My Son-in-Law and I went to the rifle range today. I have a new Marlin model 60 .22 I wanted to shoot on the range, and he has an H & R "PAL" single shot .22 he just bought. That particular gun is between 63 and 65 years old, so we wanted to see what it can do. We also took my Mosin-Nagant, a WWII surplus Russian army rifle designed in 1891 and build in 1943.
We had a lot of fun, and fired a lot of .22s, and about 60 7.62X52R through the Mosin. I haven't adjusted the sights on the Model 60, (Which my granddaughter proclaimed to be named "Snowflake") so I didn't know what to expect on an outdoor range. I had benched it on an indoor range and got groups about the size of a quarter.
On one of my favorite targets, aluminum cans, I was able to do the "can dance" 80% of the time at 50 yards, and about 60% of the time at 75. At 75 I can barely discern a pop can or a bulls eye, so that's not so bad, considering that I haven't adjusted the sights at all yet. I've got a scope and rings to fit, so I'll mount the scope to deal with the old guy eye issues. But I can safely say, Snowflake is alright.
The Mosin, well what can I say? We don't have shots long enough to challenge it. The vernier sights on it are calibrated to 2000 meters, although that's not for point targets. People using the iron sights hit 8" gongs at 800 yards with them. We were shooting a max of 100yards. We shot some milk jugs filled with koolade, which just disappeared when hit. We also shot at some small plastic water bottles, about 4.5" high. I shot at one and it burst in a most gratifying splatter of grape koolaid. But when we picked up our litter, we found I hadn't hit it at all--I had hit next to it, and the concussion from the bullet impact into the berm burst it, and stripped the label off. I have to admit, that shy an invasion of SS Nazis, there isn't a game animal in indiana big enough to shoot with this thing! It's still fun though, shooting a piece of history.
But I feel much better, more grounded, and I found myself wondering why. On the drive back out of the State Forest I realized why. The terrain there is variegated, hills with deep hollows, water features, no houses. It's very heavily wooded. It's what I think, deep down inside, the world is supposed to look like. I feel best in the woods. It's where I feel most competent, it's the environment I grew up in. It's soothing to me, and I don't always have some sort of guard up wondering what damned fool is going to try what where next, like I do in town. Wasn't indoors or on pavement. I could smell the damp in the air, and the snow on the ground. It was the kind of place I should be in. I am not made for the city, perhaps not even for small villages or thorpes. I seem to need, for some reason, to leave this stuff behind and just be in the woods. Even a little while is like a dose of medicine, a balm.
I guess if I could, I'd pull out of the City, and go s deep into the Upland woods as I could get. And the family would come too--they don't like town either.
We had a lot of fun, and fired a lot of .22s, and about 60 7.62X52R through the Mosin. I haven't adjusted the sights on the Model 60, (Which my granddaughter proclaimed to be named "Snowflake") so I didn't know what to expect on an outdoor range. I had benched it on an indoor range and got groups about the size of a quarter.
On one of my favorite targets, aluminum cans, I was able to do the "can dance" 80% of the time at 50 yards, and about 60% of the time at 75. At 75 I can barely discern a pop can or a bulls eye, so that's not so bad, considering that I haven't adjusted the sights at all yet. I've got a scope and rings to fit, so I'll mount the scope to deal with the old guy eye issues. But I can safely say, Snowflake is alright.
The Mosin, well what can I say? We don't have shots long enough to challenge it. The vernier sights on it are calibrated to 2000 meters, although that's not for point targets. People using the iron sights hit 8" gongs at 800 yards with them. We were shooting a max of 100yards. We shot some milk jugs filled with koolade, which just disappeared when hit. We also shot at some small plastic water bottles, about 4.5" high. I shot at one and it burst in a most gratifying splatter of grape koolaid. But when we picked up our litter, we found I hadn't hit it at all--I had hit next to it, and the concussion from the bullet impact into the berm burst it, and stripped the label off. I have to admit, that shy an invasion of SS Nazis, there isn't a game animal in indiana big enough to shoot with this thing! It's still fun though, shooting a piece of history.
But I feel much better, more grounded, and I found myself wondering why. On the drive back out of the State Forest I realized why. The terrain there is variegated, hills with deep hollows, water features, no houses. It's very heavily wooded. It's what I think, deep down inside, the world is supposed to look like. I feel best in the woods. It's where I feel most competent, it's the environment I grew up in. It's soothing to me, and I don't always have some sort of guard up wondering what damned fool is going to try what where next, like I do in town. Wasn't indoors or on pavement. I could smell the damp in the air, and the snow on the ground. It was the kind of place I should be in. I am not made for the city, perhaps not even for small villages or thorpes. I seem to need, for some reason, to leave this stuff behind and just be in the woods. Even a little while is like a dose of medicine, a balm.
I guess if I could, I'd pull out of the City, and go s deep into the Upland woods as I could get. And the family would come too--they don't like town either.
3 comments:
Interesting that you use the word "thorpes". Is it still current in the USA? In England I think it's been dead for over a century and survives only in place-names, like Cleethorpes.
Forests are great places to be, but for me the sea is where I feel at home.
I know the feeling well- not of shooting guns, as I never have, but of belonging somewhere else, amid deep trees, or ancient shores.
Left Footer, the word Thorpe is obsolete here as well, darned near archaic. But the reality of the Indiana Uplands is this--we have lots of "unincorporated" (not self governing) villages and lots of little places, without names which have less than a dozen houses, usually less than 10, that have not governance, no name and no real legal category. I don't know what else to call them than thorpe. It seems the language changed, but didn't come up with anything else to call them.
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