NOW HERE’S AN ODD THING: LIKE MOST PEOPLE, I began my shooting career in my teens, with a single-shot bolt-action .22 rimfire. The rifle was made by Cooey, a Canadian company later acquired by Winchester, and my father bought the rifle in the 1930s. It was a solid gun, with an action and barrel of machined steel and a stock of black walnut.
Naturally, as a teenage devotee of Outdoor Life and Shooting Times (yes, Shooting Times, way back then), I wanted a hot centerfire, squinting down the sights at a Dall sheep or a Cape buffalo. In the course of events, that pretty much all came to pass. As I passed the half-century mark, however, I found myself with a strange yearning. I desperately wanted a .22 rimfire rifle…
