Oh wow, that’s loud.
A moment ago, all had been silent. Now a thundering “boom!” had penetrated the ear plugs and ear muffs I was wearing, startling me despite myself. I could feel it in my chest.
My thoughts seemed loud now, too, in my head.
Oh. Now I’m going to shoot it.
My friend Chris (of r
ock climbing fame) had invited me out to the range to shoot his competition precision rifle. On the way there, he had explained how competitions work and how the gun and scope are designed for precision at long distances.
I confessed that while I’ve shot guns before, I’m always apprehensive about the kickback and the sound. I tend to anticipate the loud noise, tensing up right at the last second, almost as though I’m waiting to be shot instead of to shoot something.
“This one doesn’t have much kickback at all,” Chris explained. “It does make a little noise, though.”
When we arrived at the range, I immediately knew what he meant. Despite doubling up on the ear protection, the shots from nearby riflemen were thunderous.
As Chris pulled out the rifle and began setting it up, I had to laugh at myself. I’m scared of loud noises. And absolutely nothing about a loud noise is going to hurt me.
Chris had made two targets: one for one hundred yards, and one for two hundred. When the range manager blared a horn and declared a ceasefire, I watched Chris walk out and hang them up.
I breathed in, breathed out, and gently squeezed the trigger. I could feel the reverberation in my nose.
He came back to where he had set the rifle on the table, with the back of it on a bean bag. He showed me the scope, how to load the clip, where the safety is and how to use the bolt action to feed the round. He explained that when you squeeze the bean bag underneath, it gently props the rifle up until it’s aiming at just the right spot.
Then he stood up.
“It’s all you,” he said.
I sat down and looked squarely through the scope until there was no tunnel vision. I squeezed the bean bag, and sure enough, the scope moved up and found the target. I breathed in, breathed out, and gently squeezed the trigger.
I could feel the reverberation in my nose.
But I looked back through the scope, and I’d hit squarely on the target.
I gave it another try and hit it again. The more I pulled the trigger, the more comfortable I became with the noise and the less I felt myself inwardly cringing waiting for it. And the moment I became more confident, it started to be fun.
“You’re not anticipating at all,” Chris said. “Good job.”
100 yards
200 yards
Chris had made a total of five goals for me: A two-inch square, a one-inch square, and a “money shot” half-inch circle at 100 yards. At 200 yards, I had a four-inch square and a one-inch circle.
When it came to the money shot at 100 yards, I missed it by half an inch.
“Darn,” Chris said. “I really wanted to give you that dollar.”
Then we moved to 200 yards. It was amazing how still and solid the scope was at that distance. I fired away, hitting four shots close together around the four-inch square. My three shots at the inch circle sprinkled above it.
At the next ceasefire, we went out to collect the targets. Chris explained that because my shots were within one inch at 100 yards and two inches at 200 yards, I’d shot one MOA, or Minute of Angle.
“That’s good shooting,” he said.
I laughed. I was just happy to have conquered my fear of the noise.