6.5 Grendel Member Joe Bradshaw
summer months dragged on and on. Then the fi rst of the fall months began to appear and the temperature cooled. At any other time I would have wanted these days to last forever. But not this time — this time I could scarcely wait until they passed. You see, I was six years old and
Nineteen sixty was the longest
my dad had promised me my first Daisy Red Ryder for Christmas. He had sworn me to secrecy as my mom would have objected, saying I was just still too little. But my dad knew better. He knew it was time for everyone to know what I had known all along, that there was a great white hunter lurking in me. It was time to slay the bad guys, grasshoppers, tin cans, dragons, rob- bers, and villains alike. They would all fall to my Red Ryder. I was simply giddy with anticipa-
tion, and as the days until Christmas grew near, they seemed to get longer and longer. “Don’t wish your life away,” my dad would say. I did not heed his words. I couldn’t. If I could just get my hands on that gun …. Christmas morning came after an
extremely long Christmas Eve. Upon waking, I fl ew to the tree. Disregard- ing every other package, I found a long slender box. I still remember the feeling as my chubby little fi ngers tore into it. I can still remember the smell of the oil and the feel of real wood and metal. It was real at last. Oh, how my life would change! I had arrived. Nearly fi fty years later, I awaited
the arrival of my AR-15 upper I had ordered in 6.5 Grendel. I had the lower, the brass, the bullets, primers, powder, and dies. I had carefully loaded several rounds, stair stepped from the mini- mum loads to near maximum in 0.1 grain increments. It was a long wait, but one I will never regret. Upon arrival, I eagerly tore into
the package just as I did years ago with my Red Ryder. It smelled and felt just as good. I stripped it and gave it a good cleaning, wanting to be sure I left no
summer of my life. The hot
trace of the heavy oils as I wanted nothing left to attract carbon and de- posits of gunk. I lightly applied some Tefl on lubricant to the moving parts, then wiped most all of it away, the same with the bore. My ARs have al- ways seemed to run better very lightly lubed. I assembled it on my lower. I
affi xed my mounts and scope, taking care to get it all just right. Eye relief, crosshairs straight, and bore sighted. It was, at last, time to see what this thing would do. I was not to be disap- pointed. As I am predominantly a preda-
tor hunter, I was hoping to shoot the 95-grain Hornady V-Max, and it was with that bullet I had assembled my test loads. I went to the bench and got ev-
erything situated. I loaded one round into the magazine. Before inserting the magazine into the magazine well, I checked every component carefully. I checked the trigger, I checked the safe- ty for function. I checked the mount- ing screws yet again to be certain all was tight and good to go. It was. I inserted the magazine and let the bolt drop from the locked position. It fed smoothly with that satisfying “clunk” sound that tells my ear it chambered properly, and locked up as it should. A quick look at the bolt told me what my ears already had … it was ready. I nestled the free fl oat tube into
the front bag and pinched the rear bag with my left hand until the cross- hairs were perfect. I inhaled fully and exhaled about half of the air, then held. The alignment was right, my cheek welded to the stock, I began my squeeze … BOOM! Hey, this thing isn’t very loud! I like that! A six-year-old could easily handle the recoil, and I liked that too! I laid the rifl e fl at on the bench and removed my shooting glass- es and ear plugs. The brass was where I hoped it would be, slightly forward of the ejection port and about three feet to the right. As I looked over the spent case, I could see no signs of pressure. No hard swipe on the case from the
extraction/ejection. The edges of the primer were smooth and rounded. The fi ring pin indention looked good, with no cratering or fl owing. Cool! Upon checking my target I see I
am good to go with windage but am about six inches low at the one hun- dred yard mark. I mark the bullet hole and return to the bench. Up twenty-six clicks. If all is right with the scope I am hoping to be about one-half inch high. I go back through all the steps until I am ready to fi re again, this time with two rounds in the magazine. I fi re the fi rst and wait one minute, then fi re the second. The bolt goes to lock, as it should. I lay the rifl e down fl at again,
pointed in a safe direction, and go downrange for a closer look at my target. The second two rounds are about three-quarters of an inch apart and well-centered. I continue this regimen, carefully
checking my cases for signs of pres- sure as I advance through the loads, each set increasing 0.1 grain. I also watch the ejection. I know this isn’t a golden rule, but if it suddenly begins to eject the cases crazier than a run-over guinea, it is an indication something is amiss.
After every few rounds I clean
the bore. My break-in regimen would appall some, but it is not set in stone for me. I fi re a few rounds, usually fewer than ten, then clean. The next series I will fi re twenty or so, then clean, on to thirty or so, then clean. It seems to work for me, but fi nd a regimen that works for you and use it. At any rate, back to the bench. I
fi nd a load just under the published maximum that really wants to shoot, about 0.300 inch. I am very pleased. I call my brother-in-law, Jim,
and tell him of my glee. I then call my buddy Greg and do the same. Both Jim and Greg came over to my house and we shot. My best group came in at 0.172” and I was glad they were there to witness it. It always shoots a half inch or less and is easily the most accurate rifl e I have ever owned.
www.varminthunter.org Page 133
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