- Posts: 208
- Comments: 2452
- Overall: 2660
M1A at 400 yards:
I was out with my buddy JT shooting in a field we call the “field of dreams” so called for it’s low location and rimmed by thick pines that render 600 yards of very low wind.
We had been shooting at 600 yards with our precision rifles and enjoying ringing steel manhole covers. The plates had gotten pretty covered with lead splatter, and it was becoming difficult to spot the hits, so we drove forward to paint. It was a little hot that day, but the sultry heat from the still air didn’t bother us much as we had a cooler of Gatorade and water etc.
The previous weekend, we had run into a strange character out there who claimed he was renting the property and was going to be running cattle there and didn’t care for two yay-who’s banging away with high power rifles across “his” field. We found this very interesting because we know the landowner very well and he had said nothing of the sort at any time. The physical condition of this individual was such that we suspected he was using meth, or some other drug that presents similar effects on the face and mannerisms of its user. He was obviously armed as well, so on this occasion, I made sure the M1A scout was with me in case he decided to show up again. After all, I strongly believe noone would be foolish enough to fool with me at any time, but the M1A is a bonafide guarantee to that effect. As long as the bible is in my pocket, Jesus is in my heart, and Springfield is in my hand, fear does not exist.
So we had painted the targets and driven back to 400 yards. JT asked me if I’d like to take a shot with the M1A before the gongs get marked up. I agreed, and pulled the rifle from the seat of the truck. I put my arm through the sling, and hammered down the frog on the crook of my arm, dialed on 400 yards, then rolled the gun up into my shoulder. The finest sights mankind has ever devised swept into my field of view. I set my feet, took a few controlled breaths and tucked in tight. The sights still had enough smoke on them to get a sharp picture. The wind was non-existant. Sweat and dust was on my arms. The trigger felt right as I loaded up the first stage and began my squeeze. My torso rocked slightly as the rifle coughed, and I saw the plate swing before I was satisfied with the sound of the gong returning to me. JT was watching through the spotting scope and said “You asshole.” I smiled and asked him “what seems to be the problem?”. He replied “You *%&$ing drilled it 2″ above dead center! What do you sleep with that thing?”. I laughed and said “Hey, when you’re “on” your “on”. He said “Yeah, well if you’re so “on” how about doing it again?” I chuckled and said “Nope!!! That’s enough!!!” and we had a good laugh.
The truth is, I know that rifle like the back of my hand, and at that range the group diameter for ten shots is exactly the size of a dollar bill. The load is 42 grains of IMR4895 over a 168 grain SMK, LC match brass and a CCI primer. 1.4MOA all day long with the battle sights which aint too shabby in my book. So it was definitely a lucky shot, but one I’ll never forget.