Don’t assume, or you’ll get a visit from Mr. Murphy
“Anything that can go wrong, will go wrong.”
Edward A. Murphy Jr., Aerospace Engineer
It should have been evident upon arrival that this was going to be one of those days. My favorite day of the shooting calendar is range day, the day we, as police officers, qualify with our firearms. Some guys dread firearms qualification day. Some embrace it. Others, meh.
Oftentimes it is the day when one proves their mettle. For others, it provides the stark reality that one is not quite up to spec and that said shooter should begin to assemble their feces in a row, so to speak. I had been practicing more than usual so I was feeling confident. Pulling into the driveway of the range I began looking for the restroom signage. There were none. This would prove ominous at best as to how the day would play out.
I arrived nearly an hour early thinking I would sip coffee in the predawn hours. The range is a sort of a second church for me and I was happy to watch the sunrise peek over the ridge, welcoming the new day. I said my morning prayers, did a bit of writing and began to prepare my equipment for the shoot. I was at peace … or so I foolishly believed. Unbeknownst to me, Mr. Murphy was about to make his entrance.
Following a quick trip to the little boys tree deep into the canopy of the forest (remember, no restrooms) I attended to sundry mosquito bites. I can’t say I did much attending but rather scratched, profusely.
The rest of the shooters arrived in police fashion with half a dozen patrol cars pulling in simultaneously, a bluster of assemblage. The air was filled with the sounds of actions being racked and weapons cleared, gear deposited on tables, magazines being loaded and the trading of barbs between officers regarding the pending performances. In other words, heaven on earth.
I had arrived in plenty of time to get a good parking spot so my equipment was not only assembled on the back of my truck bed, which is my preferred staging area, but I was in close proximity to the range, meaning I could grab gear without walking half a mile to and fro. Another win, or so I thought.
After the safety briefing, we gathered at the firing line and made ready; the moment to which we had all been looking so forward. Or dreading. The command to fire was issued. My first eight rounds hit home just like they’re supposed to register. I was seeing clearly for a change because these old eyes don’t always work, at 60, as they once did. And right then and there Mr. Murphy would breach our gathering. I looked down and was horrified to see my front sight hanging from my pistol, ready to drop from the gun entirely. I called a cease fire, unloaded, and headed for the truck and my little sight wrench. All of my tools are kept in the same little bindle. I searched for five minutes, assured that Mr. Murphy had helped me pack for the day. I finally discovered the wrench where it shouldn’t be and made the repairs to my front sight, allowing me to return in time to the qualification already in progress. The instructor got me caught up and my score was solid but not the normal upper echelon standard which I hold myself to. I guess I was a bit shaken from the mishap. Oh, well. Such is life and I learned a valuable lesson about preparation and not taking things for granted. I’d also lock tight that front sight in place as soon as I got back home. But Mr. Murphy was not done.
First the restroom fiasco following wing night. Then my front sight goes down in a freak occurrence. As I transitioned to my rifle for the next phase of the qualification I pulled my little carbine out of its case. When I reached for the power button on the optic, the entire sight lifted from the platform. I was aghast. This cannot be happening. I was left standing with my red dot in one hand and rifle in the other. The tension lever had been disengaged, how, I cannot begin to fathom. Knowing that the zero could be seriously affected, I had no choice but to remount the optic, shoot the qual, hope for the best and know that I might fail and have to requalify at a later date because of equipment malfunction.
I returned the sight to its mount by way of little marks that I make on the mounting rail for just such occasions and proceeded to the firing line once more. The rifle shot a nearly perfect score, even with the sight debacle. I did not realize it, however, until we walked up to inspect our targets and I was delighted, if not relieved to discover the most positive of results.
So what was the takeaway from today’s most “Murphy-oriented of lessons?” Don’t take anything for granted. Check. Re-check. Double re-check. Take care of things in advance. Don’t assume. Practice it a dozen times and then practice it some more. Don’t get cocky when things go well because soon enough, the bottom WILL fall out of one’s bucket. No excuses! Lock tight all front sights on all weapons. Test all optic mounts before and after shooting. Keep a spare optics battery or two handy. Practice, practice and practice some more. And most importantly, always carry a roll of paper towels in your truck and schedule wing night for after the shoot, not the night prior.
Dave Bates writes a weekly outdoors column for the Observer-Reporter. He can be reached at alphaomegashootingsolutions@gmail.com