A couple of fellows were shooting one of the curly cue FN rifles with a can and holographic optics on it a bit further down the line. I was shooting double taps from low ready, and during a cold range call/target change they wandered over to take a look at my target.
"That's a Wilson you're shootin', isn't it?" one of the asked.
"No, it's just one of his barrels in an old Argentine 1911, nothing fancy" I informed them.
"I have a Wilson pistol back there," one of them piped up. "It shoots real good." He went back to the line and retrieved a target frame and set it out at the 15 yard mark a couple of spaces down from me. Then he opened up an embroidered carry bag to reveal a grey Wilson Combat pistol. When the line went hot again, he began stuffing hardball rounds into the magazine and blazing away at the target. After several magazines, his target and the cardboard behind it looked like a sieve. Holes were evenly spaced out across the cardboard backing and the targets. Nothing was untouched. A wooden leg of the target frame was splintered. Finally, he dropped the slide from slide lock on an empty chamber, and blew the smoke from the muzzle with pursed lips in an exaggerated display of aplomb.
"That's pretty amazing," I told him. He grinned. I started to ask him if I could take his photo to remember the event by, (and to post here) but I refrained. I decided it was time to leave and try again another day.
Labels: Range Journal