Big .50

File this in the “Cool Things Happen When You Decide To Not Be An Asshole” category.

Went out yesterday morning to Zimmerman Butte for a bit of Frontier Partisans Biathlon before heading up to Dark Lake with Ceili. We differ in our definition of “early,” so I had a couple of hours to make productive before she was up for any activity.

I got the clays dispersed and the kettlebells out and was fixin’ to get to it when a big ol’ Dodge pickup pulls up. A couple of young men who were visibly disappointed to see someone hogging the range. I knew that other options were already taken, too, so if I didn’t accommodate them they’d be out of luck. Now, I like having the range to myself, and I don’t trust most other shooters, and I’m not averse to letting it show. Got here after me? Your problem. But these guys were obviously on vacation, they looked like earnest young men, and who was I to spoil their fun?

So I walked on over and told ’em I’d be happy to let them work in and would move a bit if necessary. They brightened right up. Since they obviously were looking for a little distance, I asked what they were shooting.

“A Barrett .50.”

“Ok then.”

“You ever shot a .50?”

“Why no, I have not.”

“Want to?”

“I assume that is a rhetorical question?”

Laughter.

Truth is, I have shot .50 caliber — and higher. My last muzzleloader was a .54 caliber. Way back in the mists of time at the Chabot Gun Club in the Oakland hills, I shot an old guy’s double barreled elephant gun in (I think) .500 Nitro Express. None of those is anything like the Barrett’s .50 BMG — a 600-grain bullet traveling at over 3,000 fps and packing a wallop like a runaway freight train.

I got down behind the Barrett with its Vortex Viper million-power scope, adjusted the monopod rest for the butt to achieve the proper elevation, and shot an old propane canister that had already been turned into a sieve. Of course the .50 round just went right on through. Something more reactive, please. Next time, I center-punched a boulder about 175 yards downrange (which is, obviously, point-blank for the Barrett). The big bullet bored a hole deep, dark into the volcanic rock, sending up a nice cloud of rock dust, and fractured the whole thing six ways from Sunday. One of my new shooting buddies followed it up and quartered the boulder.

What a hoot!

Despite the size and power of the cartridge, the Barrett kicks about like a 12 gauge. That’s down to weight (28#), a hefty buffer spring, and an imposing muzzle brake that disperses a lot of energy (and noise and dust). The optics must be pretty robust.

Like most excellent things, it the Barrett is the heart of simplicity. Of course, I want more. I want to shoot that thing at 1,000 yards. I don’t suppose that “Honey, we need a Barrett” will go anywhere, but…

Anyway, I sure am glad I overcame my natural territorial instincts and made some room for those guys. I have another bit of trigger-pulling to drop in the experience bucket and a couple of new decorative brass casings the size of asparagus.

Waugh!