Once upon a time, there was a little shooter named Goldilocks.
She went to an IDPA match at Wildcat.
Despite the terrible things the wind and humidity were doing to her hair, she found the nerve to shoot the match anyway. Especially because Rhino was not there to shoot the match, and therefore would not be able to upstage her with his renowned good looks and better fashion sense.
At a bay behind the clubhouse, she encountered three rows of steel. Three very unpleasant looking rows of steel. Rows of steel that would require a lot of noisy, messy knocking down to gain access to the targets in the back.
The steel targets in the front looked massive, like they weighed a kabillion times more than a cardboard target. "What huge steel plates they have!" thought Goldilocks.
The steel targets in the back, which unlike the first two rows actually held point value, looked like anemic substandard toothpicks that had been produced after extreme cutbacks were made at a toothpick factory. "OMG, these plates look too small!"
The steel plates in the middle row were actually identical clones of the front row, but the presence of so many shiny objects had really overwhelmed Goldilocks' mind at this point. "Umm... I guess those look just right."
Goldilocks waited with her squad while a different group of shooters approached the stage. First up were Cowboy Action Shooters. They artfully devastated the paper threats that loomed at the beginning of the stage, and proceeded to the second firing position to engage the steel. However, their carefully aimed shots were no match for the titanic sheets of metal. Gentle, soothing clinking sounds signified the success of their aim, if not their endeavors. "Those rounds are too light!" thought Goldilocks.
After the cowboy action shooters were done, some old-school 1911 shooters with powerful .45's came onto the scene. Full of confidence, they also blasted their way through the cardboard mafia and approached the second firing position to engage the steel. CLANG! POW! ZAP! (zap?) The steel clamored to the ground.
However, after clearing their weapons and reholstering, each of the .45 shooters looked slightly pale. Naseous. Sweaty and unhappy. "I-I-I... I think I just went through $50 worth of ammo on that stage."
"Those rounds are too... much." thought Goldilocks.
Goldilocks started to have a minor panic attack. Her new Springfield EMP was still on baby food - factory ammo - as it had not yet developed a digestive system capable of handling tough reloads. Whatsoever could she do? Flat point 124-gr reloads had always downed steel for her in the past, but all of her magazines were loaded with factory 115. Lacking a paper bag to hyperventilate into, Goldilocks instead buried her face in her overstuffed range bag.
There she saw it.
Half a box of factory 124's. Just enough to drop the steel plates - provided, of course, that she didn't flake out and accidentally use that magazine on the paper targets in the first part of the stage.
Goldilocks approached the line and waited for the buzzer. The first targets were gone in a blur, and she tac-loaded the 124-infused magazine and nervously approached P2. Would the targets fall? Would she find herself wishing she had opted for the bayonet mount for her new gun? Would she manage to look sufficiently pretty while she was shooting?
In a moment of sheer happiness, Goldilocks watched the steel targets fall victim to her rounds as surely and cleanly as though they were no-shoot targets in a competitive state match. She managed to suppress giggles as she cleared her weapon, but could not resist a slight happy dance as the targets were scored. The micro-sized 1911 in 9mm with slightly heavier bullets was just right.
She went to an IDPA match at Wildcat.
Despite the terrible things the wind and humidity were doing to her hair, she found the nerve to shoot the match anyway. Especially because Rhino was not there to shoot the match, and therefore would not be able to upstage her with his renowned good looks and better fashion sense.
At a bay behind the clubhouse, she encountered three rows of steel. Three very unpleasant looking rows of steel. Rows of steel that would require a lot of noisy, messy knocking down to gain access to the targets in the back.
The steel targets in the front looked massive, like they weighed a kabillion times more than a cardboard target. "What huge steel plates they have!" thought Goldilocks.
The steel targets in the back, which unlike the first two rows actually held point value, looked like anemic substandard toothpicks that had been produced after extreme cutbacks were made at a toothpick factory. "OMG, these plates look too small!"
The steel plates in the middle row were actually identical clones of the front row, but the presence of so many shiny objects had really overwhelmed Goldilocks' mind at this point. "Umm... I guess those look just right."
Goldilocks waited with her squad while a different group of shooters approached the stage. First up were Cowboy Action Shooters. They artfully devastated the paper threats that loomed at the beginning of the stage, and proceeded to the second firing position to engage the steel. However, their carefully aimed shots were no match for the titanic sheets of metal. Gentle, soothing clinking sounds signified the success of their aim, if not their endeavors. "Those rounds are too light!" thought Goldilocks.
After the cowboy action shooters were done, some old-school 1911 shooters with powerful .45's came onto the scene. Full of confidence, they also blasted their way through the cardboard mafia and approached the second firing position to engage the steel. CLANG! POW! ZAP! (zap?) The steel clamored to the ground.
However, after clearing their weapons and reholstering, each of the .45 shooters looked slightly pale. Naseous. Sweaty and unhappy. "I-I-I... I think I just went through $50 worth of ammo on that stage."
"Those rounds are too... much." thought Goldilocks.
Goldilocks started to have a minor panic attack. Her new Springfield EMP was still on baby food - factory ammo - as it had not yet developed a digestive system capable of handling tough reloads. Whatsoever could she do? Flat point 124-gr reloads had always downed steel for her in the past, but all of her magazines were loaded with factory 115. Lacking a paper bag to hyperventilate into, Goldilocks instead buried her face in her overstuffed range bag.
There she saw it.
Half a box of factory 124's. Just enough to drop the steel plates - provided, of course, that she didn't flake out and accidentally use that magazine on the paper targets in the first part of the stage.
Goldilocks approached the line and waited for the buzzer. The first targets were gone in a blur, and she tac-loaded the 124-infused magazine and nervously approached P2. Would the targets fall? Would she find herself wishing she had opted for the bayonet mount for her new gun? Would she manage to look sufficiently pretty while she was shooting?
In a moment of sheer happiness, Goldilocks watched the steel targets fall victim to her rounds as surely and cleanly as though they were no-shoot targets in a competitive state match. She managed to suppress giggles as she cleared her weapon, but could not resist a slight happy dance as the targets were scored. The micro-sized 1911 in 9mm with slightly heavier bullets was just right.
