The .22 LR

The argument is background noise anyplace two or more gun guys are gathered. Could you, should you ever, use a .22LR as a defensive weapon? Everybody’s got one. Most of us have several. How would the humble little plinking gun perform against something warm, bipedal and angry?

Easy to tote and even easier to shoot, the .22LR is America’s cartridge. It’s inevitable a few of those zillions of rounds unleashed each year might find their way into something gooey. I’ve seen a few unfortunates ventilated with those zippy little 40-gr. bullets. Here’s what it looks like up close and personal.

Cast Study #2 — A Close Thing

This gent was out riding four-wheelers with a pal, a borrowed .22-caliber revolver retained within a horizontal shoulder holster for snakes and the like. The day’s festivities complete, the guy loosened his shoulder rig and began manhandling his ATV back onto the trailer. Leaning forward to gain purchase, he gave the heavy vehicle a mighty heave.

Unbeknownst to him, some bit of the four-wheeler’s superstructure caught on the grip of the pistol, twisting it sideways in the holster. Simultaneously another something brushed the hammer, retracting it far enough to light the cartridge but not far enough to engage the sear. There resulted a muffled pop.

Thus begins a most remarkable journey. The 40-gr. solid lead bullet entered the man’s left chest and transited laterally and upward, skimming past his heart by precious millimeters and thoroughly perforating his left lung through-and-through. The bullet then creased the back of the right lung before crashing mightily into the inside of his right shoulder blade.

At this point, the longsuffering projectile, still in possession of prodigious energy, took a sharp turn south. It drilled a hole through his right lung from top to bottom and perforated his diaphragm, the thin sheet of muscle separating thorax from abdomen. Now the round began finally to tire of its lamentable wanderlust.

The bullet, now tumbling aimlessly spent itself ignominiously in the poor guy’s entrails. What followed was a fair amount of chaos. A frenetic evac in the pickup terminated at the local ER with IV fluids, chest tubes and action aplenty followed by a lovely ride in a helicopter. When finally he awoke much about his anatomy had been most vigorously rearranged.

The gent ultimately survived and thrived, his continued sojourn along this mortal coil the symbiotic result of a skilled surgeon and a most benevolent God. He still treks about the Southern woods with a gun in tow but remains now a bit more careful. This seems a common refrain for those with whom I am acquainted who have received an unexpected second chance at life.

The Doctor Reports

When it comes to practical gunfighting, penetration is everything. It really doesn’t matter how much manifest malevolence you have packed into your expanding JHP social bullets, if they don’t punch deep they’re not going to be effective. Make no mistake, however, the humble .22LR exhibits penetration aplenty.

So ventilate your beverage cans, plink alongside the grandchildren and while away your pastoral Saturday afternoons turning rimfire rounds into noise. Legions of rugged Americans have productively invested decades doing just the same. However, never underestimate the destructive power pent up within a humble brick of rimfire blasting bullets. The Lilliputian .22LR will just barely kill you.

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