Excellent topic! I've been wanting to try not only plastic welding for various projects but long-term, moisture-proof storage is beginning to become a concern for me at this point.
These are on my xmas list. HF to the rescue again:
[Only registered and activated users can see links. ]
Sorry to not do the intro yet but I wanted to drop this link on y'all in case any of you were in the 'financially challenged' category with me.
Real neat idea. However, I would mostly be storing ammo and the such. And I do like to occassionally check my ammo to see how much I have, what kinda shape it is in and the such. Not sure this is the best method for me or not. But I may use it, have to wait and see.
__________________
Infantryman
Two Combat Tours
Criminal Justice Major.
15 years of shooting under the belt
Collection of both modern and antique handguns and rifles STILL A YOUNG MAN WITH LOTS OF TIME
If you use Sched 40 you don't have to seal it in permanently. You can install on one end of the container a "screw cap" or a "screw-plug." This way you can open it anytime you want. These fittings are a bit expensive on the large sizes, but you can make your containers more than just a one shot thing (no pun intended). Do some research on plumbing size supply sites and post the links please.
And as for the welding--you have to purchase the welding rod to match the material that you are using. It's usually sold by the pound. Do a search for plastic welding rod. I didn't know that harbor freight had them--my tool is a bit more pricey.
Also... you can, once end-caps are installed on a PVC container weld a bead around the seam as extra insurance. However you have to let the glue dry for a couple days at least.
Hey let's see some photos of your completed projects!!!
long-term, moisture-proof storage is beginning to become a concern for me at this point.
If you were to store firearms--I'd oil them up thouroughly and slide one of those no-rust plastic socks over them. Also before you seal the container, you should aim a hair dryer into the container for a while to drive out all the moisture. Then at the last moment, toss in your desicant, and seal the puppy up. Temp changes will cause moisture to condense within the container. This will effect metal objects greatly, but other things will be just fine.
speeking from experience, with good and bad results, PVC is great, clean and use the primer! a little RTV around the mating surfaces, just incase some uncleaned plastic debris, makes a small void, you don't catch. ammo in vac bags, Buy one for the wife, and use the hell out of it! Better than the bowling ball gift! machines parts, store in transmission fluid. What you want is about four tubes that are not to long, and less than 6 inchs wide, all your wood, and other stuff that collects moisture in one, ammo in one, steel/metal in one, the last food tabs,polylong johns(they vac down small) survival kit etc... Use a post hole digger to install, you disturb a lot less top soil. you can tie lanyards or safety wire to pull things out, with out removing tubes. Tubes can be reused, with little effort, and camoed. the bottom of the hole should have a couple of inchs of gravel to keep the tube from sitting in water. These work really well under rocks and other natural or even town stuff, (stepping stones) etc...
__________________
No Slack, Light Attack, When your hot, your hot, when your not, your dead!
large diameter PVC or CPVC is easily cut with a chainsaw
Sawsall works better!
__________________
I'd rather be a "has been" than a wannabe! To view links or images in signatures your post count must be 10 or greater. You currently have 0 posts.
2TIMOTHY2,4 No man that warreth entangleth himself with the affairsof this life; that he may please him who hath chosen him to be a soldier.
God, Guns and Guts made America free,
Lets keep all three.
I bought a couple of 91/30 mosins real cheap. They were still packed with cosmo. I didn't clean them becuase I buried them in sealed off pvc pipe just like you described. I chose them becuase the ammo was super cheap and I was able to put away a couple thosand rounds away.
__________________
Keep your tool cool and don't let your meat loaf.
If you thik it's time to bury it you may be too late.
Sundown at Coffin Rock
By Raymond K. Paden AmThe following article appeared in the April 1994 issue of the Blue Press, a monthlyagazine [Only registered and activated users can see links. ] th.com/ref/ cfnrock.shtml
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The old man walked slowly through the dry, fallen leaves of autumn, his practiced eye automatically choosing the bare and stony places in the trail for his feet. There was scarcely a sound as he passed, though his left knee was stiff with scar tissue. He grunted occasionally as the tight sinews pulled. Damn Chainsaw, he thought.
Behind him, the boy shuffled along, trying to imitate his grandfather, but unable to mimic the silent motion that the old man had learned during countless winter days upon this wooded mountain in pursuit of game. He’s fifteen years old, the old man thought. Plenty old enough to be learning…But that was another time, another America. His mind drifted, and he saw himself, a fifteen-year- old boy following in the footsteps of his own grandfather, clutching a twelve gauge in his trembling hands as they tracked a wounded whitetail.
The leg was hurting worse now, and he slowed his pace a bit. Plenty of time. It should have been my own son here with me now, the old man thought sadly. But Jason had no interest, no understanding. He cared for nothing but pound- ing on the keys of that damned computer terminal. He knew nothing about the woods, or where food came from…or free- dom. And that’s my fault, isn’t it?
The old man stopped and held up his hand, motioning for the boy to look. In the small clearing ahead, the deer stood motionless, watching them. It was a scraggly buck, underfed and sickly, but the boy’s eyes lit up with excitement. It had been many years since they had seen even a single white- tail here on the mountain. After the hunting had stopped, the population had exploded. The deer had eaten the mountain almost bare until erosion had become a serious problem in some places. That following winter, three starving does had wandered into the old man’s yard, trying to eat the bark off of his pecan trees, and he had wished the “animal rights” fanatics could have been there then. It was against the law, but old man knew a higher law, and he took an axe into the yard and killed the staving beasts. They did not have the strength to run.
The buck finally turned and loped away, and they continued down the trail to the river. When they came to the “Big Oak,” the old man turned and pushed through the heavy brush beside the trail and the boy followed, wordlessly. The old man knew that Thomas was curious about their leaving the trail, but the boy had learned to move silently (well, almost) and that meant no talking. When they came to “Coffin Rock,” the old man sat down upon it and motioned for the boy to join him.
“You see this rock, shaped like a casket?” the old man asked. “Yes sir.” The old man smiled. The boy was respectful and polite. He loved the outdoors, too. Everything a man could ask in a grandson…or a son.
“I want you to remember this place, and what I’m about to tell you. A lot of it isn’t going to make any sense to you, but it’s important and one day you’ll understand it well enough. The old man paused. Now that he was here, he didn’t really know where to start.
“Before you were born,” he began at last, “this country was different. I’ve told you about hunting, about how everybody who obeyed the law could own guns. A man could speak out, anywhere, without worrying about whether he’d get back home or not. School was different, too. A man could send his kids to a church school, or a private school, or even teach them at home. But even in the public schools, they didn’t spend all their time trying to brainwash you like they do at yours now.” The old man paused, and was silent for many minutes. The boy was still, watching a chipmunk scavenging beside a fallen tree below them.
“Things don’t ever happen all at once, boy. They just sort of sneak up on you. Sure, we knew guns were important; we just didn’t think it would ever happen in America. But we had to do something about crime, they said. It was a crisis. Everything was a crisis! It was a drug crisis, or a terror- ism crisis, or street crime, or gang crime. Even a ‘health care’ crisis was an excuse to take away a little more of our rights.” The old man turned to look at his grandson.
“They ever let you read a thing called the Constitution down there at your school?” The boy solemnly shook his head. “Well, the Fourth Amendment’s still in there. It says there won’t be any unreasonable searches and seizures. It says you’re safe in your own home.” The old man shrugged. “That had to go. It was a crisis! They could kick your door open any time, day or night, and come in with guns blazing if they thought you had drugs…or later, guns. Oh, at first it was just registration - to keep the guns out of the hands of criminals! But that didn’t work, of course, and then later when they wanted to take ‘em they knew where to look. They banned ‘assault rifles,’ and then ’sniper rifles,’ and ‘Saturday-night specials.’ Everything you saw on the TV or in the movies was against us. God knows the news people were! And the schools were teaching our kids that nobody needed guns anymore. We tried to take a stand, but we felt like the whole face of our country had changed and we were left outside.
“Me and a friend of mine, when we saw what was happening, we came and built a secret place up here on the mountain. A place where we could put our guns until we needed them. We figured some day Americans would remember what it was like to be free, and what kind of price we had to pay for that freedom. So we hid our guns instead of losing them.”
“One fellow I knew disagreed. He said we ought to use our guns now and stand up to the government. ‘Said that the colonists had fought for their freedom when the British tried to disarm them at Lexington and Concord. Well, he and a lot of others died in what your history books call the ‘Tax Revolt of 1998,’ but son, it wasn’t the revolt that caused the repeal of the Second Amendment like your history book says. The Second Amendment was already gone long before they ever repealed it. The rest of us thought we were doing the right thing by waiting. I hope to God we were right.
“You see, Thomas. It isn’t government that makes a man free. In the end, governments always do just the opposite. They gobble up freedom like hungry pigs. You have to have laws to keep the worst in men under control, but at the same time the people have to have guns, too, in order to keep the government itself under control. In our country, the people were supposed to be the final authority of the law, but that was a long time ago. Once the guns were gone, there was no reason for those who run the government to give a damn about laws and constitutional rights and such. They just did what they pleased and anyone who spoke out…well, I’m getting ahead of myself.
“It took a long time to collect up all the millions of firearms that were in private hands. The government created a whole new agency to see to it. There were rewards for turning your friends in, too. Drug dealers and murderers were set free after two or three years in prison, but pos- session of a gun would get you mandatory life behind bars with no parole.
“I don’t know how they found out about me, probably knew I’d been a hunter all those years, or maybe somebody turned me in. They picked me up on suspicion and took me down to the federal building.
“Son, those guys did everything they could think of to me. Kept me locked up in this little room for hours, no food, no water. They kept coming in, asking me where the guns were. ‘What guns?’ I said. Whenever I’d doze off, they’d come crashing in, yelling and hollering. I got to where I didn’t know which end was up. I’d say I wanted my lawyer and they’d laugh. ‘Lawyers are for criminals,’ they said. ‘You’ll get a lawyer after we get the guns.’ What’s so funny is, I know they thought they were doing the right thing. They were fighting crime!
“When I got home I found Ruth sitting in the middle of the living room floor, crying her eyes out. The house was a shambles. While I was down there, they’d come out and took our house apart. Didn’t need a search warrant, they said. National emergency! Gun crisis! Your grandma tried to call our preacher and they ripped the phone off the wall. Told her that they’d go easy on me if she just told them where I kept my guns.” The old man laughed. “She told them to go to hell.” He stared into the distance for a moment as his laughter faded.
“They wouldn’t tell her about me, where I was or anything, that whole time. She said that she’d thought I was dead. She never got over that day, and she died the next December.
“They’ve been watching me ever since, off and on. I guess there’s not much for them to do anymore, now that all the guns are gone. Plenty of time to watch one foolish old man.” He paused. Beside him, the boy stared at the stone beneath his feet.
“Anyway, I figure that, one day, America will come to her senses. Our men will need those guns and they’ll be ready. We cleaned them and sealed them up good; they’ll last for years. Maybe it won’t be in your lifetime, Thomas. Maybe one day you’ll be sitting here with your son or grandson. Tell him about me, boy. Tell him about the way I said America used to be.” The old man stood, his bad leg shaking unstead- ily beneath him.
“You see the way this stone points? You follow that line one-hundred feet down the hill and you’ll find a big round rock. It looks like it’s buried solid, but one man with a good prybar can lift it, and there’s a concrete tunnel right under there that goes back into the hill.”
The old man stood, watching as the sun eased toward the ridge, coloring the sky and the world red. Below them, the river still splashed among the stones, as it had for a million years. It’s still going, the old man thought. There’ll be someone left to carry on for me when I’m gone. It was harder to walk back. He felt old and purposeless now, and it would be easier, he knew, to give in to that aching heaviness in his left lung that had begun to trouble him more and more. Damn cigarettes, he thought. His leg hurt, and the boy silently came up beside him and supported him as they started down the last mile toward the house. How quiet he walks, the old man thought. He’s learned well.
It was almost dark when the boy walked in. His father looked up from his paper.
“Did you and your granddad have a nice walk?”
“Yes,” the boy answered, opening the refrigerator. “You can call Agent Goodwin tomorrow. Gramps finally showed me where it is.”
__________________
Constitution Or Bust
Ron Paul 2012
“Yes,” the boy answered, opening the refrigerator. “You can call Agent Goodwin tomorrow. Gramps finally showed me where it is.”[/quote]
Nothing like getting kicked in the nuts. What an ending. We all know its coming. I don't mind what will happen to me in the end. I am worried of a time when the we have to decide. Do we stand for liberty and loose all or do we quietly give up just so we can protect our families and livlihoods. The federal govternment is way to big, way to powerful, and growing by the second.
__________________
Keep your tool cool and don't let your meat loaf.
Linear Mode
