For a shooter you sure don't seem to shoot much, so-called "LSP." Good point, I hear the criticism, it's constructive. To put things right I loaded some guns into the rig and headed off for the country.
That journey took all of 10 minutes and there it was, the sylvan path to the glory that is rounds down range. I always think there'll be some kind of random game on this trail and a shot of opportunity but there never is, so far.
Instead, there was a mass tangle of fallen trees and brush blocking the path, the weather's been fierce here. I scouted it out; there wasn't a way to get clear short of a chainsaw and I wasn't going to risk the truck in the waterlogged clay of the fields. It's embarrassing to ask people to pull you out, so I parked up and walked in.
The grass was high, the sky was big and the shooting house had been blown over by tornado force wind. Whatever, I set up at the bench with a Desmond, a Glock and a carbine.
First things first, the plates took a beating, so did the soda cans and, in the end, some reactive targets someone had left behind. At first I was shooting ironically high left, but sorted it out when I remembered the Desmond Tutu was zeroed at 100 yards and I was shooting at 50.
Tutu over, it was time to give the .45 a spin and it did famously, the elegant, workmanlike simplicity of Austrian engineering swinging the plates like fury. Satisfying. But what about the AR?
This one's a hybrid, an ancient CMMG lower and BCG married to a Bison Arms Barrel, Fortis lightweight hand guard, topped off with a cheap Primary Arms red dot.
Odds and ends by Magpul. Well, the little beast shot like a champ, I was pleased.
Then it was time to head back to the Compound after an armed stroll through the grassy plains and big sky of Texas.
Gun rights,
LSP
