John's experience with the .243 as his "remedy" gun for early-onset flinchitis mirrors mine, but my medicine to get better was a '99 .250 Savage.

Since Dad didn't handload when I was a little guy, he'd just buy shells for the punishing curved steel plate .30-30 wherever he found them: second-hand stores, "bargain bins" at the gun shop, etc. I don't remember ever seeing a new box of shells. Problem was, I don't remember ever seeing any 150g bullets, either. Always the 170's. More punishment.

The gun was old enough that along with the curved steel buttplate and 170 grain shells, it had a comb that was sort of flattened on top ('94 guys will know what I am talking about) with rather sharp corners precisely where I'd put my unfleshy cheekbone. More punishment.

I would so look forward to "sighting in day" and shoot that gun till my shoulder literally turned black, and I fought the tears so Dad wouldn't see. He must have known something, for on a couple of occasions, he'd fold up a buckskin glove off the dashboard of the '49 Chevy, and stuff it under my shirt on my shoulder (an ersatz "Past Pad" of the day for the dirt-poor).

Dad "helped" me buy a '99 .250 when I was 15. That gun taught me that highpowered rifles can actually shoot as precisely as my Winchester 67 .22, that they don't have to kick, and that everything I shot at died very quickly, even at the completely foolish and abhorrent ranges that 15 year olds try. Gradually, it reduced dramatically my flinching (but never completely: flinching is like malaria--you have recurring episodes and never have control of when they might erupt).

And, being 15, I fell helplessly, hopelessly, and endlessly in love with the .250 Savage.

You never forget the first one that treated you very nice.


Last edited by Tahnka; 07/10/11.
"I have always disliked the words 'authority' and 'expert' when applied to those who write about guns, shooting,and hunting. I have never set myself up as either."
Jack O'Connor