Several years ago, I had the great opportunity to return to the theater of my youth, a wheat farm in North-Central Oregon, where a thick volume of my most-cherished outdoor memories reside. I was charged with providing a new precision rifle for this all-important mission, one capable of handling the big country on my old friend’s land along the Columbia Plateau.
I opted for a Remington Long Range in .300 Winchester Magnum and had the scope mounted and bore-sighted at a reputable gun counter in Montana. I zeroed it in 3 shots, then drove highway miles with the rifle packed in an armored case.
Upon arrival, we should’ve had ample time to play around with precise adjustments for longer-range accuracy. However, at their gun range, Jake and I were bewildered. We were running low on fodder for the .300 Win, and still couldn’t get the new rifle to punch tight clusters through the paper. About the time we sent Richard to town for more ammo, Jake noticed rub marks near the rings, and we realized that the scope had been moving, ever so slightly, with every shot. We then inspected the mounting job and discovered that it had been conducted in a rather half-assed fashion. We busted out the Allen wrenches and Loctite and started over.
Anybody can have a bad day, so I figured I’d give the gun counter another chance when I bought a rifle chambered for the devastating caliber, the .300 Remington Ultra Magnum (RUM) with a specific purpose in mind. I dropped the gun and a Black Diamond Optics 5x25 off at the gun counter prior to an open-country elk hunt in Montana.
At the range, the gun performed nicely. The recoil was surprisingly comfortable, compliments of good cartridge/rifle combo and a Bell and Carlson stock. I fed 40 rounds through it, which my shoulder would’ve never withstood from my old Browning .300 Winchester, nor the .270, for that matter. Satisfied, I returned home to clean the rifle. That’s when I realized that the crosshairs were off-center. Removing the rings revealed a deep scratch in the tube, indicative of another piss-poor mounting job.
When any of our clan has a gun issue, we call Hammy. He’s something of a “cleaner”, he will make your problems go away. I handed the man my new tool, got out of the way, and let him go to work.