58 Year Olds Can Have Fun!

I don't know how old Tibbs Ridley is. He might be my age. He might be a year or two younger or older. He's an old Bannock fellow who lives on Fort Hall and occasionally goes down to Utah to work on a farm there. He's a nice fellow, very soft spoken, and seems to enjoy just watching others enjoy life.

Today was the third time I've been out shooting with him. He's Aric Armell's uncle by marriage. This time we went out to the public range here in Pocatello. It's very near the Sheriff's shooting facility out in the hilly desert, not far from I-15. Tibbs had given Aric an old AR-15 on long-term loan. Aric provided a scope that fit the carrying handle and got it loosely sighted in last time I shot with him about a week ago. I provided all the loads, since 5.56mm NATO (.223 Remington) is a cartridge I used to load a lot of before I went broke and had to sell everything. I'm pleased to be able to say that all my old handloads cycled the action of the aging Vietnam-era firearm quite well and also gave reasonably good accuracy, even though the bullet weights ranged from 40 through 60 grains! Most were about 55 grains. All water-filled containers hit by these loads exploded with gusto and satisfied our little crowd of three very deeply.


We were only shooting at about 50 yards today. The range was crowded, and the 100 yard alleys were all spoken for. But this didn't reduce our fun-factor one little bit. Someone had left some chunks of asphalt out there which I reduced to smaller and smaller chunks with my Savage Mako in .22 LR. The Savage is a thumbhole-stocked rifle with a heavy barrel and little weight-saving cut-outs along the forearm in the shape of shark teeth. We put about 80 rounds through it today and it gave us nothing but joy and success.


Now, at 58, I'm beginning to get a little deaf. I have to turn up the TV quite a lot these days, and I'm constantly irritating someone by asking them repeat themselves. My eyes are also in need of work, or at least of new corrective lenses. Imagine my pleasure, then, when I didn't miss a single thing I shot at today with my 1896 Swedish Mauser which was built in 1900. True, the distance was a modest 50 yards or so, but some of the little containers were so minuscule that they'd have been hard to see even at that distance if they hadn't been brightly colored. It may have been only half the distance I'm used to shooting, but the satisfaction didn't seem to be reduced even a little bit. Even now, at 12:34 a.m., I'm smiling just thinking about all the fun we had out there today.