Benelli Lupo Rifle

The buck was amorous, but he wasn’t stupid — the big shaggy lump in the fence row certainly hadn’t been there this morning. Despite a coquettish doe playing ring-around-the-cedar tree nearby, something was clearly amiss. However, hormones win out when you’re a buck and it’s November.

The Benelli Lupo in my hands is a straight-up sports car, a long-range shooter designed from the ground up to take extended shots and make it easy. Likewise, the Steiner ePredator 8 scope and mated LRF binos were itching to stretch their legs to hundreds of yards. Yet, I was close enough I could hear the weeds crackle under his hoof.

Back To The Beginning

My friend Mark invited me to western Oklahoma to hunt whitetails on the wide open plains with the Benelli/Steiner combo. The answer was simple — of course I’d love to hunt deer someplace where I could start a whole new failure streak.

Our group of writers was based at Croton Creek Guest Ranch in the rolling grasslands of extreme western Oklahoma. After settling in the bunkhouse, we checked the zero on our rifles, ate and went to bed because wake-up was at, oh, something-dark-thirty.

In the low single-digit hours, we rolled out with the outfitter. After 45 minutes of driving and drinking black coffee, the outfitter stopped his truck abruptly on a lonesome dirt road and said, “Ok, walk 200 yards thatta way and you’ll come to a blind. I’ll pick you up around 11.”

Well. It’s so dark the stars are casting shadows, there is no cell service, I literally have no idea where I am — well, at least I could narrow it down to one of three states — and it’s time to go find a blind I’ve never seen. At least the Lupo felt reassuring in my hands.

Fortunately, the boogieman didn’t get me during the walk and the blind was right where it was supposed to be. After checking the spacious 2-man pop-up with my flashlight for any unwanted reptile surprises, I settled inside to wait for sunrise.

An hour later, light slowly oozed across the landscape like rising floodwaters as the sun began its workday. Across the huge field of winter wheat — no relation — in front of the blind was a fence line separating the field from a creek drainage, 352 yards away per the Steiner binos. The dark blobs I thought were cattle turned into deer as the sun got higher. “Oh give me a home…,” I hummed as two button bucks played in the prairie dawn. No buffalo were observed, though antelope are definitely present in the area.

I could have sniped any of the deer as the Benelli was certainly up to the task but I was figuratively having cold feet — due to my unfamiliarity with the rifle and scope after less than 40 rounds, I wasn’t comfortable taking a 400+ yard shot.

Two days later I hadn’t even snicked off the safety and was growing increasingly frustrated. I mentioned this to my outfitter — who, by the way, was literally younger than several pairs of my boots — who told me to be patient. Guides always say that, and they’re usually right.

Weather Comin’ In

On our next-to-last day, the forecast called for the arrival of a massive overnight late November cold front — temperatures dropping 50 degrees, howling north winds, possible snow flurries, the whole shebang. After such a change, I knew we’d be more likely to see deer hanging around inside the local tavern than in the field. It was now or never. That afternoon the mercury hit an unseasonable 80 degrees under Delft porcelain skies and going against collective advice, I formed my own plan.

After being dropped off, I made the long slog around the field perimeter and stationed myself against the only tree near the junction where field met the drainage. “Now, we wait,” I thought wistfully, knowing my camouflaged form was as inconspicuous as a lime green prom tuxedo.

Around 3 p.m. deer started slipping through the undergrowth along the creek. My attention was fixed on a doe that had stopped nearby and seemed intent on stepping out into the field. She acted skittish and nervous, apparently worried about something nearby that wasn’t me. I wondered if maybe a buck was on her tail.

On cue, the biggest whitetail I had yet seen stepped into an opening and stopped to look at her. She moved, he moved. She stopped; he did likewise. This went on for several minutes and I almost laughed out loud because it was like watching me trying to “operate” at the 1975 Junior High Dance.

The doe gracefully hopped the fence and stopped, looking right at me. Uh-oh. I couldn’t even move my eyeballs or our little meeting would be over.

I had already shifted the Lupo into firing position on my knee, just in case. My hope was the pair would move toward the center of the field and give me more room to operate. But, before I could consider alternatives, I saw the buck clear the barbed wire and stop to look at the doe with love in his eyes.

It was now or never. The Lupo barked and the Fiocchi 6.5 PRC 120-grain Barnes TTSX bullet hit the deer precisely in the shoulder, leaving a sizable exit wound on the other side. On impact, the deer dropped his head and bucked, tripped over his antlers and somersaulted, then died with his feet kicking uselessly in the air. The shot had been about 35 yards, coming from a rifle easily capable of making a hit 20 times that distance and more.

Now you know the full story of my Oklahoma deer taken with a Benelli Lupo, an act akin to using a Maserati MC12 Stradale to win a go-kart race. In fact, the Lupo just might be the most under-tested rifle ever profiled in GUNS.

If I’d been a “real gun ’riter,” I would have claimed the buck was in a full run quartering away at 852 yards and I dropped it with a single offhand shot, but that’s not how we operate. And, since I can’t claim extraordinary feats of marksmanship, I’ll just give you the straight skinny on the Lupo to draw your own conclusions.

On The Range

The Benelli Lupo certainly deserves a better test than I could give it but I shot it enough to get a good sense of whether the marketing claims were true, which — spoiler alert — they are. I also cradled it long enough to know I love the Lupo’s decidedly European lines.

The Lupo came out in 2020, the first rifle ever released from Benelli, a company renowned for its shotguns. The name translates to “wolf’ in Italian, and coupled with the Euro aesthetic, the moniker is fitting.

There are several versions. I carried the original Lupo in a gray synthetic stock and matte black metal finish. There are other models available in both camouflage patterns and AA-grade satin walnut but regardless of livery, it’s a pretty rifle.

One of the things I’ve seen in other reviews are claims the stock wrist and overall lines put the trigger finger at an awkward or uncomfortable angle. I certainly didn’t have this problem and I’d suggest any issues are a function of improper length of pull for the shooter. Because the rifle comes with a shim kit to adjust drop, cast and length of pull from 13.8″ to 14.74″, I’m chalking the complaint up to American shooters who aren’t as finicky about fit as they should be, relative to our European cousins.

The stock also contains a Progressive Comfort System, a recoil management mechanism to tame the kick. Honestly, with 6.5 PRC mated to a 7.3-lb. rifle and my pre-ruined shoulder, I couldn’t really tell you if it works but if you have a Lupo chambered in .30-06 or .300 Win Mag (there are seven different chamberings available), this might become more important.

But above all, the Lupo just isn’t a pretty face when there’s serious shooting to be done.

The Heart Of The Matter

The Lupo is built on a chassis system, though it doesn’t appear as you might imagine. The rifle is sporty and not something out of a PRC match or spy thriller. Within this chassis system, the free-floated, 1 in 7.5″ twist (in 6.5 PRC) cryogenically treated, hammer-forged 22″ barrel is bedded to the steel alloy receiver, keeping zero shift to a minimum. It’s as simple as that — steel is locked to steel, the whole point to a chassis rifle and key to consistent accuracy.
Each Lupo is guaranteed to shoot sub-MOA and has a factory proving target in the box. My test gun showed a three-shot 0.596″ group at 100 yards, which from my limited range tests seems about right. Knowing how persnickety manufacturers are about making sure their accuracy claims aren’t overstated, I’d say a half-MOA is a good starting point and things could undoubtedly be made better with careful handloads.

For optic mounting, there are fore and aft sections of Picatinny rail but the receiver is also drilled and tapped for fixed mounts. The sculpted 3-lug 60º throw bolt is both attractive and wears one of the smoothest finishes I’ve ever felt on a factory gun. This thing feels like polished ice and flows through the action like a whisper. The inline thumb safety has a longer throw than most American rifles and I liked this feature because if you’re wearing gloves or your fingers are numb, there is no tactile doubt about the status.

The trigger adjusts from 2.2 to 4.4 lbs. The test rifle trigger was a crisp 2.3 lbs. on the Lyman electronic trigger gauge and felt like a pleasant daydream — think about shooting, and it happens. The trigger has no creep or wall; it simply sits there until the gun fires, with virtually nothing in-between. It’s one of the better mass-produced triggers I’ve experienced and an aftermarket trigger is unnecessary unless you’re hopelessly anal-retentive.

Final Thoughts

If you’re looking for a supremely accurate, stylish rifle with custom features at a non-custom price, the Benelli Lupo is a great candidate. The price isn’t inexpensive, starting at $1,499 for the rifle we tested and going up to $2,949 for certain versions, but when you consider the work you won’t have to do in order to end up with a highly accurate hunting rifle, it’s almost a bargain.

In keeping with the Italian translation, it’s clear the Lupo could be considered the ballistic equivalent of a wolf in sheep’s clothing — a match-quality gun masquerading as a stylish hunting rifle. If you’re looking for panache coupled with deadly accuracy, the Lupo would be a good addition to your den.

BenelliUSA.com