Rimfire Revolution: A Complete Guide to Modern .22 Rifles

PREFACE

The diminutive .22 has killed African lions and Alaskan grizzlies, but they usually account for rabbits and squirrels. They are fired at targets by men of enormous skill, sometimes from rifles that cost hundreds of dollars, but more often they ventilate tin cans. These sentiments are as true today as in 1971 when Dave Petzel penned them in his classic book, The .22 Rifle — yet the scale and scope of rimfire rifles have vastly changed.

Over the last 50 years, the shooters have changed, too. Those skilled shots are no longer exclusively men. Some of the very best rimfire shooters in the world are women. The economics are different. A few hundred dollars is still a lot of money, but the very best rimfire rifles cost thousands — in some cases, tens of thousands. The ammunition is better. The .22 Long Rifle or .22 LR is more refined, consistent, and accurate today than at any point in our history. Shooting sports have evolved, too, particularly here in the United States with the rise of modern precision rifle shooting. Most importantly, for the purview of this book, the rifles have changed — significantly, and for the better.

Computer-driven manufacturing coupled with grassroots demand for insanely accurate, functional rimfire rifles has opened the door to a significant re-thinking of the platform. No longer are .22s miniaturized afterthoughts in walnut and blue. They are precision instruments, as sophisticated in design as their centerfire brethren. Modern precision .22s are capable of Olympic accuracy or ringing steel at 1,200 yards. Yes, 1,200 yards. That is not a typo. A shot that long in .22 LR requires an astonishing 120 mils of elevation. And it is repeatable.

A modern precision rifle system by Vudoo Gun Works. Photo: Vudoo Gun Works

Make no mistake. We are in the midst of a rimfire revolution. This book aims to chronicle that progress. During my research, as I got deeper into the world of rimfire, it became clear that there was a large data gap between how most Americans thought about .22s — plinkers, youth rifles, squirrel guns— and what today’s new tactical, precision, and long-range shooters were doing. To understand the nuances of how a rifle action works or rimfire ballistic coefficients, I took a deep dive into Internet forums, Facebook groups, and YouTube channels. No published works were explaining, for example, the difference between an Anschütz and a Vudoo, while every shooter thinking of spending serious money on a .22 has undoubtedly asked themselves, What’s the difference between an Anschütz and a Vudoo? Thanks to my work with Field & Stream, I picked up the phone and called these companies and many others, including bleeding edge thought leaders in the rimfire industry. My original intent was to chronicle rifle genealogies, but as with most book projects, it grew into much more.

The challenge of a project like this is keeping the subject accessible for new enthusiasts while not boring the old hands. I’ve tried to start in the shallow end on each topic, then wade into deeper waters. The book is designed to be read through but could also — I hope — stand as a reference for others.

The book starts by touching on pertinent rimfire history, which is the story of the .22 Short. In the .22 Short, is everything a shooter needs to know about rimfire ammunition and how it works. We then look at modern rimfire ammunition, including the .17s, before pushing off into rifles. To be included in this book, rifles had to meet a minimum consistent standard of 1 MOA accuracy, meaning they had to shoot an approximate 0.500-inch 5-shot group at 50 yards. They also had to innovate within the platform in some way.

Next, we dive into accuracy, cleaning practice and theory, customization and improvements, plus shooting accessories, sports, and technique. A rimfire rifle set up for extreme long range is vastly different than a sporter designed for an NRA postal match. The discipline informs how a rifle system hangs together, what accessories are required, and how you handle it on the firing line. These peculiarities might sound complicated, but it’s pretty obvious. You wouldn’t shoot Rimfire Challenge with an NRL22 rifle. This section teases out these rifle systems and sport-based nuances.

The last chapter is for readers like me. When I started shooting accurate .22s, I couldn’t get enough. This section is for readers who also can’t get enough. It begins with raw question-and-answer-style interviews with shooters and thought-leaders pushing the rimfire platform to new heights — including engineers, designers, shooters, and promoters, all accomplished. These discussions are detail-rich, but I hope that a casual reader who’s made it through the first two hundred pages can happily follow along. Finally, there’s a collection of appendixes for reader reference, other sources to explore, theoretical DOPE charts, an NRL22 gear survey, even a guide to the manufactures mentioned in this book.

At the very least, I hope this book opens the world of modern precision rimfire to new readers and shooters alike, whether a first-time gun owner or a seasoned PRS competitor looking for a .22 trainer.

Michael R. Shea

May 2021

1

INTRODUCTION TO RIMFIRES

Allison Zane lay prone behind her rifle, eyeing five targets stretching out over the desert from 100 to 330 yards on a hot Sunday in Las Vegas. The temperature hung around 90, and the 20-mph desert wind gusted to 40. Her dad and fellow competitor, Frank Zane, gave her a wind call. Allison watched the breeze lie down, shook off her dad’s effort, then ran her handheld Kestrel wind meter and ballistic problem solver. She set up on the rifle, and in fast succession, sent ten 40-grain bullets of .22 LR downrange, jumping between targets at 100 and 330 yards, plus a few distances in between. She connected on seven of the 10 shots, besting her dad and everyone else at the NRL22 National Championship that day.

By the weekend’s close, the 13-year-old eighth-grader from Pennsylvania finished above competitors who’ve been shooting longer than she’s been alive. She easily won the Young Guns division and placed third overall. During the match, National Rifle League executive director Ty Frehner asked Allison how she felt. She just beamed: I’m having so much fun!

Allison Zane shooting at the NRL22 National Match. Photo: ConX Media

The firing line at an NRL22X event. Note the roof pitch barricade. Photo: ConX Media

Fun, says Frehner, is key to the success of NRL22, which has quickly become one of the most popular and fastest-growing shooting sports in the country and around the world. Nearly 90 gun clubs in the U.S. currently hold NRL22 matches, and there are events in England, France, South Africa, New Zealand, and Australia. As long-range centerfire competitions like the Precision Rifle Series have taken off, a growing number of shooters are first learning to go long with a rimfire rifle. Many have found, like Allison, it’s just too much fun to give up. It’s certainly less expensive than centerfire and more accessible to the average shooter.

Shooting long distance is all the rage these days. But most Americans don’t have access to even a 500-yard rifle range, let alone a 1,000-yarder. Yet with a .22, you can have that long-range shooting experience at just 100 yards. A standard-velocity .22 LR round zeroed at 50 yards drops almost 7-1/2 inches at 100. A 10-mph crosswind will move the bullet another 4 inches. That means you have to know your equipment, adjust for the drop, and DOPE the wind to hit, just like shooting longer ranges with a centerfire. By one analysis, the comparator factor between match-speed .22 LR and most modern precision centerfire cartridges is 25 percent. So, shooting a .22 at 200 yards is roughly equivalent to firing, say, a 6.5 Creedmoor at 800 yards. These parallels are why rimfire training has become a popular low-cost option for tactical precision centerfire competition. The sniper math and shooting technique are mostly the same. It’s also why precision rimfire shooting — and the tack-driving .22s required — have grown so popular in their own right.

Frehner and National Rifle League founder Travis Ishida started NRL22 in 2017, figuring it would provide some minor-league fun ahead of his major-league National Rifle League centerfire events. I was dead wrong, Frehner says. This rimfire community, these shooters, they’re all about .22s. I see some of them at centerfire matches, and they don’t have half the money invested in centerfire that they’ve put into their rimfire guns.

The genesis moment of this burgeoning rimfire revolution, in many ways, can be traced back to the exploding success of NRL22. Part of the appeal of the new sport is the ingenious open-source competition system. Each month, NRL posts a standard course of fire online, and any club or range can run a match. All it takes is a few steel targets and some barricades. NRL22 uses the term club loosely. Any group from a sportsman’s organization to five guys with a hayfield can download the monthly course of fire, hold a match, and submit scores for national consideration.

Modern precision rifles at the NRL22 National Match. Vudoo and CZ make most shown here. Photo: ConX Media

Most targets hover around 2 minute of angle, or 2 MOA, in size — roughly 2 inches at 100 yards. (More on MOA, inches, and MILS later.) Sometimes they shrink to 1 MOA or smaller, but rarely. The sport does not require ungodly accuracy, yet that’s what its shooters have come to demand of their rifles. Although the scored NRL22 course of fire is always at 100 yards, clubs are encouraged to run bonus stages, often at extended ranges. There are other brand-new rimfire disciplines, such as Extreme Long Range Rimfire or ELR Rimfire, which posts targets beyond 600 yards. NRL22 recently rolled out a longer-range competition as well, with the X series. Match directors set the target distances at their discretion. These larger, regional NRL22X matches have exploded in popularity, with competitors driving for hours to compete, much like centerfire precision shooting events. Many of the targets stand beyond 400 yards. With a modern riflescope, 400 to 500 yards is about the limit of a .22 LR rifle without special optical equipment, as we’ll see.

Still, it takes a certain kind of rifle and excellent ammo to connect that far with .22 LR. Yet, precision rimfire success is not solely about distance. The rifle needs to be durable, handle the rough work of dropping on barricades like ladders and mock rooftops. It needs to run fast, as some stages feature time limits. It requires a great trigger and exceptional ergonomics so that the shooter can build a stable position, whether seated, kneeling, standing, prone, or in some odd contortionist position dreamed up by a sadistic match director. Rolled up together, these are rifle systems, accessories, and shooting techniques pioneered by U.S. military marksmen and snipers as the Global War on Terror shifted the battlespace to urban theaters in Iraq and the mountains of Afghanistan. The grassed-up, hidden-in-the-jungle Vietnam-era sniper work of, say, the great Carlos Hathcock evolved into the build-a-position on a rooftop skillset of Chris Kyle and Craig Harrison. Tactical rifles (tactically inspired in most cases) came to dominate the firearms landscape in the early 2000s. But there wasn’t a fitting rimfire equivalent until the rise of Vudoo Gun Works of St. George, Utah.

The first barreled action Vudoo Gun Works showed publicly, in an Accuracy International Chassis. Photo: Mike Bush

Note the serial number: TEST3. Photos: Mike Bush

A lineup of the Vudoo rifles taken to the NRA World Championships at the Peacemaker National Training Center in 2017.

Like NRL22, Vudoo made its debut in 2017 at the NRA World Shooting Championships at the Peacemaker National Training Center in West Virginia. (Peacemaker now holds a summer precision rimfire series, the Lapua Practical Rimfire Challenge.) Paul Parrott, CEO of Vudoo Gun Works, brought the company’s brand-new V-22 platform for some of the best hands in precision shooting to try that first day in West Virginia. Veteran competitive shooter Walt Hasser got on the gun, and fellow rifleman Emil Praslick called the wind. Praslick’s nickname is the Wind Whisperer, and he might be the best wind reader in the world. They set up on The Mountain at Peacemaker and spun up the rifle scope to connect on an 18-inch plate at 460 yards. First shot out, they whacked it, Parrott says. We were all blown away. In 20 minutes, we had a crowd watching this craziness — a .22 hitting at 460, shot after shot. Everyone wanted to shoot it.

Mike Bush, a longtime engineer for some of the world’s largest firearm companies, designed the V-22 action after years of taking apart and converting old Remington 40x single-shots into repeaters. After the .22 ammunition market settled down from public mass hysteria in the mid-2010s, and PRS shooting was spiking in popularity, Parrott and Bush decided to start Vudoo. Initially, they built the company around the modified 40x action with an innovative Accuracy International Chassis System magazine converted to .22 LR. AICS-patterned magazines were orginally designed to feed .308 Winchester-sized rounds and quickly became the detachable box mag of choice for military, LEO, and civilian sharpshooters. Many stocks and chassis systems now take AICS mags. Bush engineered a feed system for the small .22 LR bullets inside the large .308-sized magazine and departed from the 40x-style bolt to a two-piece control feed system that grabbed and cleanly fed the soft lead bullet into the chamber. The result downrange was world-class groups. We had no idea it would be so successful, Parrot says.

Besides raw accuracy, the secret to the V-22’s early success was scale. Built on a Remington 700 footprint, a Vudoo .22 LR handles like a full-size centerfire and is compatible with the entire world of Model 700 accessories, from stocks and chassis to rails and triggers. At the time, there weren’t any full-size or true-to-scale rimfire rifles. These new .22 LRs were often heavier even than the centerfire guns they replicated. Take two barrels of the same length and contour, for example. The tube drilled for .224 is necessarily heavier than the one bored for .30 cal. Vudoo’s original idea was to provide a top-end, full-sized replica .22 trainer for centerfire PRS shooters. But just like Frehner and Ishida did with NRL22, Parrot and Bush underestimated the appeal of the .22.

Rimfire has taken on a life of its own, Parrot says. There’s a whole subset of shooters out there who only use rimfire rifles and who love pushing the limits of what these guns can do.

At a recent ELR rimfire event in Wyoming, organizers set targets from 200 to 600 yards. Shooters later filmed themselves hitting at 750. Competitors like King of Two Mile champ Paul Phillips regularly connect with .22 LR at 1,000 yards. A.J. Stewart, an ELR nut from the same hometown in Alabama as Mike Bush, put repeatable groups on steel at 1,250 yards. There are now copper-solid .22s, long as a .17 HMR, designed for fast-twist barrels to extend that range even farther.

We’re exploring the outer limits, and it’s just generally fun, and a little silly, yes. But what’s practical about Formula One racing? Parrot asks. Practical isn’t the point. Formula One is a billion-dollar sport and what’s learned there filters down to the rest of us. We’re on the fringe, but hunters and shooters are going to benefit down the line from what we’re learning and from the ammo, optics, and guns that will come out of it.

Parrot and I had our first version of this conversation in summer 2019. Six months later, at the Shooting, Hunting, Outdoor Trade Show (SHOT Show), five other manufacturers displayed Remington 700-footprint .22 rimfire rifles, actions, or action conversions. Half a dozen other new full-sized rifles kitted out for long-range or NRL22 work, many in chassis, were there for evaluation. Such monolithic aluminum stock replacements generally use AR-15-pattern buttstocks and grips and have a wide, flat forend with multiple attachment points for bipods, rail bags, barricades stops, and other accessories. At SHOT 2020, there was a visible uptick in long-range branded .22 LR ammunition. There were maybe a dozen new riflescopes, some with 30mm and 34mm tubes with a parallax adjustment down to 25 yards or less. In short, that trickle-down effect Parrot and I discussed had hit the firearms market writ large. At the show, several people commented that I must be happy because, as one friend put it, the only thing interesting here this year is rimfire.

A.J. Stewart showing off three impacts — and two of the found rounds — after connecting at 825 yards with his .22 LR. Photo: Chad Long

While Vudoo helped create the modern precision rimfire rifle space, it is certainly not alone. A few years ago, it wasn’t Vudoo, but a relatively obscure Australian rifle, a Lithgow Arms LA101, that lit my personal .22 LR fire.

Completely unaware of the Vudoo origin story, I was at Peacemaker on the very same firing line. The Mountain has dozens of targets over a few hundred acres at unknown distances past 1,200 yards. We had been shooting 6.5 Creedmoor, and as the day wound down, I took out my Aussie .22 LR. Having never shot the rifle past 100 yards, I put it on a bench and rung steel at 300 in short order. Wade Shambaugh, Peacemaker’s lead instructor, suggested I go prone at the 18-inch plate rack. I ranged it at 460 yards. To hit, I needed 94 MOA of elevation. My turret bottomed out at 48 MOA. The reticle gave me another 30. In the ripping 9 o’clock wind, Shambaugh suggested a hold of 8 feet left. I shot with a massive holdover using the base of the post at the very bottom of my field of view. I saw a dust cloud downrange. Way low. I cut the wind hold to about 5 feet and held higher. I missed just a touch left and adjusted. With that third shot, I heard the distant ring of steel.

The author connecting at 460 yards with a Lithgow rifle and CCI ammo at the Peacemaker National Training Center.

Impact! Wade hollered.

I shot again.

Impact!

Five of my ten shots connected. You couldn’t slap the smile off my face. If we put that much dope into our 6.5s, we’d have needed a target at 1,830 yards.

Not too long ago, most people would say a shot like that is impossible with a .22, Shambaugh said.

Well, not anymore. And thanks to impressive advancements in rimfire ammunition, it doesn’t take expensive or obscure rifles to do it, either.

A few weeks after the Peacemaker event, I watched a guy set a 200-yard stage on fire with a Ruger American and inexpensive scope at my first precision rimfire match. I went in confident, shooting 3/4-inch groups at 100 yards with my Lithgow. But until that point, I’d only ever practiced from a bench or prone. One stage had us crammed into a sewer pipe. At another, we balanced on top of an overturned barrel. At a third, we knelt against a flexible 1-inch sapling. The guys who shot well knew how to build a stable position on unfamiliar objects. I realized— painfully, I might add — that if you don’t have positional fundamentals drilled into your bones, you won’t get very far in precision shooting. The guy with the Ruger American and cheap scope cleaned my clock. The rifle platform mattered so much less than fundamental shooting skills. I fell deeper down the rabbit hole.

Taken together, this is modern precision rimfire shooting — a functional blend of purpose-built rifles and positional shooting skills. This book hopes to explore aspects of both, from $300 rifles to $3,000 barreled actions, from shooting form and competition shooting to chilly September mornings in the squirrel woods. I hope readers will find, like I have, the excitement of this exploding precision rimfire world. Hitting tiny targets a long way off with minuscule bullets is immensely gratifying and, like Allison Zane said, just downright fun.

When the NRL22 National Championships wrapped up in Las Vegas, Open-Division winner Paul Dallin stood at the prize table next to Allison. In front of them were two Vudoo rifles, one red and one blue. Dallin asked the Young Gun winner which she liked best. She said red, so he took the blue one. Up to that point, Allison had been sharing a rifle with her dad — but not anymore. Suppose you sign up for an NRL22X match in Western Pennsylvania or eastern Ohio. In that case, you’ll probably see her, cleaning stages with her red rifle — a living example of the future of shooting, ringing steel from a very long way away, with a humble, almost antique, 40-grain slug of lead.

2

RIMFIRE HISTORY

There’s a cartoon floating around online called The Invention of Archery. Three guys are standing beside each other. The first guy says I want to stab that guy, but he’s way over there.

Firearms were likely dreamt up along the same lines. Someone hit upon the idea that blackpowder stuffed down a tube, topped with a projectile, and touched off with fire, did spectacular damage downrange. Man, I want to knock that castle down, but it’s way over there.

In Europe, cannons showed up in Italy around 1320. For the next 200 years, firearms were essentially hand cannons — short, stout barrels loaded with blackpowder, then packed with rocks, pebbles, and sometimes arrows. You jabbed a hole in the barrel’s top or side with a smoldering stick or hot iron. Firing it was a two-person job. One soldier would hold the hand cannon (while presumably saying his prayers), and a second would grace the touch hole with the red poker. Anyone who’s seen a small wheel-mounted cannon go off — the type that shoots golf balls and is popular at sportsmen’s clubs in the country on chicken barbeque weekends — can imagine the thrill of holding such a device under one’s arm. Hand cannons weren’t particularly safe or accurate, but when they worked, lookout.

The Internet gets it right, again. Photo: Public domain

By the 15th Century, the matchlock came along. A lever, and later a trigger, was added under the barrel. When pulled, the lock dropped a lit cord or match into the flash pan and started the ignition process. There was a painful time delay between pulling the trigger, the lock dropping the match into a flash pan that ignited a sprinkle of powder, and the main charge in the barrel going off. Today, engineers still work to reduce that lock time between trigger pull and ignition, but now they’re shaving fractions of milliseconds. In contrast, a 1400s French arquebus could have taken several seconds to go off.

A replica matchlock. Note the long-burning cord. It would stay lit over many shots. Photo: Kathy Rittyrats

A replica Brown Bess flintlock by Davide Pedersoli. Gunsmiths converted many of the early rifles to percussion caps through the 1800s. Photo: Pedersoli

A big rimfire: The Spencer rifle of the American Civil War proved a deciding mechanical advantage for the North.

It’s worth noting, early firearms weren’t more accurate or deadlier than archery tackle, but they were faster to reload than a crossbow and less expensive and time-consuming to manufacture. Firearms flattened the training curve, too. An illiterate peasant with a matchlock and some instruction could knock a mounted knight off his horse in short order. Proficiency with lance or sword or bow could take years of training. Firearms democratized combat in the Middle Ages.

The matchlock evolved into the wheel lock, dog lock, and eventually the flintlock. Instead of a smoldering match dropped in the flash pan, a piece of flint struck steel sending a shower of sparks toward the blackpowder. Flintlocks didn’t require an always-smoldering length of cord, but they still had issues. The powder in the pan sent up a noxious yellow smoke cloud before the bullet took off that would often eclipse the target, affecting accuracy and spook game animals.

In 1800, British chemist Edward Charles Howard discovered fulminates — chemical compounds that exploded on impact. This discovery forever changed firearms for the better. A few years later, a Presbyterian minister in Scotland — annoyed that birds would flush as powder smoked in the pan of his flintlock — adopted fast-acting fulminates to his shotgun lock. British gunsmith Joseph Manton invited a cap-like system in 1814. Still, it took an American artist in Philadelphia, Joshua Shaw, to develop the sealed copper cup laden with fulminates, which we know today as the percussion cap.

Like the M1819 Hall Rifle and the British Brown Bess, many early percussion muskets were flintlock conversions. The flash pan was tossed, replaced with a metal nipple connected to the chamber’s powder by a small tube. Copper and sometimes brass percussion caps shaped like miniature top hats sat over the head of the exposed nipple. When you pulled the trigger, a heavy hammer dropped on the percussion cap, detonating the fulminates, which sent sparks to the powder in the barrel, and away the lead ball went. An infantryman armed with a percussion musket or rifle would carry a pouch of caps and another of paper cartridges. To load, he’d rip open the powder-end of the cartridge with his teeth, spill the pre-measured slug of blackpowder down his musket barrel, seat the lead ball by hand, then use a ramrod to get the whole package snug at the bottom of the barrel. Musket shouldered, on went the percussion cap. After the first volley, it took a well-trained soldier 20 to 30 seconds to reload. A fighting regiment could get off three volleys a minute.

Throughout the 1800s, firearms development coincided with cartridge development. Engineers, inventors, gunsmiths, and crackpots tried various ways to speed reloads by integrating fulminate primer, powder, and bullet into a single package — then they built guns around their idea.

In 1808, the Swiss gunsmith Jean Samuel Pauly developed a self-contained paper cartridge with primer snugged behind the bullet. You loaded this gun from the breech end, much like a modern break-action shotgun. When you pulled the trigger, a needle struck through the paper and detonated the primer. Frenchman Casimir Lefaucheux took this idea and replaced the paper for brass to develop the pinfire cartridge. Each round had a firing pin that jutted off the cartridge’s side at a 90-degree angle. Trip the trigger on an early pinfire, and the hammer dropped, striking the integrated pin, detonating the primer. Then around 1845, another Frenchman, Louis-Nicolas Flobert, created the first modern firearm cartridge.

The Parisian Flobert took a simple copper cup, loaded it with fulminate primer compound, and topped it with a round ball — essentially a bullet crimped to a percussion cap. There was no real rim or flange at a 90-degree angle in his first designs. The case head had a taper that wedged the cartridge in the chamber. There was no powder in the case, only the primer and the lead ball. Flobert’s rifles and revolvers were designed for indoor parlor shooting or whacking a troublesome rodent in the pantry. They were gallery guns, designed to punch paper or tip over little tin animals at a few steps, much like gallery shooting games prevalent at American carnivals and country fairs until recent times. The early Flobert designs had heavy hammers that crushed the primer side of the self-contained metallic cartridge. In later versions, he added a firing pin to the action.

Smith & Wesson’s early variation on the Flobert design. Note there is no real rim. The first designs taper fit to the chamber.

At the London Exposition of 1851, Flobert exhibited his small .22-caliber rifle. Attending were two Americans, Horace Smith, and Daniel Wesson. They were impressed, and by 1857 they had developed a new cartridge of similar design, the .22 Short, for the new Smith & Wesson Model 1 revolver. They patented the cartridge on April 17, 1860, as the S&W .22 Rim Fire.

This new metallic cartridge had a straight case and hollow rim — a first in the United States. The hollow rim allowed Smith & Wesson to use a wet priming mixture, spun to the rim’s edge, and dried. You could then add the powder to the case without mixing it with powdered primer — a problem that led to constant misfires in the duo’s other post-London designs. Smith & Wesson loaded its first .22s with 4 grains of fine blackpowder. The powder sat atop a perforated-paper wad to further prevent the dried primer from mixing with the powder. (Later, as S&W perfected the wet-primer process, it dropped the paper disc.) The head of the case was convex or dished out, not flat like modern rimfire ammo. There was no headstamp. Smith & Wesson thought the dished head helped more evenly distribute the primer around the rim. Pull the trigger, and a firing pin stabbed the brass case’s rim, igniting the primer.

Smith & Wesson’s .22 Short patent illustration shows a clear rim and convex case head it believed led to better primer ignition. The firm patented the Short along with the Model 1 revolver that fired it.

Like today, yesteryear’s ammo makers loaded the first .22 Shorts with a 29-grain lead round-nose bullet. The bullet had a tapered heel that reduced the backside of its diameter so it would fit in the case. This design became known as a heeled or outside lubricated design. You applied wax or grease to the bullet outside the case to prevent lead buildup in the bore. (All .22 rimfire bullets are still heeled and outside lubricated except for the .22 Winchester Magnum Rimfire.) Smith & Wesson’s 1860 patent shows three lubrication grooves, or cannelure, along the bullet’s diameter. The cartridge case had a light crimp on the bottommost cannelure to secure the bullet in place. With this design, the diameter of the brass case matched the outside caliber diameter of the bullet. The bullet base was convex or dished as if you pressed a BB into the lead — a likely design holdover from the caseless Volcanic and Rocket Ball cartridges that were cutting edge in their day. Modern bullet and cartridge designs have abandoned most of these principles, but you could never call these features unsuccessful. The .22 rimfires are still the most widely produced arms and ammo in the world. The antique .22 Short remained an Olympian as the official round for international rapid-fire pistol competition until 2004, when the .22 LR replaced it.

While underpowered by today’s standards, the Model 1 in .22 Short became a popular compact self-defense revolver with soldiers on both sides of the Civil War. Smith & Wesson’s first pistol and cartridge were a major early financial success, too, thanks mainly to the rimfire manufacturing process it developed. Like copper and copper-alloys like brass, soft metal could be rolled into thin sheet metal, then punched into small discs. These discs were then drawn into little tubes with one end closed. A rim was bumped into the head, much like how a handloader uses a re-sizing die to shape centerfire brass. The malleable metal didn’t tear or split through the forming process. Hundreds of these little cups could be drawn and bumped in a single pass of a 19th-Century machine press. This process made ammunition for the Model 1 widely available and affordable. Several U.S. manufacturers started producing the easy-to-make .22 Rim Fire. Overseas, Eley of England manufactured it as the .230 Rimfire. By 1871, annual round production hit 30 million.

Flobert’s cartridge developed more of a rim and became known as the .22 BB Cap. The BB stands for bullet breech, a reference to the breech-end loading in Flobert rifles and pistols. (Later came the .22 CB for Conical Bullet.) When multiple variations on the Smith & Wesson cartridge appeared in the 1870s, including the .22 Long in 1871, the