• AllHailTheSheep@sh.itjust.works
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    23 hours ago

    look into a .270. not a small caliber when you’re used to a 22 but not massive in the whole scheme of things. they’re quite fun at that range you were describing too, and they give you the opportunity to go a lot longer if you ever need/want it.

    a .270 was my first hunting rifle, if a scrawny 11 year old could use it I have faith in you :)

    • Zink@programming.dev
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      18 hours ago

      .270 is a neat caliber. I rarely hear about it (not that I frequent gun discussions) but am familiar with it because that’s the caliber of my dad’s deer hunting rifle which also belonged to my WW2 veteran grandfather.

      And yeah it’s not very comparable to a 22 except for starting with a two. It’s a high powered rifle. You can think of it like a .30-06 but with a slightly smaller and faster bullet.

      • AllHailTheSheep@sh.itjust.works
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        18 hours ago

        oo I bet that rifle was beautiful. I’d love to have an older hunting rifle, there’s something about how they age that makes them gorgeous to me.

        I had a savage .270, it was a smaller model they made especially for youth. loved that thing.

        • Zink@programming.dev
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          16 hours ago

          I remember my dad telling me decades ago how it was such quality because it was old enough to have forged parts rather than machined.

          I am nearly certain I don’t have easy access to a photo of it, but it was a classic look. Bolt action rifle with a dark barrel, all wood body and stock, modest scope, and a leather carrying strap.

          I don’t really admire the look of guns any more than I might with something like a power drill. But in this case it’s associated with nice memories of when Dad let me shoot the big rifle from grandpa, or just hiking through the woods with my dad while he was the one carrying it.

          For some background, I’m obviously American, but I also had an early childhood out in the country. I mean “I played in the corn field that bordered my giant back yard” country. I knew the farmer too, because he’d let my dad hunt on his land. Sometimes we’d hang out in his house and BS on the way in or out.