I went to the range early yesterday morning. I was feeling a bit sorry for myself on Fathers Day, as I'm stuck in NY trying to sell three properties and the love of my life and our five children are in our new house in TX. Almost all of our household was moved in April, but I kept a few rifles and enough reloading gear to keep them fed - I needed something to do that didn't involve a paint brush or power tools. One of the rifles that stayed behind is a .20 Practical built on a Stevens 200 action. It was a budget build I threw together in the shop on a slow afternoon a few winters ago but it's always been quite the shooter and it's my first choice for varmints and vermin if the wind isn't blowing. Anyway, I fixed a target at 100 and set the rifle up on the bench with an Atlas BT10 and rear bag. I was shooting 32 gr. V-Max in front of 23.7 gr. of H4198, LC brass and Tula primers. The first three shots on the target looked like this: That there is a monument to positive-outcome probability, cause I ain't that good. I can't hold that well on a proper front rest, much less a bipod. I should have packed up then, but I kept shooting. That group brightened my mood, though, and it made me think of our oldest daughter at home. My Abigail, 13, loves shooting this little rifle and she shoots it like a pro. We've spent some bench time together with this one and she's shot her share of groups in the threes with it. Those memories made me smile . . . .