I'm feeling cheezy, and pensive, as I embark on the year-long journey of assembling my first precision rifle.
The road is long, with many days and nights of worry. The shooter shares his plans, his dreams, and then, like the dreams of night, they fade, waiting.
A barrel one day. Action much later. Then the stock, peacock bright, or dampened, dull shades of olive and brown, like distant, rain-wet trees.
Then, as the patient trusts the surgeon, he must trust the smith who will carefully stir the witch's brew, that magic potion that leads to 1/4 MOA.
And finally, the beautiful thing of steel and wood breathes its fiery breath, sending copper and lead away, fighting wind, embracing gravity itself! The shooter smiles ruefully at the hole they made together, his rifle and his mind, for he knows that each shot tells a tale. And there are many shots to come.
The road is long, with many days and nights of worry. The shooter shares his plans, his dreams, and then, like the dreams of night, they fade, waiting.
A barrel one day. Action much later. Then the stock, peacock bright, or dampened, dull shades of olive and brown, like distant, rain-wet trees.
Then, as the patient trusts the surgeon, he must trust the smith who will carefully stir the witch's brew, that magic potion that leads to 1/4 MOA.
And finally, the beautiful thing of steel and wood breathes its fiery breath, sending copper and lead away, fighting wind, embracing gravity itself! The shooter smiles ruefully at the hole they made together, his rifle and his mind, for he knows that each shot tells a tale. And there are many shots to come.
