Buying A Precision Rifle: Tikka Tac A1 Pt.1

How would you feel if I said you could have a no waiting list precision rifle that's served humble pie to some very very nice custom builds? For 30% of the cost of an Accuracy International? Yeah me too. Choice of three. Or five depending on who you listen to. What a time to be alive.

Some of the younger members of my club [which means people under 60] have been saying good things, very good things, about the Ruger Precision.
Not for the first time Ruger set the pace for the industry, to give them their due the RPR has done just that. Catching both the Precision Rifle and AR trends; a rifle you can customise at home with thousands of readily available options, it takes AR grips and stocks.  That's also ready to compete in precision matches right out of the box.

Now on Gen.3 there's a growing choice of factory calibers and aftermarket barrels, parts and it takes Pmags. Down on the south coast at OMR's club there's a whole cadre of owners. At both clubs .308 Nato and 6.5mm Creedmoor are neck and neck in numbers.

In Spain Bergara Rifles offer their riff on the idea. They have an excellent reputation for their button rifled barrels, and have wisely chosen to build their rifle on the Remington 700 footprint. If you wanted to develop a rifle from one; you can have your choice of 100's of stocks, triggers etc, and it takes the proven and readily available AI magazines. Money pit, fun money pit, but a money pit I can't allow myself to be sucked into. This time.

On every thread I read; where someone was asking where to drop their hard-earned, there was the 'That being said Now try the Tikka' comment. I have never shot a Tikka that wasn't accurate and amazing value for money. Asking about; people who wanted one because their mate has one shed out and bought the Ruger, people who have shot both bought the Tikka. The best review the Bergara got was 'its the equal of the Tikka'.  It might be different where you are but here there's less than £100 in it either way. No one I found in the UK is including extra magazines or postal rebate magazines from any of the brands.

The Howa guy is yet to return my calls. Not even sure you can even order the Savage here.

I was feeling pretty swayed, but you know, cash is king. There just weren't that many second hand Rugers in Creedmoor, even fewer Tikkas in general, and no sign of a Bergara.
I was becoming pretty much resigned to saving up to pay full-whack for a new one when I found a 20 inch Tikka in 6,5 CM with a Stalon advertised. The owner had a presence on a couple of forums where he'd posted enough to give me a bit of comfort. He's hanging up his spurs and offered to throw in the contents of his ammo boxes and a goodly pile of Lapua cases. Rude not to.

We had a couple of false starts while I traveled in the wrong part of the north, with my ticket back at home I couldn't take delivery. We prepared to do a dealer-to-dealer exchange, then the seller announced his work had scheduled a meeting for him in central london. We agreed to meet in a business traveler hotel just down the road from an office I myself am occasionally compelled to attend. I was envisioning something out of James Bond or Lord of War, with a sniper rifle laid out on the bed. Just in a cheaper hotel.

"Sorry it'll be a day later and they've  moved me to another hotel". The next day he found he had no hotel, 'but don't worry there are plenty of meeting rooms at the london office'.
It's not like this in the movies. The receptionist denied that he worked there or existed. I rang him. He was sitting on the sofa next to her desk. Frosty doesn't cover it. It's as though we'd been married already. My laughing didn't seem to help lift her mood.
Now we get to the paperwork, three lots; firearm, silencer/moderator, and ammo are all controlled, and need to be listed. The only available meeting room has a young fella working away at his laptop, we sit at the other end of the boardroom table.
Now for the moment of truth.
The seller walks over to the young fella, shows his office ID, and licence before he says "we're both licensed to possess firearms and I'm selling him a rifle, he needs to confirm its serial number" There's a slight pause, "I'm cool" says the young fella. We complete the transaction; re pack the Tikka back into its cardboard box, say our goodbyes, quick "thank you" to reception, and I'm back in the street.

Wondering if the Uber or the armed response team will get there first.

I''m going to test this rifle and take it for a few trips - follow our adventure on Facebook

More Soon
Your Pal
SBW

Blaser, Tikka, Roe, And Fallow

'We see the world, not as it is, but as we are'

Occasionally, just occasionally I visit the countryside in search of dinner and/or accuracy. Where for the most part I shoot unloved action figures and empty larger cans in an event we like to call Airgun Frenzy. Sometimes the best laid plans go awry in a good way. I'm not complaining. Here's how it happened.

As we've had a brief respite from the rain, Elfa had gone away for the weekend, and the freezer has been a rabbit-free zone for weeks, it seemed like the perfect opportunity to put the pellet-to-the-metal and have an afternoons air rifle shooting. With two permissions between us I was hopeful that we'd be able to bring home a few bunnies, and if we didn't, any day out of town is a good one.

Did I mention HunterX was involved? Multiply that by HunterY being there as well, and regular readers will know that we may as well have set Airgun Frenzy in the twilight zone, do do der der do do der der......

BY TEXT
HunterX: Air rifles, small game and target shooting Saturday.
SBW: You had me from Air rifles.

SBW: Is Airgun Frenzy still on?
HunterX: Mine 8am Sat.

HunterX: Scrub that. We have to collect HunterY, as near to 7 as you can
SBW: Bell you on route.

We make our arrangements - as ever TBC at the last moment, I prepare a picnic/tapas and hit the road in excellent time. Rather than go to his house where escape velocity may well be impeded by, pretty much anything, we agree to meet in the street at a halfway point. I almost have time for a second round of coffee and danish, after the wait for the cafe to open. HunterX rocks up and we make our way across town. HunterX has a plan. "Y will still be in bed, we'll call him, he'll say we're early and should come in for coffee, we'll refuse and wait for him in the truck, otherwise it'll be lunchtime and we'll still be there."

SBW: "No worries I've laid on a lunch"
HunterX "What does that even mean? 'I've laid on a lunch'?"
SBW: "It means a selection of cold meats, from Spain. a selection of cheeses, from Portugal, an excellent pate, French, some pickles to go with the pate, and plates instead of eating off the wrappers"

HunterY appears carrying a machete, which makes for an unexpected sight on a sleepy west london street on Saturday morning, friday night in south london normal, saturday morning in west london, unusual.

SBW: Where's your air rifle dude?
HunterY: "As St Paul said 'when I became a man I put away childish things'"
HunterX: _________ [Y's famous friend] said that about five years ago at a game fair, and Y has repeated it every time air rifles are mentioned since. Yawn

The cussing, bragging and bickering continue as we drive out of town.

We drive through the flooded fields of the English countryside, that as you may have seen are slowly draining, while its been a tough time for the deer all that sodden ground is about to burst into verdant life, the rains stop for the day and the sun lights up the fields. HunterX casually mentions a few little jobs, all of which could be done with tools and tubes of gloop which I have in abundance. Just not with me. HunterY announces he needs to buy a pair of boots. This is all par for the course. No trip to X's permission is complete without a visit to a hardware store [or two].

Our new friend Kentish Hunter joins us for the afternoon. A true travelling sportsman, he's hunted some very far-flung destinations, and preferring to shoot his own rifle has bought himself a box full of take-down goodness. A Blaser R8 in .243 and what a sweet thing it is too.

Maybe its because I'm an AOH, [adult onset hunter] that the Blaser design appeals to me. Mauser's design is true genius, using the options he had at the time. Blaser's doing away with the bolt and replacing it with a collet that locks the case into the barrel is the next step.

It took me ages to tire of reading the hilarious Blaser knockers online, like all people who know in their heart of hearts that they've lost the argument [they started], the grounds for their dissatisfaction change before the wind.  Very few of them are intellectually honest enough to sight either of the two good reasons for not buying a Blaser ; 'I'm not spending THAT on a rifle' and 'If I spent THAT on a rifle I'd want it to be historic or made by one 'smith '. If I lived a life even approaching the life of my dreams I'd have one, but sadly I can't even begin to justify a used R93 let alone the super trick R8.

Like every Kit-Tart I've always thought having tip-top gear that you totally believe in, gives you the confidence to take on the job. Be that Bahco's for wrestling with seized nuts on ancient plumbing or Kifaru/ThermArest for sleeping out in inclement weather. This doesn't seem to be working for the deflated Kentish Hunter who I'd have expected to be full of new-toy-joy but is a font of negativity, even going as far as uttering that most defeatist of phrases "Maybe my wife is right, maybe I'm just not cut out to be a hunter". Que gasps of horror from hunter's X, Y and yours truly.

It happens. I've seen it happen at work, I've seen it happen in love, I've seen it happen to salesmen and to sportsman. It's happened to me.

In Spain, a few months ago, in the campo. The Evil Elfa and I had a shooting competition with her open sighted Cometa .177.
The first to shoot is to put a hole in the pressed steel lid of an old food tin, after that it's how close to the hole for scoring. The sun is going down and the holes are illuminated from behind. Elfa's pellets make the 'phutunk' sound as they cluster around the hole in a tight group, mine are 'pa-ting' sounding different and no holes are appearing. Elfa is beside herself with glee 'don't be too hard on yourself I was trained for this with my dad when I was a kid' she crows, smirking in mock sympathy.
I review my memories of each shot; it all felt so right, the hold, the breath, the settle. I'm falling into my confusion; the gap between practice and feedback seem out of sync. Confusion becomes despondency. Whupped by mi chica.
In my minds eye I can imagine what she'll say as I leave the house for future hunting trips. I'm actually future-pacing my self-doubt. My despondency reaches a new low.

Where it would have remained if the coyote god hadn't made the the wind blow.
For the second time a gust brings the lid down from the fence, this time I go to re-hang it. As I bend to pick it up I see the Zen of this thing, beaten into the metal.
While Elfa's pellets have clustered around the hole, mine are all in a tighter group where they struck but didn't puncture, the tin's embossed rim. About 20mm to the right and 15mm low there are deep dimples, deep deep dimples, where pellets have landed in the craters of previous pellets. One on top of another.

Oh the power of negative thinking.

I can see how Kentish Hunter must feel. Twelve long months have passed between his last deer on the ground, and they were punctuated with a lost deer. The guilt and uncertainty have drained the poor chap of his confidence. I've stalked a lot more than I've shot deer, you've got to be a sport about it, 'it's called hunting not shopping' and all that. But I haven't bought myself a brand new Blaser R8. If I had I'm not sure I'd be so sanguine about it either, the rings on that thing cost more than a perfectly good preloved deer rifle.

There is something in the sportsman's code. Scrub that. There is something in the hobbyist's code, even if he'd said 'maybe I'm just not cut out to make my own mayonnaise" the very fact that he prefaced it with the words 'maybe my wife is right' means that, in the style of fellow freemasons seeing the summoning of aid symbol, Hunters X and Y were now honor-bound to re-inflate his sense of 'Hunter-ness'.

Baser R8 Pro with the standard stock: Petite, Point-able, Durable, with Innovative design features, and taking up Minimal luggage space. Not to everyone's taste. Hmm. A bit like the evil Elfa herself.

HunterY sets Kentish Hunter up on the range with targets at 100, and 200 meters. Y is an excellent range captain, there is something very avuncular about him as he calmly breaks the procedure down into steps. Kentish Hunter puts round after round within the deer killing zone. Out of the corner of my eye, I catch it. There is a discernible flicker, a long unused neural pathway illuminates as his synapses reconfigure towards 'can do'. Clouds both climatic and metaphorical are blown away from the range and we're in clear sunlight.
Kentish Hunter: "even if I don't get a deer I'm happy". "I think we can do a bit better than that" HunterY

Kentish Hunter offers us the chance to shoot his rifle, HunterY likes to pretend he disdains the Blaser brand [range captain and lead controversialist], HunterX knows I want to have a go and taps his watch like a station master concerned for the smooth running of a timetable in mussolini's Italy.

The 'Settle' or preparation to take a shot, it turns out is something fairly easily practiced, and as its gun-less can be practiced anywhere. That feeling of narrowing my focus of attention can be recreated, and by practicing with the hands of a clock the feedback on how fast you're moving between states, helps you to get faster at moving between generalised alertness and the narrowed focus required. The zen of shooting never stops fascinating me.

Four shots fired, two less than a square from where they were pointed, and two blown off course by the coyote god.

 Or so I had convinced myself until I downloaded the pictures from my phone.

With our thoughts we make the world.

As the sun was now falling towards the trees, HunterX sets out his plan for the remaining shooting light, Kentish Hunter in a highseat for Fallow, with me and him to take on the curse of the were-rabbits with our .177's. Before the air rifles can leave their slips HunterY suggests another likely highseat for me to sit in.

Climbing into it I wasn't to wait long before I was able to invite a Roe doe to dinner with HunterX's .243 'cull gun'. A Tikka with its bolt knob replaced with a plastic sphere. It doesn't look as trick as those 'tactical' milled aluminium knobs, but seems loads more ergonomic than the OME or the tactical knob [there's a joke in here somewhere] and was only $10.

As I'm making the rifle safe to climb out of the seat, there's the muffled ping of another .243. Did he? Has the jinx been broken?

HunterY and I are working our way through the gralloch when Kentish Hunter appears dragging a Fallow yearling. I say dragging, but his feet weren't really touching the ground, he's flying. Usually a firm handshake is the order of the day, but this time we all hug him. Kentish Hunter wears a grin that would shame a Cheshire Cat for the rest of the day. Later I casually ask him if he's still thinking of selling his R8. Apparently not. But he does have plans to buy a new scope, a .308 barrel and install a deer hoist in his garage.

More Soon
Your pal
SBW

I would like to take this opportunity to apologise to readers new and readers regular for having shop-bought mayonnaise in the fridge. There is no excuse. None.

I Want One - A Not So Occasional Series Pt7

'You can tell gentleman by his shoes and his watch' - Unknown

The two most predictable questions to ask a returning adventurer are:
Q 'Why?' 

A 'Because it's there' [I know what you mean but couldn't you find a new way of saying it?] 

From my earliest days reading about adventure, and adventurers, the intrepid adventurer has always had certain bits of kit that are; if not actually indispensable, at least touchstones. Those pieces of craft that can take us places, especially when we've taken ourselves places. Yes I'm including myself in the adventurer category now that I've led an intrepid solo expedition to the frozen north. Well Leeds anyway.

Predictable Question 2 

Q 'What's the one thing you'd always take?'

As ever Eric Newby had the best answer. 

A'Wanda!' (his Mrs).  

Apart from his beloved the other thing Newby  always had with him was his Rolex, bought on route to the hindu kush. Lacking his wit and good fortune lots of adventurers  seem to go that most pedestrian of answers ' a swiss army knife'. 

Don't get me wrong. They're OK. I've owned a few of them myself but i can think of better options; a stack of $100 bills'll solve most problems, from lighting fires to calming traffic cops. While it cant light fires, when the Benjamins are gone a Rolex can always be swapped  for a ticket home from anywhere.

I've been a fan of Rolex since I first saw them advertised in an ancient copy of National Geographic as a teenager, and how many dreams were born between those pages?  The trouble with Rolex is that every fourth Essex wide boy's got one, and the other three are wearing 'Bangkok rolys'. In order to reestablish some of the exclusivity they once had there's a now a fashion for coating Rolex sports watches in a variety of black finishes - the same sort of coatings people use to weatherproof rifles. Way cool, and there's a certain cache to not-for-sale. 

Then there's the real deal - IWC - The International Watch Company of Schaffhausen Switzerland. Every model is a thing of great beauty in its own way. To my eyes, especially the the sports watches from the 1970s. My friend Nurse Kate has one of the coolest examples. Her stepfather saw her eyeing it up on his wrist and gave it to her in a fit of pique shouting 'Stop waiting for me to die'.  She's spent the price of a Tikka T3 on servicing it and it still doesn't tell the time. Cool paperweight though. 

You can see where this is going. A hand made watch is possibly the ultimate boys toy, completely useless - your phone keeps better time, but some how way cool. In fact the more you spend the less good a watch is at its stated function. If you don't 'get' watches you'll be queuing up to leave pithy comments at the end of this post. If you do get them you'll be too busy following the links to comment. 

So here it is. The latest 'I Want One' its totally customizable, and its a hell of a lot cheaper that even a new strap for an IWC, it combines the time keeping qualities of an phone [almost] with the machinists craft and the cache of super low volume manufacture.  The Swiss assembled models have a few choices. But it's the assembled in the USA models that interest me. Completely custom, you make yours up from an options list that include choices of case, bezel, faces, and hour, minute, second and second time zone hands. All to your own exacting taste. Corr!

MKII call my favorite the Long Range Reconnaissance Patrol (pronounced "LuRP") which if you include the short walk to school and back is a pretty fair description of my lifestyle.

There's a 'seeker' born every minute - and two to sell him must have accessories.

Your Pal 

SBW (that's Sucker Boy Wants)

I Want One - A Not So Occasional Series Pt5

This time it's a rifle. Seeing as the Tikka T3 (£700ish) i shot at Rangetastic was so good strait out of the box, it set me wondering. As Sako and Tikka are both part of Beretta. What are Sako offering for the extra £600 ?

The current offering is the 85 series, a refinement of the highly rated 75 and available in the usual range of calibers, stocked with a choice of wood, laminate or synthetic (£1300ish). The most obvious difference is that the actions are caliber-specific; cartridge length determines the length of the action. Giving new meaning to 'use enough gun'. This looks far nicer, saves a few grams, and means the bolts travel is matched to the effort needed to cycle your cartridge.

Worth the extra cash? Depends how many sewage pipes you had to clear for it, I suppose.

Off up north
Your pal
SBW