Shooting Buddy and I had a range date yesterday morning after I got off work. We started the day on the 300-yard rifle range.
Remember that Barska astronomy telescope that I bought several months ago to use as a spotting scope? Well, it sucks. Breathing near the eyepiece makes it shake violently, or so it seems at high magnification. And I couldn’t figure out how to step up the power to the next level, leaving me with only slightly higher magnification than the 36X scope on the rifle. I’ll read the manual, and will try it one more time, but I don’t have great expectations. Did I mention that the image is reversed? So even if I am able to use it, I’ll have to remember that when making adjustments. Splatter targets coupled with the 300 yard limitation will completely eliminate the need for a second optical device anyway.
Despite the issues with the telescope, the day was a success. I had a few rounds completely miss the target immediately after a shot within an inch of dead center. I had the rifle on a solid rest, so it wasn’t shaking significantly. I’m not sure what happened. After five or six rounds and getting the scope close, I started shooting at the man-sized (or slightly smaller) steel silhouettes. I never missed at 200 or 300. BOOM! … Thump! Every time. Shooting Buddy even nailed the steel at 300 on his first try.
I plan to return and work on fine tuning the scope and tightening up my pattern on a day that I don’t have to work the night before. But for now, I am happy with being able to ring steel consistently from over one sixth of a mile away. The rifle is capable of doing that at six or eight times that distance, so today was no great feat. Even so, I was pleased.
SB had stolen a Sig 220 recently ($400 for the gun and three magazines – that’s a steal in anybody’s book), so we moved to the pistol pit next door. While he demonstrated quite acceptable performance with his new toy, I knocked down the steel plates at the back of the pit repeatedly with my Glock 22LR conversion.
Just before we called it a day, SB wanted to take a hit from the recoil machine, also known as Cassie, my Ruger Alaskan in 454 Casull. He touched off five rounds, saving the last one in the cylinder for his youngest son who had accompanied him on the outing. Both of them handled it well, but neither wanted more. Wimps!
All in all, it was a very enjoyable time. Several hours later, the day went severely sideways for me, but I’ll whine about that later.