This thread is depressing, since it is very difficult to legally own and use a firearm in the UK and Ireland.
[quote]wushu_1984 wrote:
This thread is depressing, since it is very difficult to legally own and use a firearm in the UK and Ireland.[/quote]
Sorry :-(. Here’s a link with some of the laws in case you want to read up on them
TBH, at first I thought all guns were outright banned in UK. I’m glad to see you guys can at least own a few rifles.
[quote]pushharder wrote:
Did you notice in that article about Roy Weatherby where he is said to have believed you could kill an animal without the bullet ever striking it? If you could get a bullet moving at ~10,000 fps NEAR an animal that the shock wave alone would kill it?
[/quote]
A bullet traveling at 10,000 fps would be moving at around 6,820 mph or almost mach 9! The air displacement (ie shock wave) of an object moving by you at that speed would be ungodly! Having been on the target end of a few rounds myself - that is an experience I would gladly pass on.
But it would be interesting to see the effect.
I do not envy you for that experience. I remember when I was younger I about killed my cousin (figuratively) because we were shooting our .22’s and he started firing while I was ahead and to the right of him still. I could feel the shockwave of that little bullet going past even though he was a good 4 feet to my left. He got more than an earful on that one and I wouldn’t shoot with him for a long time after that.
[quote]pushharder wrote:
tom63 wrote:
pushharder wrote:
I’ve got to tell my coyote story. Too late tonight but I thought if I posted this it would remind me later.
Sounds great. I’m not to familiar with the load you’re using, is it more or less powerful than the 338 Lapua?
Very similar. The Lapua is based on the .416 Rigby case and mine on the .378 Weatherby case.[/quote]
Ok, how is the price of ammo for your 338? I know the Lapua stuff is over 5$ a shot. this is the main reason I bought a 50 caliber. I can’t hunt with anything big here, so I went for possible collector’s value.
[quote]pushharder wrote:
tom63 wrote:
pushharder wrote:
tom63 wrote:
pushharder wrote:
I’ve got to tell my coyote story. Too late tonight but I thought if I posted this it would remind me later.
Sounds great. I’m not to familiar with the load you’re using, is it more or less powerful than the 338 Lapua?
Very similar. The Lapua is based on the .416 Rigby case and mine on the .378 Weatherby case.
Ok, how is the price of ammo for your 338? I know the Lapua stuff is over 5$ a shot. this is the main reason I bought a 50 caliber. I can’t hunt with anything big here, so I went for possible collector’s value.
Have to reload this cartridge. .378 Weatherby brass is expensive. The Barnes bullets aren’t cheap but the powder is. I know it’s nowhere near $5.[/quote]
Dude! the coyote story! remember?
[quote]Mikeyali wrote:
What are you guys using for your 700+ yd shots? I was in the market for a Remmy 700, but I will no longer buy Remington until they stop using HS Precision stocks. I need something that isn’t quite like push’s Hammer of Thor, but rather something akin to a Remmy 700 in .308 or 300 win mag.
mike[/quote]
The good old Winchester Model 70 was good enough for Gunny Hathcock.
His rifle was in .30-06, but there’s no reason that .308 wouldn’t do the job. Particularly the Hornady Light Magnum if high velocity is what you’re after.
[quote]pushharder wrote:
mbdix wrote:
Dude! the coyote story! remember?
Glad you reminded me!
I was doing snow surveys for the USDA in the mountains near Philipsburg, Montana which I have now done for 20 years. A buddy and I were trailering the sleds (snowmobiles) down the hill at the end of the day when I noticed a coyote (pronounced kahy-oht, not kahy-otee) standing out in a hay meadow near a creek (pronounced crick, not creek).
I had my 338/378 with me so I thought I would assist the sheep of the P-burg valley from treachery and destruction by dispatching said coyote and sending him to the fiery canine hell he so richly deserved. Most of the time coyotes will take off like greased lightning if you stop your vehicle and get out. This one just stood there. In fact, I’m almost sure I heard him bark, “Git it on! Bang a gong! (Fuck you)” with a slightly nasal voice.
I shouldered my rifle, slapped the crosshairs on him, squeezed the trigger and launched a 250 grain copper missile at him with enough energy to steamroll a polar bear.
Clean miss.
He sauntered off through the willows with a sneer on his on his snickering lil face. I thought, “Sheeeeiiiiit, that’s the end of my chances of cleansing this neck of the woods from this vermin.” I watched him through my scope and willed him to stop, to give me one more chance even though I was expecting him to run for a couple miles first. After about 25 yards or so he did the unthinkable and stopped and looked right at me.
I didn’t hesitate. The rifle bucked.
(FWIW, my wife just called me to the deck outside as I was typing this story to point out the red fox standing down in my horse corral. I think it might be a female with a litter of pups under the cabin on my property)
When I recovered from the recoil and the muzzle blast (I usually wear ear protection when firing even when hunting in the field because if not the noise is so loud my ears will ring for the rest of the day) I noticed the kahy-oht was missing one front shoulder and leg and he was spinning around in a circle. I’m sure at that point he realized he would never again type another email to his roadrunner hunting cousin in Arizona.
I put the rifle away and grabbed my Colt Commander and proceeded toward him counting my steps as I went. FTR, it ended up being a 225 yard shot. For some inexplicable reason I was humming Rose Royce’s “Car Wash” as I walked toward him. Go figure that out and get back to me.
I got about 50 yards from him. He was still floppin’ around on the snow. His smirk was gone. He freaked out as I got close and when he saw the .45 in my hand.
By now I had switched the song I was humming to Karen Carpenter’s “Sing”. I was proud of myself for the successful shot until he ran off. I scratched my head wondering who the heck he thought he was running off after being shot with a cartridge that folds up a wapiti like cordwood. I wasn’t too worried about finding him when I saw the blood trail on the snow and ice and figured I could catch up to him in no time. The trail went on to the creek ice and it, the ice, was hard enough where his footprints disappeared. Then the blood disappeared.
I spent the next 30 minutes searching all over the place totally bewildered. I assumed he had crossed the creek and made it completely out of the area. Could find no sign of him at all. I was really flustered. I started humming Carole King’s “So Far Away” (‘Doesn’t anybody stay in one place any more?.’"
I was ready to concede defeat and end the search when my friend who was assisting me in the search finally hollered out, “Hey Push, quit your fuckin humming and get over here!”
I found my friend in the willows standing on the creek ice. He pointed to the water (the creek, pronounced ‘crick’, was still running despite the single digit temps). There, under the shelf ice on the opposite creek bank from me, sat Wiley W. Kahy-Oht, submerged except for his head.
Alive.
He blinked.
Believe it or not, HE was humming Metallica’s “Fade to Black”. In that same nasal voice.
He had apparently dove in the water after I initially approached him and tried to hide under the ice, keeping his nose out of the water so he could keep breathing. I could NOT believe my eyes. I was flabbergasted that he was still alive and stealthy and smart enough to try to hide from me under the protruding ice shelf. I also suspected the cold water numbed the pain from his wound bringing him some measure of relief.
The Commander barked and I put a 230 gr. bullet between his eyes.
As his soul drifted toward the Lake of Fire his body started to drift away with the current. I laid down on the ice shelf on my side of the creek (crick) and reached for him. Couldn’t quite reach him. I asked my buddy to hang on to my ankles. When he did I was able to extend far enough to grab him. I snatched him out of the water.
We carried him back to the pickup and took him home. The temperature over the next few days fell well below zero and especially with him being saturated with creek (crick) water, he froze up like a slab of granite. I took him to the taxidermist determined to have him mounted so I could tell this story to my grandchildren and point to the subject of the story.
The problem was he had frozen to the bed of the pickup and we didn’t want to rip him out of there and risk damaging the hide. So I decided to wait for a chinook (Charlie Russell fans know what I mean along with residents of the front range of the Rockies from Alberta to New Mexico).
It took about a week for the temps to warm to where I could safely pry the devil’s carcass off the bed of my pickup. His body was still froze up and I didn’t want to lay him back down and risk him freezing to pickup bed while I got him back to the taxidermist. So I tied him in the back corner of the bed in an upright position.
He spent the next couple of days traveling around town in that position. My wife said she got a lot of looks driving during that time as folks wondered who the strange woman was who transported a frozen coyote around town in an upright position. I finally got the chance to get him to the “stuffin’ place” and decided to have him mounted in a position where I had found him in the creek. I started trying to figure out how I or the tax man could build a scene simulating the creek and the ice shelf. I thought that would’ve have looked really cool in my house.
Alas, the conclusion of the story is…the damn taxidermist ended up LOSING the carcass. Yes, I’m not kidding. He must have misidentified it and inadvertently shipped it off to the tanning factory or something like that. He apologized profusely but I never got him back.
I’ve never hummed another song since.
The moral of the story is little guys can be tough. A diminutive 50 lbs. kay-oht survived, temporarily, an impact that had always before and always since almost instantly killed game animals many times his size. [/quote]
WoW! But so true. there is no100% stopping power unless you hit the spine or brainstem.
wow! that’s crazy. now that was a tough s.o.b. well told also
Wow. Fantastic read. Where at in MT are you? My dad’s over in the Eureka area - but I’m sure he would have told me if he had seen someone driving around with a frozen kay-oht that was missing a leg in the bed of a truck…
How does a taxidermist lose a coyote with only three legs?
About fifteen years ago I was sighting in a rifle at my uncle’s farm. about 30 feet away I saw a groundhog hole, and wouldn’t you know Mr.Groundhog crawled out. I had a Glokc 19 on me loaded with 115 gr +p hollow points by cor bon, supposedly a solid man stopper.
I shot the groundhog behind the shoulder with the gun and he was still kicking and pretty pissed off. I had to shoot him again to put him out of his misery. a 25-30 pound groundhog took two hot 9mm hollow points.
Make your shots count, for one, and bring enough gun. This was one of my maybe I should carry my 45 instead moments.
[quote]Mikeyali wrote:
What are you guys using for your 700+ yd shots? I was in the market for a Remmy 700, but I will no longer buy Remington until they stop using HS Precision stocks. [/quote]
And in case there is any doubt in your mind about the “way out past Fort Mudge” capability of the 7.62 round in the hands of an expert:
January 13, 2006: A U.S. Army sniper set a new distance record (1250 meters) for a kill with a 7.62mm sniper rifle. Staff Sergeant Jim Gilliland made the shot on September 27, 2005, during fighting in Ramadi. The Leupold sight Gilliland used is only accurate out to a thousand meters, so the chest shot was partially guesswork, and luck. Gilliland aimed 12 feet high, to adjust for the drop the bullet would make over that distance. Gilliland later found out that the Iraqi he dropped had just killed a friend of his, Staff Sergeant Jason Benford.
Gilliland was using an M24 sniper rifle, of course (a.k.a the M40, a.k.a. the Remington 700), but if you object to the Remington on political grounds, then there’s always the Winchester Model 70, as I said before.
Alternatively, you could use the money you would have spent on your bolt-action rifle, and send your M1A off to Clint McKee. Have him tune it to M21 specifications, with a McMillan stock and Kruger stainless barrel, a Leupold Mark IV sniper scope on a Brookfield Precision Tool scope mount, and a Harris bipod.
Won’t be cheap, but it’ll probably work out cheaper than getting another rifle. Especially one that can reliably hit a man-sized target out past 700 meters.
[quote]tom63 wrote:
About fifteen years ago I was sighting in a rifle at my uncle’s farm. about 30 feet away I saw a groundhog hole, and wouldn’t you know Mr.Groundhog crawled out. I had a Glokc 19 on me loaded with 115 gr +p hollow points by cor bon, supposedly a solid man stopper.
I shot the groundhog behind the shoulder with the gun and he was still kicking and pretty pissed off. I had to shoot him again to put him out of his misery. a 25-30 pound groundhog took two hot 9mm hollow points.
Make your shots count, for one, and bring enough gun. This was one of my maybe I should carry my 45 instead moments.[/quote]
Hah…every once in a while I consider changing my steadfast stance on only carrying a .45 or better, and then I hear something like this. These stories always serve well to knock the fantasy of higher capacity mags outta my head xD
[quote]Dr. FruitPie wrote:
tom63 wrote:
About fifteen years ago I was sighting in a rifle at my uncle’s farm. about 30 feet away I saw a groundhog hole, and wouldn’t you know Mr.Groundhog crawled out. I had a Glokc 19 on me loaded with 115 gr +p hollow points by cor bon, supposedly a solid man stopper.
I shot the groundhog behind the shoulder with the gun and he was still kicking and pretty pissed off. I had to shoot him again to put him out of his misery. a 25-30 pound groundhog took two hot 9mm hollow points.
Make your shots count, for one, and bring enough gun. This was one of my maybe I should carry my 45 instead moments.
Hah…every once in a while I consider changing my steadfast stance on only carrying a .45 or better, and then I hear something like this. These stories always serve well to knock the fantasy of higher capacity mags outta my head xD[/quote]
I’ll carry ohter calibers actually because some dress dictates the gun, but I definitely prefer a 45 acp.
[quote]Dr. FruitPie wrote:
Hah…every once in a while I consider changing my steadfast stance on only carrying a .45 or better, and then I hear something like this. These stories always serve well to knock the fantasy of higher capacity mags outta my head xD[/quote]
High capacity magazines are only useful if a) your gun fires an inadequate round; and/or b) you anticipate a lot of misses.
[quote]pushharder wrote:
Now go ahead and extrapolate.[/quote]
Jesus push, that’s a tough story. You’ve got a strong will to be able to use a shotty:
When I was 18 I was working just outside of Boise doing some landscaping for a guy before I was set to go to boot camp. I was out driving nails through railroad ties putting up a retaining wall when I heard a woman scream. It was one of the most harrowing sounds I’d ever heard.
I dropped the sledge and ran down the road to the woman. She was standing outside her car with her two young kids and was screaming hysterically. Her big black lab was laying in the road, blood foaming out of its mouth.
I got her under control. I’d never killed anything in my life before. Hell, to this point I’d only shot a bolt action .22 in scout camp and an M16 once as a poolee. Either way, I knew immediately what had to be done.
I asked her if her husband owned a gun.
“He’s got a shotgun…sniffle.”
Not having the stomach to use a shotty I had her ask around. A few minutes later an old codger comes waddling down the street with a revolver in his hand. I don’t know what it was because I didn’t know anything of guns at the time. He came up to me and I got ready to leave, knowing the situation was under control. That’s when he handed the pistol to me.
I’m feeling bad as it is, and the old guy is telling me how his grandpa killed some men with it as he was a gunfighter or something similiar. I told the lady to look away and send her kids home. The little girl ran off and the boy walked backwards.
When he got inside I went down to the dog, pet it a few times. It obviously had a pierced lung and was going into shock. I took a knee and put a round through its skull.
A fountain of blood shot up from the hole in its head and it started to do the bicycle kick thing. That’s when the lady turned around and said, “Is…is…is it supposed to do that?”
The dog finally died and she thanked me. I put on my glasses and went back to work…I didn’t want her to see that I was crying like a little girl. Honestly, even though it was the right thing to do, I felt worse shooting that dog than I did when I shot the guy in Iraq.
Jesus, we really put this thread on the wrong track.
mike