Roy Jr.
One Way to a Girl’s Heart
Dave shooting rockchucks at fairly short (around 300 yards) “long” range.
In Wyoming where the wind never stops blowing, the wind resistance
of sleek modern bullets is an asset.
No one would call Roy Jr. a boastful youth. Just starting his senior year of high school, he was uncommonly level headed, a decent student, a decent athlete, fond of his family, good with dogs, amiable and likeable.
This morning he was feeling pride, for two reasons. He was driving his 30-year old Chev pickup, and if it wasn’t the fanciest of vehicles, at least it was all his.
6.5x55 Swedish Mauser, 143-grain Hornady ELD-X; .270 Win. 145-grain
Hornady ELD-X; .270 Win.150 grain Berger VLD Hunting; 7x57 Mauser
150-grain Nosler Accubond Long Range; .280 Rem. 145-grain Barnes
LRX BT; .280 Rem. 150-grain Hornady ELD-X. These cartridges with
high BC bullets provide good wind resistance and trajectory with mild recoil.
Not a Date
The second reason was sitting in the passenger seat. Her name was Gabriella, also known as Gabby. She was the same age and in the same grade but where he was average she was outstanding, an exceptional athlete and brilliant student. Roy was baffled she had asked him for a lift to school. It couldn’t be called a date, but even so, being seen with Gabby was bound to look good on his resume.
Shortly after seven he parked the pickup at the Lewis & Clark gun range. To his dismay the Senior Member wasn’t in his usual spot. His chair and table were there, his book was there, the dog was there…. Roy stopped a passing member and asked if he knew where the man was.
“The old timer who sits here reading books and drinking coffee? He’s gone.”
“Gone? Gone where? You don’t mean….”
“Yes, he’s gone to the rifle range. He still shoots, you know.”
Greatly relieved, Roy said to Gabby, “I’m going to put this coffee in the fridge for later. You can wait here if you like.”
They drove to the rifle range, occupied at this time of day by just one white-haired old man, his old Polaris side by side parked by a shooting bench. To the Senior Member, he said, “This is Gabriela Beltran, call her Gabby.”
The Senior Member bowed courteously. “How do you do, Miss Beltran? Young Roy, your arrival is timely. How about stapling these targets to the 200-yard target frame?”
Gabby was thinking, “So it’s true. The Senior Member does have courtly manners and treats women with respect.” It was so outside her normal frame of reference that she could hardly believe it. Though, now she thought of it, Roy Jr. had always had good manners.
“Thank you, Old One,” she said as Roy trotted off with targets and staple gun.
“What gun are you shooting today? Can I see it?”
Turrets on a Leupold 6.5-20 x 50 scope (middle) marked in 1/4 moa units. One full rotation of turret gives 15 moa, or 60 clicks of 1/4 moa.
Oehler 35 and CED Millennium chronographs are a bit old
school these days but still give accurate results.
Time Out
“Of course, but later. For now, it stays in the case. We never touch a firearm when someone is downrange. But you can help me enter data in the ballistic program. I’m out of date, I suppose, but the Ballistics app works and so does my tablet.”
“The rifle we’re shooting today is a 6.5×55 SE with the 143-grain Hornady ELD-X bullet, at 2,600 feet per second muzzle velocity. I’ll give you the numbers and you enter them in the program.”
“Computers and mathematics, I love both! What is a ballistic coefficient? What are grains? What does fps mean?” Asking questions for Gabby was as natural as breathing.
“Ballistic coefficient is a measure of a bullet’s ability to retain velocity and resist wind drift. Higher is better. A grain is a unit of weight, there are 7,000 grains in a pound; ‘fps’ stands for feet per second; ‘moa’ stands for minute-of-angle, this scope has 1/4 moa clicks.”
“Ah, Roy, you’re back. When you catch your breath, I’d like you to check sighting on the 200-yard target. The wind flags show almost no wind, which is why I got here early.”
Roy had been given a first class education by his father. He knew how to shoot from the bench, how to release a trigger smoothly. No one had told him to flinch due to muzzle blast and recoil, so he didn’t. The Sage got earmuffs for all. Gabby watched through a spotting scope as Roy fired three careful shots. “Looks like two inches left and an inch low.”
The old man clicked the scope turrets. Roy fired three more shots, then another three. All six were well within the 2″ black dot. Gabby was impressed. “Wonderful, Roy, you sure can shoot!”
“Very good,” said the old man, “Now hit the hanging steel plate.”
“You can’t be serious.” Gabby was aghast. “I can hardly see the plate, it must be a mile away.”
“Half a mile, 880 yards. Some shooters wouldn’t even call it long range. Miss Beltran, you have the tablet, what does it show for 880 yards?”
“The closest it shows is 875 yards. It says from a 200-yard zero, you need to add … 101 clicks of elevation.”
“We’ll make it 102 to account for the extra five yards.” The old man spun the elevation turret, keeping careful track of the click count. “All right, young Roy, there’s hardly any wind, just a very light movement from the right. Hold center for elevation and on the right edge for the air current.”
Roy had never shot at such range but he trusted the Old Man. Gabby had no such faith. She could hardly believe it when, a second or so after the rifle report, the tiny plate so far away suddenly swung on its chain. Another interval and the “Clang!” of a solid hit floated back.
When she could speak again, Gabby asked the Sage, “Could you teach me to shoot like that?”
“Why, certainly. First you should take a hunter safety course. Those volunteers do a wonderful job of teaching firearm safety. Then we’ll start you on a .22, a .223, a 6.5 Creedmoor….”
“Excellent! Could Roy help as well?”
The Sage actually laughed out loud. “He looks a bit gobsmacked. I’d take that as a yes.”
