All spun up…a real hot tamale!

A Ruger No. 1 in .257 Weatherby.

I experienced something recently I had heard and read about in years past, but I had never personally experienced. I’d been wanting a .257 Weatherby No. 1 ever since they became available.   To understand what that means if you’re not a single-shot rifle aficionado like I am, I need to start with a bit of background.

Roy Weatherby was a southern California entrepreneur who developed a line of ultra-high-velocity rifle cartridges in the 1940s and beyond.  Weatherby built a rifle company around his proprietary cartridges, and they are fine firearms.  Roy has gone to his reward, and he was one hell of a man while he was with us.  I met Weatherby in the early 1980s and I know of what I speak, but that’s a story for another time.

Next bit of information:  Of the several cartridges that Mr. Weatherby developed, his personal favorite was the .257 Weatherby.  It’s a very, very fast quarter-bore (a .25-caliber cartridge) that has a huge brass case holding a lot of propellant, which vents all its fury on that little bullet when, as they say, the hammer falls.  The cartridge is wicked looking.  The thing resembles a hypodermic needle, and if you’re shooter and a reloader like me, you get all gaga over such things.   The .257 Weatherby has muzzle velocities approaching 4,000 feet per second.  To put that in perspective, consider that the 5.56mm NATO round, the one used in the so-called assault rifles and our US Army M-16, is “only” a 3,100 fps cartridge.   The .257 Weatherby is super fast.  It’s the fastest .25-caliber cartridge there is.  In that caliber, there’s nothing faster.

Next bit of gun info:  One of the most desirable and beautiful rifles in the world is the Ruger No. 1.  It’s a single-shot rifle, which means you load one round at time.  When I hear my gun buddies get their shorts in a knot about the “gubmint” limiting us to 10-round magazines, I have to laugh.  That’s nine more than a real rifleman needs.  One shot, if you’re doing things right, is all it takes.

Next point…last year, Ruger offered their No. 1 single-shot rifle in a very limited run chambered for the .257 Weatherby cartridge.  I love the Ruger No. 1 and I always wanted something in chambered for the .257 Weatherby cartridge.   For me, it was a no-brainer.  I had to have that rifle, and I finally found one (at a good price, and with nice wood).  It’s the one you see in the photo at the top of this blog.  It’s awesome.  Circassian walnut with nice horizontal streaks, a 28-inch barrel, and chambered for the ultimate round.  The stock looks good from both sides, too.  Take a look…

The view from the driver’s side.
Another shot of Circassian splendor.

The excitement with a new rifle like this (beyond the pride of ownership and the dreams of distant hunting trips) is developing a load that groups tightly.   Usually, I can get a rifle to shoot into an inch at 100 yards with the right combination of powder, powder charge, bullet, primer, seating depth, and the other variables in cartridge development.  It’s a mini-engineering development program, and finding the right recipe is a big part of the fun.  Maybe someday I’ll do a blog on that, too.

So I started with my first load, which consisted of 87 gr Hornady bullets, and varying loads of IMR 4350 propellant (what most folks would call the gunpowder, but we reloaders call it propellant).  The rifle was grouping okay (nothing great; I haven’t found the perfect load yet), when I got to the last load to be tested. It was a max load, which means it had the highest propellant charge I was testing that day.

None of the loads showed any pressure signs (like flattened primers or difficulty opening the action).  That’s what you watch for, to make sure you don’t create loads with excessive pressure.

Even the max load seemed okay, but when I fired the first shot I saw from the hole it made on the target that it was tumbling. After firing the next four, two more tumbled and, not surprisingly, the group had opened up significantly.

It was a lousy load from an accuracy perspective, but here’s where we get to the “never seen this before” before part of the story.

Here’s what the target looked like…

Tumblers!

Now, for the really interesting part.   Check out the bullet hole at the 7:00 position…the one at the lower left (the target was mounted on its side).

Here’s a closeup of that bullet hole…

Check out the comet-like trail starting at the top of this bullet hole…

The dark roostertail you see above is the lead spraying out of the bullet’s copper jacket as the bullet disintegrated in flight. Some of the bullets disintegrated sooner and started tumbling before they hit the target.  This one was breaking up as it went through the target!

Like I said, I had heard of this phenomenon before, but I never actually experienced it firsthand. The muzzle velocity, according to my reloading manual, was just under 4000 fps. Just for grins, I calculated the bullet rpm at that velocity, and by my reckoning, it works out to something approaching 300,000 rpm.  That little puppy was spinning, and between the centrifugal forces the bullets were experiencing at that rpm and the aerodynamic heating at those speeds, they were breaking up in flight.  That’s fast!

Interesting stuff, to be sure.

The 1911

I’m a huge fan of the 1911, going all the way back to 1973. That’s when I graduated college and headed off to the Army. I went to college on an ROTC scholarship, and I had the same spot in the Corps of Cadets as Colin D. MacManus did when he graduated a few years before me in 1965. Captain MacManus was killed in action in Vietnam, and every year after that, his family awarded a Colt 1911 to the graduating senior who held his position. I was that guy in 1973, and that was my first .45 auto.

Back then, times were different. I had to get a permit to own the .45, but it was more a formality than anything else. We could shoot in our backyard, we often did, and my father and I couldn’t wait to put the .45 through its paces. Like I said, we couldn’t wait, but that was only one thing we couldn’t do. The other was hit the target. We set up a target 30 feet away (a soda can), and trying as best we could, the only thing we hit was the ground halfway between us and that soda can. A lot of dirt flew.  There’s a lot of lead buried in what used to be our backyard.  Don’t tell the EPA.

Fast forward a few weeks, and I got lucky. The Army sent me to graduate school, and the ROTC detachment got a new Sergeant Major, one Emory L. Hickman. Sergeant Major Hickman had spent most of his career in Vietnam and the Army Marksmanship Training Unit, where the finest pistoleros in the world live. He was the real deal: A warrior and an expert pistol shot. I told him of my plight (the evasive can of pop) and he laughed. The Sergeant Major schooled me on the fundamentals of handling the 1911, he coached me on the pistol range, and he taught me how to put those big old 230-grain FMJ bullets pretty much exactly where I wanted them to go. Thank you, Sergeant Major Hickman.

Fast forward several decades and dozens of 1911s later, and that brings us to this morning at the West End Gun Club, where I and my Rock Island Compact 1911 did, once again, what the old Sergeant Major taught me to do.

And about that Rock Island 1911…it’s a short little thing, and it’s a blast to shoot. Around here in the People’s Republic of Kalifornia, Rock Island 1911s go for $500 brand new (that’s a tremendous value). They are inexpensive, but they are not cheap. The Rock Island 1911 is a real handgun with its Parkerized finish, all steel construction, wood grips, and GI sights (none of that black plastic silliness here). It reminds me a lot of the 1911s I carried in the Army. I love shooting my Rock Island Compact, it hits well, and I can still put my shots where I want to.  Sergeant Major Hickman would be 92 years old today if he was still around (I’m guessing he’s not); wherever he is, he’d be proud. He taught me well.


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