I’d acquired a “new” full-bore rifle from a nice fellow shooter in Tamworth, of all places; new because it was a 98 year-old Winchester M17 action in full-bore target configuration. It was the right price, had a beautiful Schultz and Larsen 13-twist barrel and its stock was not your regular adapted full-bore abortion that some had appended to their bundooks. Being a Winchester action, it was the “creme de la creme” of M17s, somewhat more desirable than the Remingtons and much more so than the Eddystones. I had a scoped Eddystone that was very accurate though, just rough in appearance.
So I rolled up at the property, touched base with Grant and he said he’d be keen to come out for a hunt and a walk when I’d finished with the target work. An extra pair of eyes is always appreciated because mine aren’t the sharpest, especially when I’d not hunted for some time.
I arrived at my normal target shooting paddock and noted that the grass was as green as can be and while not “as high as an elephant’s eye”, it was tall enough for me to reappraise where I’d place my targets and shooting table. Without wasting too much time, I set up adjacent to the vehicle track and placed my targets in front of a fallen tree 59 yards away. “59 yards?” you say.
Yes, 59 yards. It was convenient in the terrain and vegetation but I had also fortuitously been running the Sierra Infinity 6 program lately to work out where to place my bullets for a maximum point blank range (MPBR) zero at 50 meters, as we are practically restricted to doing so at my local range at Malabar. Incidentally, a practical standard zero at 50 meters to give a MPBR for most centrifuge medium game cartridges is 1.5 inches for a 1.85-inch scope height above the bore. It’s 1.4 inches for a 130gn .270 at 3000fps and 1.6 inches for a .30-06 165gn SPBT at 2800fps, so I figure 1.5 inches will look after most modern calibers for an eight inch vital zone. But I digress.
Nick Harvey’s dictum that “every rifle is a law unto itself” held true as my M17 full-bore rifle did not shoot my standard Omark 7.62 load as well as I’d like. I subsequently loaded up five lots four rounds each at 0.4gn increments of AR 2208 up to 0.2gn short of the ADI maximum load for 155gn bullets of 47 grains at a consistent seating depth. Well, it all fell together nicely with the 46.4gn delivering 0.068 inch and the others all delivering three rounds touching or tiny clover leafs around the 0.25 to 0.35 marks. I know it was only at 59 yards.
To confirm that the “Holy Trinity” load (charge weight, overall length and primer) was indeed representative, I sat down and loaded up some more in situ with my .308 Lee Loader and RCBS 10-10 balance beam. Dear readers, it was indeed a Nirvana load and I suspect my full-bore hollow groups may recede into obscurity, if I do my bit with trigger O.
Once the Winchester M17 was sorted, I brought out my Eddystone scoped M17 and wound the elevation turret down about 30 clicks as I’d last shot it at a 400-meter sniper match. The 155gn VLDs were printing an inch high, so I then switched over to a Barnes 150gn TTSX load and it printed a few inches higher and to the right. Two adjustments later and I had two shots in a horizontal figure-of-eight just above the aiming mark.
I called Grant and he was on his way to meet me for a little fox-whistling jaunt. He popped out of his jute with a faithful old side-by-side 12 gauge and a handful of shells in his pocket and off we hide to attempt to decimate his redcoats. A few regular haunts drew a blank, but we eventually wandered down a long ridge to place where Tony had belted a vixen a few years ago, catching it on video. I’d whistled it ever since, but nothing eventuated.
This time however, up she popped, a full-grown vixen, probably two seasons old and cannier than your regular unshotat fox. She attempted to flank us with all available cover to try and catch our wind. Eventually, she poked her head up behind the edge of a blackberry bush about 60 yards from us. Mindful that I had a three-quarter inch high zero at 59 yards, I laid the Bushnell Elite’s crosswire an inch below her eyes and 1.5inches above her nose.
Having been precisely aiming from a table all morning and being in a secure sitting position with a 27-inch barrel hanging steady from the Eddystone off the inside of my knees, I let fly.
I saw something fly out the behind her as she dropped and although instantaneous, it looked like a grey concentrated spray. Grant said it blew her head apart and I was perplexed. I thought that a big game bullet of monumental construction would just pencil hole through any fox, unless it end-for-ended it. Well that wasn’t the case. That fox’s melon was split neatly down the middle with no contents whatsoever and the grey spray was probably its brain painting the grassland behind her.
Now I’ve used Barnes bullets in .223, .270, .308 and .30-06 on medium game only up until now and they have generally delivered spectacular one shot kills, yes even in the .223 on a 70 kilo boar. But I never expected a .308 to become a “red mist” varmint gun. It just goes to show, you can always be surprised by ballistics.
“She certainly didn’t suffer,” Grant observed with a grin, happy that another feral marauder on his sheep farm had gone to meet its maker.
“That’s for sure, Grant,” I replied, shaking my head and having some trouble believing my own eyes.