Murphy, publications?



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  • Murphy, publications?

    Besides this forum, (which is one of the best I've ever participated on),
    Am curious if you are a published writer? Do you write articles for any gun magazines?
    Where can one go to read some of your information and articles?
    Is the Iron Frog academy a stronghold for information as well as training?


  • #2
    Ak Steve

    I don't know if Murphy is published or not, but I am. Outsourcing HR functions isn't much of a topic for this forum though.


    • #3

      Ak Steve,
      Thanks for the reply, not sure why Murphy chose to pass on this question.
      Expect may be matter of time constraints.



      • #4
        I need a publisher...


        I didn't ignore your post, welll not completely, I was busy. I usually take those questions as sarcasm and don't respond. But I'll not consider this as such and shall answer you questions.

        I have been a technial writer. Not the same I know, and I have contributed to several writings of a technical nature but no, not as yet ever had anything published about guns or shooting.

        A lot of what I post here is excerpted from my writings. I am putting together a book of handload data for hunting rifles, similar, if I can be so bold as to suggest, to the works of Ken Waters' Pet Loads.

        And another more adventurous account of my exploits afield and a far.
        Notes from a few simple places as Bolivia, Botswana, Congo, Columbia.....Iran, South Africa, and of course the good ole US of A.

        The Iron Frog Academy is a place where old retired frogs go and as soon as I retire, I'll be there. It is a shooting school...presently on hold for another adventure or two.

        Thanks for your interest.
        Is there nothing so sacred on this earth that you aren't willing to kill or die for?


        • #5
          Ordering my copy early.


          Thanks again for another sincere and honest answer. My questions were, indeed, are genuine. Were I a publisher, I'd be most interested in talking you about your book. I will look forward to the time when your book is published, I'm sure it will furnish many hours of interesting reading and serve as a technical reference for many, with a passion for the rifle.
          Put my name on your list for a signed copy!

          Until then, I will remain tuned in to this site, and continue to enjoy your comments and advice, as I'm sure many others do.

          Best regards,


          • #6
            Murphy's credentials

            I've had the pleasure of meeting Murphy, and I can say that in addition to his extensive knowledge of firearms and excellent management of this forum he is also a good person as well.


            • #7
              Murphy! I just cleaned off my bookshelf (top row). It is now reserved for your writings. Ain't kiddin neither!


              • #8
                Top Shelf...Wow!


                Thanks for the high praise!

                Something to whittle on.

                We push our way up the mountain in a cold rain, deeper into the black forest of the Colorado Rockies. Sitting atop a rented mountain pony, a chestnut gelding that goes by the name of Whiskey, I sway with his gait and watch for elk as we climb higher into the mountains.

                Soon, heavy flakes of wet snow mix with the rain. I lean into the saddle and pull up the collar of my old canvas hunting coat to check the flow of cold rain down the back of my neck. We work our way to a high basin camp some 8,000 feet above sea level and hopefully high enough to get out of this rain and into more snow. I wouldn’t dare hope for clear skies. My outfitter on this trip, an old cowboy by the name of Wade Townsend, leads my hunting partner and I and two pack mules up the wet side of a mountain. Wade, who goes by the name of Gus, because that’s just what folks call him, and the mules, Brawny and Clyde and my mount, Whiskey, are the veterans of this mountain. My partner Mike Denton and his ride, trailed out from Garden City, Kansas the evening before for their first elk hunt. We all work our way along what looks as though it was a trail some years ago, looking like boxcars of a train on a winding track. Gus is in the lead with the pack mules tied along a rope from his horse to Brawny and then Clyde. I follow on Whiskey and Mike brings up the rear on his well-trained cattle horse.

                Whiskey is a fine horse. His sure feet find their way up rocky slopes or muddy trails with out a hitch or a slip. As we move to higher elevation, the rains stop and more snow floats down upon us. This is better than rain, and I’m sure Whiskey agrees with me.

                We ride in silence with only the occasional click of horse’s hooves on the rocks along the trail. As we near the top of a long ridge, I watch the light snow swirl in the breeze that finds its way over the mountain. We follow a rock strewn ledge that is just below the top of the ridge and work our way easterly, around the rim of a canyon, to our final destination.

                Near the east end of the ridge, the wind hits us for the first time, I shiver and pull my coat closed. I notice that what was soaked in the morning rain is now frozen stiff. My old canvas coat crackles as I close the front around my throat.

                I can feel my horse tense under me and sense the slightest hesitation in his walk. His ears twitch quickly and shake off the snow that has accumulated there. His head moves from side to side as though looking for something. Whiskey flares his nostrils and snorts. Gus reins up and glances back at me. Whiskey stops but I urge him forward past the mules and up beside Gus. We are just below the ridge where the trail, if you could call it that, starts down along the timber to the northeast. Whiskey is nervous, Gus’ mount is calm, sleeping, actually. Gus looks at me from under the brim of the same hat he has worn for the past twenty years. “The horses are smellin’ a cat”, Gus said, “I saw a big tom on this ridge ‘bout two weeks ago, maybe we’ll get a shot at ‘em”. Gus leaned left then right in the saddle and spit through his handle bar mustache. He said, “Ol’ Whiskey is a good horse, he’s just a little skittish around a dadgum cougar”. “Yeah”, I replied trying to sound as though that was no big deal. “Stay on ‘em. If your boots hit the ground, he’ll be gone, you can’t hold him”, Gus instructed. “If you want to shoot, just pull his head around, away from the muzzle and hold him tight, he’ll do alright” he added. Got it, horse in the left hand, pistol in the right, I’ll try to keep that straight. I picture in my mind a 19th century cowboy, holding an excited horse with one hand and a Colt in the other, gun blazing away at a wretched beast along the trail. Then back to reality, as my mind goes to my old Ruger on my right hip. I touch the grips through my coat just for the reassurance a good side arm can bring at a time like this. There was a short pause and Gus looked at me as if I had just insulted his mother. “You did bring a trail gun, didn’t ya?” He asked. “Gus,” I snapped, “I didn’t come all the way out here just to be insulted.” Gus squirmed in the saddle, shaking his head and staring past his horse’s ears down into the canyon ahead of us. “I never know about you flat-landers.” He remarked. Just so not to be classified with anyone else, I responded. “Sure, I've got a trail gun, Gus, and to answer your next question, I can use it, too.” Gus twisted around in the saddle, squinted one eye and looked straight at me with the other, “Well, I can too.” He quipped. “Well, I’m glad to hear that, Gus, maybe you’ll do to ride this ridge with after all. I’m startin’ to think I’m glad I brung you along”, I chided. “Let’s get off this ridgeline,” he said, and spurred his old horse awake. He reached back and jerked the rope that tied the pack mules to his horse and off we went again single file, around the canyon.

                The old Ruger was a standard Blackhawk in 45-colt caliber with an easy pack-able 4 5/8ths-inch barrel. It had accompanied me on many such outings and had never failed in any way. I’m sure it can handle a flea bitten mountain lion, I say to myself. “Sure I’ve got a trail gun, Gus. Do ya think I’d come all this way without one?” I mumbled to my horse as we settled into an easy walk.
                Last edited by Murphy; 10-16-2006, 07:32.
                Is there nothing so sacred on this earth that you aren't willing to kill or die for?


                • #9

                  ...a real pleasure have the gift of a writer. Now finish that story and publish it.


                  • #10

                    Vivid as heck! Gotta love it!

                    I read that three times and it got more vivid each time.

                    Git er done Murphy!


                    • #11
                      Ok, working you Shooting Guys over with what I'm finding from past forums,
                      but this one has got to bear the question,.....

                      Did this Publishing thing ever happen?
                      The top of my desk is waiting for something by this Gentleman, Geez Incredible

                      Have Fun, reading 'bout Shootin'
                      Ten Hours in that little raft off the AK peninsula, blowin' NW 60, in November.... "the Power of Life and Death is in the Tongue," and Yes, God is Good !


                      • #12
                        Very good indeed - u have a gift Murphy that many truly enjoy!
                        When asked what state I live in I say "The State of Confusion", better known as IL....


                        • #13
                          Professor Murphy, I too have been waiting patiently. Good things do take time though.

                          Maybe one of our more computer literate members can compile Murphy's works from this forum and send it to those amoung us yearning in the form of PM's or such so that we may print it, to hold us over so to speak. That would be well appreciated.


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