I thought it was 175 yards, but today I paced it out, and it's 275. I just so happened to have a B-27 target, my vz-58, and some ammo. What a happy coincidence.
I started at roughly 100 yards, 117 paces to be exact. Disregard the 120 yards on the target, that was supposed to be a 0.
I got some Ok groups when I shot the first one, circle in red. I was going to keep it, then said, nah, who'd believe me. The next group on that target is circled in blue. Yes, that is two bullets in one hole!
Call me a liar if you must, but may I never shoot a round again if I'm lyin'! That one I had to share.
Yes, that is another bullet hole lower left side, from a target to the left, one of those not so good groups I was talking about.
First group measures 7/8 inch, the second 1 and 5/8ths. Wow. great rifle.
So, well, yes, I did. I ran the target holder out to 234 paces, roughly 200 yards, and decided I was going to fire five rounds, and five rounds only, no alibis, no excuses, (it was windy, OK, I'll stop whining now.
), just an honest 5 rounds at 200 yards. Here it is.
Only three of them would count in my Dept qualification...but I hit the target.
So then I thought I was pushing my luck, and brought it alllllll the way back to 10 yards for some load testing with the P01, a load with the Golden Sabre bullets I have been less than pleased with. But I had fired most of those with the PCR, why not let the P01 have some fun.
Best group in the middle, worst group on top.
And this one, using the Crimson trace Laser ONLY, kind of odd. That flyer was not #1, it was #3.
No such thing as a bad day at the range, but this one went pretty darn good, I thought!
You see, I wasn't quite done, I also had the wife's Yugo SKS. Pulling out the big Simonov Yugoslavian rifle felt like grabbing a 2x4 after the vz-58, and the trigger was like squeezing a sponge. BUT, I hit the target at 100 yards, and scared the pants off of it at 200. One thing about the Yugo, it flings brass so far I needed a passport to recover some. Got all my brass back, which disappointed the brass scrounger who stood waiting patiently when I cleaned up. Sorry, Charley.
