Who saids the 1911A is Inaccurate?

The 1911, is a fine pistol. Most military 1911’s are opened up to function when fouled or clogged, limiting their accuracy. An accurized 1911, is very sweet. I owned quite a few. Many variables. A lot of hand tuning and hand fitting involved.

BLOGGIN' BAD w/ Gunny G! ~ HEY! NO MORE PC, REMEMBER? ~AMERICA CANNOT BE GREAT AGAIN UNTIL THE STAIN, STIGMA, STENCH AND SHAME OF "THE PRINCE OF FOOLS" IS OFFICIALLY AND FINALLY UNDENIED, AINOs (AMERICANS IN NAME ONLY) EXPOSED, AND THE SWAMP FLUSHED! -POTUS TRUMP!.....-IF WE CAN KEEP HIM? ~ Illegitimi non carborundum...

Who saids the 1911A is Inaccurate?

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7 responses to “Who saids the 1911A is Inaccurate?

  1. Curiously (and waiting for the heaps of scorn) I think the 1911 was always too much gun for me.
    I could happily hold a fair slow time group, two handed, but put up against the Browning HP, even with the ‘boxy’ feel of the HP’s mag, I’d shoot all day and that night go off for a game of darts with that.
    As for double taps? 9 x 19 in 2Z was always controllable
    As for the mighty .45?
    Jeez, no way in hell was I confident of a double tap in or out of a phone box!
    Anyway, the way I figured it the more rounds I could put on target was the compensate for the flying brick approach of the 45.

    I suppose it’s what you get used to in the final analysis.
    Just like those plastic airfix kits aka Glocks.
    They may be brilliant to some, but to me?
    Na, pass the HP mother, (and I’m not talking the sauce bottle).

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    • In CQB, the 1911 was good. Too loose for anything beyond several yards but those were government issue pistols last purchased in 1945, by time I had them, who knows hows worn out of limits they were. The Browning High Power, was a very sweet pistol, but I was never an FMJ worshipper. I even like full wadcutters. When NYC went to the Glocks, I simply did not like them. The S&W Model-10, was tops, despite the bellyachers. If a person hits, and does not throw lead all over God’s creation, it will always be better than any miss. A friend who was a NYC Transit cop, had a .380 Llama, that he loved. After he retired, it was his dedicated carry piece. Two men tried to rob him one night when he was going to his retirement job, about 02:00 hours. He ended up shooting both of them, who ran off, with chest hits. They were found in some basement two weeks later when a landlord went to collect rent and noticed a foul smell.

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        • The service ammunition on the streets was .38 Special +P, 158 grain LSWC, Winchester Western. On the streets, it worked wonderful. I fired eight rounds of ammunition and completed eight hits. Seven gunmen dead, in three shooting On Duty. With the 1911, CQB was mano-a-mano maylay and at close range, devastating. I have so many different guns that I would love to have but really, the social security pension, and the 20th century modest city pension, just barely cover bills. Guns, I never outgrew. The taste of game meats, is as powerful today as it was many decades ago. I would like to try an XDM .45 acp in 5.25; also a Glock-21 .45 acp; and the Armscor RIA M206 in .38 special with only a Tyler T-grip adapter. I’ like a big overgrown kid, because then there are several rifles and no less than half dozen shotguns, all I would like to play with and do more hunting and a whole less blogging. Heaven help me, if I ever win the lottery. I will need to move into a warehouse to store all the toys. I confess, I also showered with LSA, years ago.

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          • Sigh, A Boy with loads of toyz. LOL.
            Me I’m a stick in the mud.
            I find something that works and I’m loyal to it. Which is probably why everything I own is 20 years plus.
            Always thinking ‘better the devil you know’ because once you REALLY KNOW a system, nothing distracts you when things go wrong.

            Old school rules me.
            That and SWMBO.

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            • Kind of. You know, when I go visit the gun shops, I can hear the voices calling to me, “Buy me!”, repeatedly, from all the firearms, and it grows and becomes louder. My blood pressure elevates as my breathing becomes labored, and with my eyes darting back and forth, the symphony of calls, “Buy me!”, what else could I do, as I know there is no escape for me until the purchase is made and I must promise the others, under glass displays, and on racks mounted to walls, to be patient. I will return for them. Then the melancholy sets in, as I depart with the newest purchase, purring, and purring, and I must then sort the dilemma of whether to go home and thoroughly clean the packing grease and oil, or should I go to the range? As I place the key into the ignition switch and put on the seatbelt, I can hear the beating of my heart and I glance down at the smiling, purring, new purchase. It is maddening.

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