They just sit there at attention yet unattended, fifty primed but empty cases of premium Nosler brass that smirk and mock. Much more is needed.
Fifty is not enough – fifty-five is the minimum with sighters, so why the red-tray with it’s deep and ordinary insufficiencies – fifty is just a round number to the manufacturers.
But even fifty-five is not enough, not for a State Championship Competition where several multiples of fifty are routinely discharged over a few days.
I don’t have enough, there’s never enough, and there’s no such thing as too much ammo.
I must assemble more than what’s laid out by several times the trays before me – I need seven trays-full.
Anyhow I’m not going this time since I don’t shoot well enough yet and the weekend is not free to take.
The realization that “I suck” has a truth-to-power ratio evidenced by my own targets and scores. It’s reality, not overwhelmed by inappropriate self-confidence, wishful self-indulgently bad Hope for Change, or deranged self-congratulatory analysis – it’s stark and numeric addition without the New Math.
I should probably get my 600-yard actual distance baptism experience ahead of time anyhow, but this event is also a good way to just plunge right in, so THEY say. Next time.
In the Fall I will have 100-rounds of the 77-grain Sierra Match Kings loaded and 250 rounds of their 69-grain little brothers – done over time so the repetitive stress tendinitis and arthritis doesn’t show up again – and if it cannot be beaten-off by Ibuprofen then I’m goin’ shoppin’ for Ammo, baby!