There's something nostalgia-evoking about a full length AR pattern rifle. Even after all these years, with all the modifications and improvements to the design, carbine length weapons with collapsible stocks, flat top uppers and free floating railed handguards, flip up iron sights, short PDW style carbines chambered in a plethora of rounds, I still find myself picking up a 20 inch heavy barreled beast, clunky and cumbersome as it might be. It began as nothing but a stripped lower receiver, and I sourced the components Johnny Cash style, as in "One Piece At a Time", until finally all that I needed was setting on my work bench, patiently waiting for me to bring it to life. After a the initial build and several range sessions to function test, it was time to take it out for serious business. Sitting atop it's rail was a Nikon ProStaff 3-9x40mm optic, to give my eyes a bit of an advantage.
Iron sights are important to have and to learn to use, but with age comes a degradation of one's senses. Vision in particular. For me, anything past 75 yards has to be assisted with some form of magnified optic.
I placed it up on the bench, and loaded a 20 round Magpul PMag with 6 rounds of Winchester 5.56mm NATO 62grain FMJ. Removing the sub par quality Weaver lens covers I had been talked into by a local shop (a problem soon to be solved), I peered down through the Nikon at the target.
I charged the rifle, and gripping the stock, I pulled it in tight to my shoulder.
A solid, well built, and ergonomically comfortable feel to this stock, my cheek weld was perfect.
I dropped the safety, and with controlled breath, I squeezed the trigger.
I felt the bolt slide back through the buffer with the sound of the spring reporting that familiar "ChingChing" as the bolt returned to the chamber loading another round. The emptiness filled my brain again, washing away all the struggles and worries of the past week. It was me, the rifle, the trigger, and the target. Nothing else. I squeezed the trigger.
That 62 grain projectile split the air and raced across that range piercing the target once again. 6 times, and 6 hits. This felt right. Point and click.
Stew laid the binoculars on the staging table, and said "It was hard to tell exactly, but I think it was a pretty tight group."
We hopped on the Trail Wagon and rode down to the target to examine my group up close.
The circle was slightly bigger than a quarter, and while I could feel myself shaking a bit on the 5th and 6th shot, I was still satisfied with my group, and well within my expectations for my rifle.
I'm sure that when Eugene Stoner designed the AR , he never imagined all the different evolution that would take place within the design. All the different accessories, mods, parts, and upgrades that are available today are staggering, some vastly improving the design, and some of highly questionable usefulness. But with all the "bells and whistles" sometimes a simple, reliable weapon is a refreshing change of pace. I believe it to be that simplicity for me.
After a couple of hours of simple informal plinking, the sun was beginning to crawl down past the tree line, the orange and gold beams of light etching their marks across the North Carolina sky.
These simple days are the ones I remember with the fondest regard. The weekdays belong to the money grubbers, task masters, and bureaucrats. But the weekend belongs to us, the men and women of the blue collar, whose hands bear the scars of honest work. We don't spend our days at the country club, or on a well manicured golf course. We find our leisure on the back roads, and the open field, where city ordinance is a myth, and HOAs are just a bad dream. The next time you need to find yourself, you might want to check an old country path. You might be patiently waiting there the whole time.
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