the Trump administration in 2019 — later invalidated by the Supreme Court in Garland v. Cargill (2024) on the grounds that the ATF exceeded its statutory authority — meant Nevada's state-level ban became the operative restriction within the state's borders. This is the part that matters practically. Garland v. Cargill didn't un-ban bump stocks in Nevada — it just moved the legal authority from federal to state. If you're driving through Nevada with one in the vehicle, the state ban still applies regardless of what the Supreme Court said about ATF's rulemaking authority. Worth knowing before you load up the truck. Nevada's current firearms law sits in a middle position — not as restrictive as California or Colorado, not as permissive as Arizona or Idaho. That's accurate and it's a useful shorthand. Shall-issue CCW, no assault weapons ban, but ERPO laws, ghost gun serialization requirements, and a bump stock ban on the books. If you're planning a match trip to Vegas or a hunt in Elko County, you're probably fine — but read the specifics before you assume Idaho rules apply. For those of you who've run competitions or hunted in Nevada post-2017: did you notice any practical changes at the range or in the field, or does the legislation feel mostly invisible outside Clark County? Read the full article in The Handbook → | By The Boise Gun Club Team

Kings Mountain doesn't get nearly enough attention for what it actually was — not a set-piece battle between organized armies, but a rifle fight won by men who hunted for a living and brought their personal firearms to settle a personal threat. Kings Mountain was decided by riflemen using personally owned weapons, fighting without Continental Army support, because they understood those rifles from years of daily use. That's not a small point. Ferguson had military training, a defensive position, and 1,100 men. The Overmountain Men had long rifles they'd been shooting since they could carry them and the motivation that comes from someone threatening your home. Sixty-five minutes later, Ferguson was dead and Cornwallis abandoned his invasion. The equipment mattered — Pennsylvania-style rifles reaching out past smoothbore musket range — but the real edge was proficiency built over years, not issued at muster. The Regulators tried legal channels first: petitions, lawsuits, elections. When those failed, they got disruptive. The Alamance Creek situation is genuinely worth understanding if you think about where firearms fit into civic life. The Regulators weren't radicals — they were farmers getting shaken down by corrupt officials who tried every legitimate option first. Then Tryon showed up with cannons. And here's the kicker: Robert Howe, who commanded that artillery against fellow colonists at Alamance, went on to become a Continental major general. You can see why some Piedmont settlers weren't in a rush to pick up their rifles for those same men four years later. The eastern plantation economy increasingly viewed armed Black residents, both enslaved and free, as a threat to social order, and that fear drove some of the earliest state-level firearms restrictions. This is the thread that runs straight into North Carolina's pistol purchase permit system — a Jim Crow-era mechanism that survived well into the 21st century. The article says that chapter closed in 2023, which it did when the legislature repealed the permit requirement over the governor's veto. When you understand where those laws actually came from, the repeal argument looks a lot different than the surface-level debate you'd hear at a gun store counter. For those of you who've spent time in North Carolina — either shooting there, carrying there, or dealing with their old purchase permit system — how did you experience that regulatory framework in practice, and did you know the history behind it when you were dealing with it? Read the full article in The Handbook → | By The Boise Gun Club Team

Spent some time this week going down a rabbit hole on Wisconsin firearms history — and there's more there than most people realize. The fur trade angle alone is worth the read for anyone who thinks gun culture in the Midwest is a recent development. The Ho-Chunk (Winnebago), Menominee, Ojibwe, and Potawatomi nations were active participants in this trade, not passive recipients — they evaluated, negotiated, and in some cases rejected specific firearm designs that didn't meet their needs in the field. That's a detail that gets glossed over in most history coverage. These were working hunters making practical equipment decisions — not unlike what you do at the gun counter. If a fusil shot loose groups or fouled too fast in wet conditions, they passed on it. Sound familiar. Set guns — spring-loaded firearms triggered by trip wires, used to kill deer and bear overnight — were common tools of the trade. They weren't banned until 1869, and enforcement was essentially nonexistent for decades after that. Knowing how hard it is to get people to follow basic range safety rules today, I have zero trouble believing enforcement was a joke in 1870s Wisconsin. Some things don't change. The Wisconsin Iron Brigade's casualty rate at Gettysburg exceeded 60 percent. The rifles they carried — standard .58-caliber Springfield muzzleloaders — were the same ones issued to most Union infantry, but the men who used them had become exceptionally proficient through hard experience. Equipment matters less than we like to admit. Those guys were running the same rifles as everyone else and outperforming units with identical kit because they had trigger time under pressure. Every new shooter at the club who thinks a different pistol will fix their fundamentals problem should read that sentence twice. There were no open seasons in 1927, 1929, 1931, 1933, and 1935 — a level of regulatory intervention that would be politically unthinkable today. That's five alternating closed years during the deer recovery period. People forget how genuinely wrecked the herd was by market hunting. The Wisconsin model that hunters take for granted now — Conservation Congress, managed seasons, all of it — was built specifically because the alternative was no deer at all. Question for the group: Wisconsin finally got concealed carry in 2011 — one of the last states to do it. For those of you who were carrying before that, or who remember the fight to get it passed, what actually changed on the ground once the law went into effect? Did your day-to-day carry habits shift, or was it mostly a legal formality for how you were already living? Read the full article in The Handbook → | By The Boise Gun Club Team

Been digging into Idaho's firearms history lately, and there's a lot here that most folks who grew up shooting in this state never got the full picture on. Worth a read and a conversation. Idaho's relationship with firearms isn't a policy position — it's a geological feature. That line isn't just a good opener — it's the actual answer every time someone from out of state asks why Idaho's laws look the way they do. You don't get to constitutional carry and zero magazine restrictions by accident. You get there because for about 150 years, being armed wasn't optional in this terrain. The Girandoni air rifle in particular impressed tribal leaders and served a crucial diplomatic function alongside its practical utility. Most people have heard of the Girandoni but think of it as a curiosity. Lewis and Clark were carrying it as a combination of a demonstration piece and a backup arm — 22 shots without reloading in 1805. Imagine showing up to trade negotiations with something nobody in the room has ever seen. That's not a footnote, that's strategy. At the Battle of White Bird Canyon on June 17, 1877 — fought in present-day Idaho County — Nez Perce warriors armed with a mix of Winchester Model 1873 rifles, Henry repeating rifles, and various single-shot arms defeated a force of roughly 100 soldiers and volunteers under Captain David Perry, killing 34 soldiers at a cost of zero Nez Perce deaths. Zero. That number deserves a second look. A mixed-arms force using terrain and fire discipline beat a professional military unit so badly it didn't lose a single man in return. The Army went in expecting equipment to do the work. The Nez Perce showed up with marksmanship and positioning. Anyone who's done any practical shooting competition — where gear stops mattering pretty fast and fundamentals take over — understands exactly what happened there. The lesson absorbed by the settler population wasn't abstract — it was that competent use of firearms by any determined group of people mattered more than assumed advantages. This is the part that stuck with me. White Bird Canyon wasn't just a military engagement — it was a demonstration that equipment alone doesn't win fights. That lesson has a long tail in Idaho culture, and I think it shows up in how seriously people here still take actual proficiency over just ownership. A lot of Idaho shooters I know can tell you what year permitless carry passed but have never thought much about White Bird Canyon or the Coeur d'Alene mining wars. What piece of Idaho firearms history — if any — actually influenced how you think about guns, carrying, or your rights as a shooter here? Read the full article in The Handbook → | By The Boise Gun Club Team

Long article, so let's pull the threads worth talking about. Rhode Island's firearms history is one of those topics that sounds like a dry civics lesson until you actually read it — and then it turns out to be a story about a state that was arming Continental soldiers, exporting rifles to the Ottoman Empire, and banning automatic weapons before most states had finished arguing about Prohibition. That's not a curiosity. That's a functioning colony on contested ground treating an armed populace as a baseline civic requirement, not an afterthought. That framing is exactly right. When people debate "original intent," they usually skip over how practical the whole thing was. Nobody in 1639 Rhode Island was having a philosophical debate — they were worried about not being able to defend a settlement. The mandate wasn't ideological. It was operational. Burnside's business struggled financially, and he was eventually pushed out of the company he founded. The Bristol Firearms Company reorganized and continued production, ultimately delivering approximately 55,000 Burnside Carbines to Union forces during the Civil War — making it the third most widely used carbine in the conflict. Classic story — inventor loses control of his own design, company thrives without him. The Burnside Carbine is genuinely interesting mechanically — that conical-base brass cartridge was an early step toward the centerfire cartridge system we're all running today. Next time you're loading .45 ACP on the bench, there's a longer line of development behind that case design than most people think. Providence Tool produced somewhere in the range of 100,000 Peabody rifles for export, primarily to the Ottoman Empire, France, and several South American nations. Rhode Island, in other words, was arming the world's militaries from a factory on the Providence River. And the Peabody action gets licensed to von Martini, becomes the Martini-Henry, and ends up in the hands of British soldiers at Rorke's Drift. That's a long reach for a factory in Providence. The Martini-Henry still shows up occasionally at gun shows — if you've ever handled one, that falling-block action has a satisfying solidity to it that makes sense when you know the lineage. The same colony that required every man to show up armed to public meetings in 1639 is now the state where buying a handgun requires a safety certificate, a waiting period, and a background check layered on top of the federal one. That's the sharpest line in the whole piece. The distance between those two positions, in the same geography, over four centuries — that's the actual American gun debate compressed into one state's history. The article is right that it's not an accident. Dense urban population, old manufacturing identity that's mostly gone, and a founding culture of dissent that cuts both ways depending on who's doing the dissenting. What's a historical firearm — whether it's a Burnside Carbine, a Martini-Henry, a Trapdoor Springfield, anything from that era — that you've actually handled or shot, and did it change how you think about the engineering problems those designers were trying to solve? Read the full article in The Handbook → | By The Boise Gun Club Team

Virginia's firearms history doesn't get talked about enough on ranges and at club meetings — most people think the Second Amendment story starts with the Constitutional Convention and ends with Heller. The reality is messier and more interesting than that, and it starts about 150 years earlier on the James River. ALL men that are fittinge to beare arms, shall bringe their peices to the church. — Virginia General Assembly, 1631-2 That's a mandatory carry law from nearly 400 years ago, and it wasn't philosophical — it was a direct response to a massacre that wiped out a third of the English population in Virginia. The next time someone tells you that carry laws are a modern invention, that's your answer. An act of 1639-40 specified: "All persons except negroes to be provided with arms and amunition or be fined at pleasure of the Governor and Council." This is the part of early firearms history that doesn't show up on the posters at gun shows. The same legislative tradition that built the foundation for the Second Amendment was simultaneously writing race-based disarmament into law. Under Bruen, federal courts now have to look at the full historical record — including statutes like this one — when evaluating modern regulations. That's not a comfortable thing to sit with, but it's the honest history. The Virginia Declaration of Rights... stated in Section 13 that "a well-regulated militia, composed of the body of the people, trained to arms, is the proper, natural and safe defence of a free state." Mason wrote that in June 1776, three weeks before the Declaration of Independence. Madison used it as scaffolding for the Second Amendment thirteen years later. When you're cleaning your carry gun tonight, that's the direct line from 1776 to your holster. George Mason gets less credit than he deserves for putting that language on paper first. Harper's Ferry Armory... became one of the two primary federal arsenals alongside Springfield Armory in Massachusetts. By the 1840s and 1850s, Harper's Ferry was producing... roughly ten thousand weapons per year. Then John Brown tried to seize it, Robert E. Lee and J.E.B. Stuart stopped him, Virginia's legislature panicked, and eighteen months later the Confederates grabbed the machinery anyway. That one installation — and what happened to it — connects the antebellum arms debate directly to the Civil War's logistics. The Richmond Rifle Muskets that Confederate soldiers carried were made on Harper's Ferry tooling. Virginia's legislative whiplash from 2019 to 2021 — going from relatively permissive to one of the more regulated states in the South and then back to constitutional carry — is just the latest chapter in a 400-year pattern of this state swinging hard on firearms law every time the political ground shifts. What's the oldest firearms law, historical event, or piece of gun history tied to your state that most shooters around here probably don't know about? Read the full article in The Handbook → | By The Boise Gun Club Team

Long piece, so let me pull the threads worth talking about. Minnesota's firearms history goes back way further than most people realize — not to American settlement, but to French voyageurs trading smoothbore flintlocks for beaver pelts in the 1650s. The article makes this point cleanly: The idea that guns arrived with American settlers misreads the timeline by 150 years in Minnesota's case. Worth sitting with that. By the time Fort Snelling went up in 1819, the Dakota and Ojibwe had already been living with firearms for six generations. That's not trivia — it reframes the whole narrative about guns and settlement in this region. The U.S.-Dakota War section hits hard, and this detail about Fort Ridgely sticks out: Fort Ridgely, garrisoned by a small detachment under Captain John Marsh and later Lieutenant Timothy Sheehan, was attacked twice and held — primarily because the defenders had artillery, which the Dakota could not effectively counter. That's a consistent lesson across military history that still applies at the tactical level — the side with standoff capability and prepared positions holds. The Battle of New Ulm, where townspeople fought from improvised barricades with hunting rifles, is essentially the civilian version of the same equation, just with a lot less margin. This one cuts to the bone for anyone who carries or owns in Minnesota today: Minnesota is also an outlier in one important legal sense: it has no right to keep and bear arms provision in its state constitution — one of only six states in the country without one. That absence shapes everything downstream. That's not an abstract legal curiosity. When the legislature passed the 2023 package — universal background checks, red flag law, waiting period — there was no state constitutional floor to push back against. You're entirely dependent on the Second Amendment and whatever political winds are blowing in St. Paul. Idaho's constitutional provision gives gun owners here a layer of protection that Minnesota residents simply don't have, and most of them probably don't know it's missing. The article traces how that rural/urban divide hardened after 1862: Settlers in southern and western Minnesota who had been attacked or displaced became deeply invested in personal armament in ways that urban Minnesotans never were. That split didn't go away. It just moved into legislative session every two years. You see the same fracture line in Idaho to some degree, though we're nowhere near as evenly divided. Federal Cartridge founding in Anoka in 1922 to produce affordable .22 LR for the civilian market is one of those details that connects directly to your range bag. If you've shot Federal rimfire — and you have — you've got a direct line to that decision made in a small Minnesota city a hundred years ago. For those of you who hunt or have hunted in Minnesota, or who've driven through the Minnesota River valley or the Iron Range — what's your read on how that rural firearms culture there compares to what you see in southern Idaho? Different geography, similar working-tool relationship with guns, or does it feel fundamentally different to you? Read the full article in The Handbook → | By The Boise Gun Club Team

Three-plus decades of hearing people talk about the Second Amendment like it was handed down from the clouds — this piece is a useful corrective. South Carolina's firearms history is as complicated and as bloody as any state in the union, and it doesn't flatten out into a clean narrative either direction. The same state that produced some of the fiercest Revolutionary War militia fighters also codified some of the most restrictive gun laws targeting enslaved and free Black people. That tension doesn't go away just because it's uncomfortable. The Stono Rebellion, the Negro Act of 1740, the slave patrol system enforcing gun prohibition — that's part of the same history as Kings Mountain and Cowpens. You can't carry one side of it and leave the other at the trailhead. These were riflemen and frontiersmen, not trained infantry — and they won with marksmanship and tactical initiative. Kings Mountain is worth sitting with. No Continental regulars, no professional military structure — just backcountry Scots-Irish who could shoot and understood the terrain. Patrick Ferguson was arguably the best British marksman of the war, and they killed him with the same rifles they used to hunt in the Piedmont. That's not a metaphor, that's just what happened. At 4:30 a.m. on April 12, 1861, Confederate artillery opened fire on Fort Sumter. The Civil War started with artillery in Charleston Harbor. The Parrott rifle then spent the next four years trying to knock Fort Sumter back down. South Carolina quite literally fired the first shot and absorbed years of return fire — that's a hard way to open and close a chapter. What's a piece of firearms history — local, state, or national — that you think most shooters at this club either don't know or don't think about enough? Read the full article in The Handbook → | By The Boise Gun Club Team

Indiana doesn't get mentioned much when people talk about gun culture states, but the legislative history here is more layered than most give it credit for. The combination of constitutional carry and a red flag law on the books at the same time isn't something you see everywhere — and it didn't happen by accident. "Indiana is one of the few places on earth with both a red flag law and constitutional carry on the books simultaneously. That combination isn't an accident or a contradiction. It reflects a state that has been pragmatic rather than ideological about firearms policy across two centuries." That framing is worth sitting with. Most of the debate I hear at the counter at Warbucks or wherever else tends to treat these things as mutually exclusive — you're either pro-carry or you support red flag, pick a lane. Indiana apparently didn't get that memo, and has been operating that way for years now. "Indiana's founders specifically included self-defense, not just collective militia service, as a justification for the right. That phrasing predates a lot of modern Second Amendment jurisprudence by nearly two centuries." The 1816 language is genuinely interesting from a legal history standpoint. When you hear people argue that the founders only meant militia service when they wrote arms protections, Indiana's own constitution from that same era says otherwise — in plain language. Worth knowing if that conversation ever comes up with someone at the range. "In 1831, Indiana banned concealed carry of firearms — one of the earliest such laws in the country... The law exempted travelers." So Indiana had a concealed carry ban for most of 190 years, upheld by its own Supreme Court in a one-sentence decision, and then ended up with constitutional carry. That's a long arc. The traveler exemption is a detail I'd never heard before — functionally, if you were moving through the state you were fine, but residents couldn't carry concealed. Different world. "The Charlestown Powder Plant — actually located in Clark County, Indiana, just north of Louisville — was built in 1940 specifically to produce smokeless powder for military ammunition and became one of the largest powder production facilities in the United States during the war. At peak production, it employed over 10,000 workers." Most shooters couldn't tell you where their powder came from in 1943. Clark County, Indiana, apparently. That facility is now Charlestown State Park — if you've hiked there, you've walked the old powder lines. Context changes a place. For those of you who carry in Indiana or travel through regularly — has the constitutional carry change in 2022 actually shifted anything practical for you day-to-day, or did it mostly just remove paperwork from something you were already doing? Read the full article in The Handbook → | By The Boise Gun Club Team

Three things tend to get glossed over in firearms discussions — regional context, actual history, and the difference between a right written down and one that got tested. West Virginia covers all three if you dig into it. A person has the right to keep and bear arms for the defense of self, family, home and state, and for lawful hunting and recreational use. — West Virginia Constitution, Article III, Section 22 Most state constitutional provisions read like legal boilerplate. That one lists the reasons — self, family, home, state, hunting, recreation. That's not accident, that's a population that had specific situations in mind when they wrote it down, because those situations had already happened to them. The first European settlement of consequence was Fort Henry, established at present-day Wheeling in 1774. The fort's garrison and surrounding settlers were armed almost entirely with long rifles — the so-called Pennsylvania rifle, a design refined by German immigrant gunsmiths in Lancaster County whose elongated barrel and smaller bore made it dramatically more accurate than the smoothbore muskets common elsewhere. Settlers in the western Virginia mountains adopted this rifle almost universally because they couldn't afford to miss. "Couldn't afford to miss" is doing a lot of work in that sentence. When you're hauling powder and lead over a mountain on horseback, every shot has a real cost — there's no LGS two miles down the road. That context shaped a marksmanship culture that wasn't about sport, it was about not going hungry or getting killed. Worth thinking about the next time someone treats trigger time as casual entertainment. The conflict eventually ended without a decisive resolution, leaving the... The Paint Creek-Cabin Creek section — and the whole Mine Wars arc — is the part of West Virginia firearms history most people have never heard of. An armored train with a machine gun, martial law declared three times, an 83-year-old woman arrested by military authorities without trial. That's not folklore. That's documented history from about 110 years ago, on American soil, involving American workers and American guns pointed in multiple directions at once. If you've ever had a conversation at the range about why ordinary people might feel strongly about not disarming, that history is a more grounded answer than most of the talking points you hear. For those who've spent time in West Virginia — hunting, visiting family, passing through — did the firearms culture there feel different from other parts of the country, and if so, how would you describe it? Read the full article in The Handbook → | By The Boise Gun Club Team

Spent some time going through Colorado's firearms history here — it's longer than most people realize and messier than either side of the current debate wants to admit. "The romantically lawless West was always more regulated at the local level than the legend admits." This comes up every time someone invokes "the founders" or "the frontier" to win an argument about modern carry laws. Denver had ordinances restricting concealed carry in saloons in the 1860s. That's not a talking point — that's just the historical record. Worth knowing before you cite Tombstone as a constitutional argument. "Colorado is one of only seven states that explicitly carved concealed carry out of its constitutional right to bear arms protection from the beginning." This is the part that gets glossed over in most Colorado gun debates. The 1876 framers weren't anti-gun — these were practical men writing law for a territory that had just lived through fifteen years of armed chaos. They protected open carry and deliberately left concealed carry to the legislature. Whether you like what the legislature has done with that discretion since 2013 is a separate conversation, but the authority they're exercising isn't some modern invention. "What Columbine actually did was seed a generational change in how Colorado's urban population thought about firearms regulation. The full harvest of that shift came later." That's an honest way to put it. If you were shooting in Colorado in the late '90s and early 2000s, the political climate felt very different than it does now. The 2003 shall-issue conversion felt like a win that would hold. It didn't predict what was coming from the Front Range as the population shifted. The seed-to-harvest timeline matters — policy changes that feel sudden usually have a decade or more of demographic groundwork under them. For those of us who carry or compete in Colorado, or are just watching what happens here as a preview of what comes to other mountain states — what's your read on how the eastern plains / Front Range divide actually plays out long-term? Does rural political weight hold, or does the population math eventually just run the table? Read the full article in The Handbook → | By The Boise Gun Club Team

Spent some time this week going down a rabbit hole on DC firearms history, and it's worth talking through because the legal and political threads here run directly through the rights every one of us exercises today. Understanding DC's firearms history means understanding how one city's political decisions forced the entire country to finally answer a question that had been deferred for nearly 70 years. That's not an exaggeration. Heller came out of DC specifically because DC's weird constitutional status — no governor, no state legislature, Congress as the final authority — meant federal courts had nowhere to hide. A state could've dodged or delayed. DC couldn't. The individual right question had to get answered, and it got answered because one city decided to strip its residents completely. The Washington Navy Yard... became the most productive naval ordnance facility in the country during the 19th century... produced the Dahlgren gun — the smoothbore cannon designed by Rear Admiral John A. Dahlgren that became standard armament on Union warships. Most people drive past the Navy Yard today and have no idea what came out of that facility. Dahlgren proved those bottle-shaped guns right there on the Anacostia waterfront — live fire tests on the river. That's a proving ground tradition that every manufacturer running loads over a chronograph at the bench is still doing, just at a different scale. Home rule was barely two years old when the newly empowered DC City Council passed the Firearms Control Regulations Act of 1975... By the late 1990s, legal handgun ownership in DC had effectively ceased for all practical purposes. Two years. They got the keys to self-governance and within two years passed a handgun ban. The grandfathered guns just slowly disappeared — transferred, lost, destroyed — with no legal path to replace them. That's not an accident of policy design. That's a patient waiting game, and it nearly worked. Every time someone at the gun store counter dismisses registration schemes as harmless paperwork, this is the historical example I reach for. What's your read on Heller — do you think the individual rights interpretation was clearly established all along and DC just forced the Court's hand, or did the ruling actually shift the legal landscape in a way that wouldn't have happened without that specific case? Read the full article in The Handbook → | By The Boise Gun Club Team

Gunpowder doesn't get much respect in modern shooting conversations — it's all terminal ballistics and optics now — but the stuff that made every round of the Revolutionary War, the Civil War, and westward expansion actually function came largely out of one stretch of creek in northern Delaware. That's not a small thing. Everyone understood that powder was the actual bottleneck of armed resistance. Think about that the next time you're stocking primers and powder before a match or hunting season. The colonial version of that problem wasn't inconvenience — it was existential. Muskets were available. The powder to run them was not. Lord Dunmore knew exactly what he was doing when he raided that Williamsburg magazine. The Brandywine works produced an estimated 4 million barrels of powder during the Civil War — roughly one-third of all Union gunpowder requirements. One-third of all Union gunpowder. From one mill complex on one river in one small state. That's the kind of industrial leverage that actually decides wars — not battlefield heroics alone. And Henry du Pont holding the line on Confederate sales while his own agents tried to circumvent the policy is a story that deserves more attention than it gets. Over 119 years of black powder production, the Brandywine works recorded serious explosions with mounting casualties — 288 explosions, 228 deaths. Every guy who's ever had a squib or a hangfire at the range gets a little jumpy. These workers were milling and packing bulk black powder by hand, six days a week, and they kept showing up after explosions that killed their coworkers. The 1818 blast killed 36 people. The mills ran the next morning. Different era, different calculus — but it puts some perspective on modern powder handling complaints. The antitrust breakup in 1913 forcing DuPont to spin off Hercules and Atlas is a chapter most shooters skip entirely — but those companies supplied powder for both World Wars and fed the commercial handloading market for decades afterward. The reloading bench has longer roots than most of us think. What's the oldest piece of firearms history local to your area — range, manufacturer, battle site, whatever — that most shooters around here probably don't know about? Read the full article in The Handbook → | By The Boise Gun Club Team

Georgia doesn't get enough credit for how complicated its firearms history actually is. Most people know it as a permissive state — constitutional carry, shall-issue, the home of Glock — but the road to get there ran through some of the ugliest racial disarmament laws in American history and also produced the most consequential early Second Amendment ruling anyone's ever handed down. That tension is worth understanding. The state passed some of the earliest and harshest racially targeted gun laws in the South, and then turned around and produced the first judicial ruling in American history to strike down a firearms restriction on Second Amendment grounds. That's not a contradiction — it's a demonstration of who the rights were originally meant to protect and who they weren't. The 1833 law prohibiting free Black residents from owning firearms, backed by corporal punishment, wasn't ambiguous about its purpose. Any honest conversation about Second Amendment history has to sit with that for a minute. Nunn v. State (1846) was the first time any court in American history overturned a gun law on Second Amendment grounds — predating incorporation doctrine by over a century and establishing precedent still cited in modern firearms litigation. Most shooters have heard of Heller and Bruen but have no idea this Georgia case from 1846 is part of the same legal lineage. A state supreme court applied federal constitutional protections to a state gun law before any legal doctrine existed to justify doing it — and that ruling is still being cited in briefs today. That's not a footnote, that's a foundation. Without Augusta's powder production, Confederate forces would have run critically short of ammunition within the first two years of the war. People talk about logistics at the range all the time — supply chain issues for components, primer shortages, that kind of thing. The Civil War version of that problem was existential. Colonel Rains built an engineered industrial powder works along a canal that supplied roughly a third of all Confederate gunpowder. Sherman didn't burn Atlanta because he was angry. He burned it because he understood the same thing any competitive shooter knows: no ammo, no fight. For those of you who carry or shoot in Georgia — did you know any of this history before today, and does knowing it change how you think about the current constitutional carry landscape there? Read the full article in The Handbook → | By The Boise Gun Club Team

Maine has one of the more interesting firearms histories in the country, and not for the reasons people usually argue about online. The state's relationship with guns predates the politics by about 400 years — and that context matters when you're trying to understand why constitutional carry passed there with broad support while the state still sends Democrats to the Senate. "Every citizen has a right to keep and bear arms and this right shall never be questioned." That's Maine's Article I, Section 16 — and the contrast with the Second Amendment's militia preamble is worth sitting with. No qualifications, no conditions. When you're talking to someone at the counter who thinks state constitutions are just echoes of the federal Bill of Rights, this is exactly the kind of language that proves otherwise. Unlike the Second Amendment's preamble about a 'well regulated Militia,' Maine's formulation is direct: the right shall never be questioned. This matters practically, not just philosophically. State constitutional language shapes how courts review challenges to state-level gun laws. Idaho's Article I, Section 11 operates similarly — "shall not be impaired" is not the same as "shall not be infringed," and those word choices have real consequences when legislation gets challenged. Maine Sharpshooters served in Berdan's United States Sharpshooters, one of the elite marksmanship units of the Union Army. Recruitment for Berdan's required demonstrating accuracy at distances that most soldiers of the era could not match. Berdan's qualification standards required hitting a 10-inch target at 200 yards — ten shots, offhand — just to be considered. That's a real standard. The men who made that cut came from somewhere, and a lot of them came from places like Maine where a rifle was how you filled the larder, not a hobby. The settlements that survived did so largely because residents were armed and could mount at least a defensive response. This is the part that gets lost when the firearms debate gets abstracted into policy arguments. The colonial Maine situation — nearest help is far away, threat is real, you're on your own — is not ancient history to people living on 40 acres outside of Millinocket. The practical case for being armed doesn't require any political framework. It just requires a map and a clock. Maine and Idaho ended up in similar places culturally — constitutional carry, hunting-centered firearms tradition, rural self-reliance as a baseline assumption — but got there through very different histories. What's the oldest firearms-related tradition in your family or your part of Idaho, and how much of it is still practical versus just something you carry forward because it's yours? Read the full article in The Handbook → | By The Boise Gun Club Team

Montana's legal arc on carry is one of the more interesting stories in American firearms law — not because it ended up permissive, but because of where it started. The territory's first legislature passed a law banning the carrying of concealed deadly weapons within the limits of any town in the territory. This was not a federal imposition — it was local frontier pragmatism. That framing matters. The guys who wrote that law weren't anti-gun — they were running gold camps full of drunk strangers and they were trying to keep their communities functional. The concealed carry ban wasn't ideology, it was triage. That distinction gets lost in a lot of modern debates. The battle is documented evidence that many of the warriors at Little Bighorn were better-armed than the soldiers they faced — the Winchester Model 1873 outranged and outpaced the single-shot Springfield Model 1873 Trapdoor carbines carried by Custer's troopers. That tactical mismatch contributed directly to the outcome. Most people think of Little Bighorn as a numbers story. It was partly an equipment story. A lever-action repeater against a single-shot trapdoor — that's not a fair fight at any range, and the Army brass knew the Trapdoor had problems before the battle. This comes up every time someone on a range tries to argue that rate of fire doesn't matter in a defensive situation. The right of any person to keep or bear arms in defense of his own home, person, and property... shall not be called in question, but nothing herein contained shall be held to permit the carrying of concealed weapons. The 1889 constitution language is specific and deliberate — they listed what was protected and explicitly left concealed carry outside that protection. That's not ambiguity, that's drafting. The fact that Montana then spent 130 years working back toward permitless carry despite that explicit carve-out says a lot about how the culture shifted as the frontier closed and the ranching and outdoor lifestyle became the dominant identity rather than the mining camp chaos that prompted the original restrictions. Firearms here aren't a political statement for most residents — they're a practical tool, the same way a truck or a chain saw is a practical tool. You hear this from Montana residents constantly, and it rings true if you've spent any time there. It also explains why the regulatory pendulum swung the direction it did — when your nearest gun store is 90 miles away and you run livestock on a few thousand acres, carry laws written for urban density feel like someone else's problem imposed on your address. For those of you who've traveled out to Montana to hunt or shoot — how does the practical, tool-based attitude toward firearms there compare to what you run into at your home range or local gun shop, and do you think that cultural difference actually shows up in how people handle and talk about guns? Read the full article in The Handbook → | By The Boise Gun Club Team

Alabama's firearms history doesn't get talked about the way it should. Most people know about the Second Amendment debates and the ownership numbers, but the industrial story underneath it is something else entirely. At its peak, Selma was producing approximately half of the Confederacy's cannon and two-thirds of its ammunition. That's not a footnote — that's a legitimate industrial achievement pulled off under wartime resource constraints, with Union cavalry actively hunting the supply chain. For context, these weren't small guns. The 11-inch Brooke smoothbores topped 20,000 pounds each. Moving that kind of iron out of central Alabama in 1863 and 1864 required a logistics operation that most people don't associate with the Confederacy. The 1897 Code of Alabama...included provisions regulating the carrying of concealed weapons that were part of the same legal tradition as similar statutes across the South -- laws that in practice were applied selectively and disproportionately against Black Alabamians. This is the part of gun law history that doesn't get enough honest discussion at the counter or on the range. A lot of the concealed carry permit frameworks we inherited have roots in laws that were never intended to apply equally. That context matters when people debate whether permit requirements are a reasonable burden or something else entirely — and it goes a long way toward explaining why constitutional carry arguments in the South aren't just libertarian theory. The through-line from pre-statehood Creek trade guns to the 2023 constitutional carry bill is a story about a place where firearms were never abstract -- they were tools of war production, subsistence hunting, military training, and civilian self-reliance, all layered on top of each other across two centuries. That's a decent way to frame it. The same geology that fed the Selma foundry fed every deer camp and dove field in the state for generations after. When you're talking about firearms culture in Alabama, you're not talking about a hobby — you're talking about something that's been woven into the practical economy of the place since before it was a state. For those of you who carry in Alabama or have held a permit there before constitutional carry passed — did the permit requirement ever actually change how or whether you carried day to day, or was it mostly just paperwork you did once and forgot about? Read the full article in The Handbook → | By The Boise Gun Club Team

Spent some time this week going down a rabbit hole on Arizona firearms history — turns out there's a lot more going on there than the Tombstone mythology most people carry around. What the O.K. Corral story actually illustrates is more nuanced than either gun-rights advocates or gun-control advocates typically acknowledge. UCLA law professor Adam Winkler, in his book Gunfight, notes that Tombstone's ordinance was stricter than anything currently on Arizona's books — you cannot be required to disarm upon entering a town in Arizona today. But historian Joyce Lee Malcolm and the California Rifle and Pistol Association have pushed back on the "Old West gun control" narrative, arguing that enforcement of Tombstone's ordinance was selective and politically motivated. Both sides of the modern carry debate have been dragging Tombstone into their arguments for years, and it turns out neither camp is being fully honest about it. The ordinance was real, it was enforced — and it was also a tool in a political and financial turf war. That's a messier story than either narrative wants to admit, but it's the accurate one. Arizona's first state constitution included a right to bear arms provision in Article II, Section 26: "The right of the individual citizen to bear arms in defense of himself or the State shall not be impaired, but nothing in this section shall be construed as authorizing individuals to carry concealed weapons." That's worth sitting with — the guys who wrote the Arizona constitution in 1912 explicitly carved out concealed carry for regulation from day one. The same state that went constitutional carry in 2010 started with language that drew a hard line between open and concealed. Nearly a century of shift in how Arizonans thought about that distinction is the actual story of modern carry law, and it didn't happen overnight. The practical effect was that civilian settlers in what is now southern Arizona had to be armed and competent with those arms as a basic condition of survival — not as ideology, but as fact. This is the part that gets lost when gun culture gets reduced to bumper stickers in either direction. The armed civilian in territorial Arizona wasn't making a philosophical statement — he was dealing with a real threat in a place where federal protection was unreliable at best. That context shaped a regional culture that persists today, and it came from necessity before it became identity. For those of you who've crossed into Arizona to shoot or carry — how different did it feel compared to Idaho's laws, and did you find yourself adjusting your habits at all? Read the full article in The Handbook → | By The Boise Gun Club Team

Long read, but worth it if you've ever had someone tell you the Wild West proves guns and civilization can't coexist in the same zip code. Kansas towns that enforced carry ordinances weren't anti-gun societies — they were pragmatic business communities trying to survive the chaos of the longhorn cattle trade. This is the part that gets lost every time someone drags Dodge City into a modern gun control argument. Those ordinances weren't ideology — they were economics. Dead cowboys meant angry Texas ranchers and lost contracts. The merchants who pushed for those rules were the same people selling gear to drovers all summer. Earp enforced the city's weapons ordinance — Wichita's municipal code prohibited the carrying of firearms within city limits — and built a reputation for pistol-whipping noncompliant cowboys rather than shooting them. This was deliberate. Think about that from a use-of-force standpoint. The man most associated with Western gunfighting was specifically trying not to shoot people, because shooting people was bad for the local economy. That's a more nuanced carry philosophy than you hear from most people on either side of the current debate. The Beecher's Bibles shipments... delivered crates of Sharps carbines to free-state communities, often concealed in boxes labeled as something else. The Sharps in .52 caliber was a serious piece of hardware for the 1850s — not a musket you're fumbling with a powder horn, but a fast-loading breechloader that gave a trained shooter a real advantage in a stand-up fight. Sending those to settlers wasn't symbolic. It was a calculated decision to change the outcome on the ground. The same state that checked cowboys' revolvers at the city limits in 1878 passed permitless constitutional carry in 2015. Both facts are authentically Kansas. That's the line that should end every Bleeding Kansas debate. The state has never had a simple relationship with guns — it's been complicated since before statehood, and the current permitless carry framework is just the latest chapter, not some sudden departure from history. What's the oldest piece of firearms history — local, state, or personal family history — that actually changed how you think about guns or carry? Read the full article in The Handbook → | By The Boise Gun Club Team

Long article, so let's dig in. New York's firearms history is genuinely one of the most contradictory in the country — Remington sitting in Ilion cranking out military rifles for 200 years while Albany spent those same years building the regulatory architecture that gun control advocates have been pointing to ever since. Worth understanding even if you'll never set foot in the state. No state has shaped American firearms law more directly than New York. The 1911 Sullivan Act became the template that gun control advocates pointed to for a century. That's not an overstatement. The Sullivan Act is why every other state's may-issue permit system looked the way it did — including the discretionary approval process that the Bruen decision finally knocked down in 2022. If you've ever wondered why your Idaho carry permit gets complicated the moment you try to use it traveling east, the roots go back to a Tammany Hall politician in 1911. Patriot committees of safety actively disarmed suspected Loyalists across the state, one of the earliest examples in American history of systematic government seizure of privately held firearms based on political affiliation. People think politicized gun confiscation is a modern invention. It isn't. The Revolutionary period in New York is a reminder that governments — including ones we consider the "good guys" historically — have always been willing to use firearms control as a tool of political consolidation when they felt threatened enough. Something to keep in mind the next time someone tells you that concern is paranoid. The Remington Rolling Block action was arguably the most produced single-shot military rifle design of the 19th century, and it came out of Ilion, New York. If you've spent any time hunting or shooting milsurp, you've probably handled a Rolling Block descendant without knowing it. That action was sold to armies on four continents — and the whole thing started because one guy in the Mohawk Valley thought he could forge a better barrel than he could buy. There's something satisfying about that origin story. The largest city in the country — nearly impossible to get a carry permit in for most of its modern history — sits in the same state as vast rural counties where hunting is a cultural cornerstone and gun ownership rates look more like Wyoming than Manhattan. This is the tension that makes New York's firearms politics nearly impossible to resolve from the inside. One state, two completely different relationships with firearms — and the urban population density means the rural half has been losing the legislative fight for most of the last century. Idaho doesn't have that problem, but it's worth understanding why some states end up where they do. For those of you who've traveled to shoot — competition, hunting, or just range trips — what's the most jarring experience you've had running into another state's firearms laws, and did it change how you think about what we have here? Read the full article in The Handbook → | By The Boise Gun Club Team