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Rifle acumen yields a collegiate hotshot
Sam Whiting
Updated 10:38 pm, Sunday, January 6, 2013
photos = Rifle acumen yields a collegiate hotshot - SFGate
Growing up in Kentfield, James Macmillan failed to take to any of the gentlemanly pursuits presented by his father, Hugh. Fencing, sailing, fly fishing all came and went.
What captured James Macmillan was the Lee-Enfield locked in the wine cellar.
Once he saw that World War II rifle, Macmillan wouldn't let up until he was old enough for the range. Finally, at age 12, he lifted that heavy wooden stock, bolted a round into the chamber and fired. The recoil nearly knocked him over, and by the time he got home, his shoulder was black and blue.
He had his hobby, and eight years later, Macmillan is the Collegiate Service Rifle Champion, as decreed by the National Rifle Association at a national tournament last summer. The Lee-Enfield has been exchanged for a modern AR-15, and at ranges from 200 to 600 yards, standing, sitting and prone, Macmillan is more accurate than any shooter in any college in the country.
But nobody knows this at his college, Cuesta in San Luis Obispo County, just as nobody at Redwood High School in Larkspur knew he was a sharpshooter until his picture appeared in the yearbook under the "random sports" category.
"I don't publicize it a lot," he says. "People say, 'Are you a sniper in the military?' and I say, 'No. It's just for fun.' "
For six years, Macmillan has been the only Marin County member of the California Grizzlies Junior Rifle Team, based in Sonora (Tuolumne County).
Unusual at his age
He knows of only two other people from his county who do what he does. One is in his 50s, the other in his 60s.
"I wish there were other shooters my age," says Macmillan, "but I'm the only one."
It doesn't help the sport that his rifle, the AR-15, is the type that was so deadly at Sandy Hook Elementary.
"It's more along the lines of who owns the rifle," says Macmillan, who is the same age as the Newtown, Conn., killer and has been deeply troubled by the reports. "All these shootings, the people are psychologically unstable. The people I have met target shooting are very responsible, generous individuals. It's the few who are irresponsible that always show up in the news. "
Macmillan has never hunted game or birds, or shot at anything besides a paper target, which is what he is doing on a recent morning at the Richmond Rod & Gun Club. Members are clustered together blasting clay pigeons at the skeet and trap ranges that face the bayfront.
Lone pursuit
But over at the 200-yard range, Macmillan is all alone with a box of ammunition he loads himself. He has just finished exams and needs to clear his mind. He picks up his lead-weighted AR-15, the civilian version of an M16 military rifle, and reaches into the holster on his jacket for a copper bullet.
He stands with it at his waist, eyes closed, breathing slowly. Then in a slow ritual of a movement, he lifts the rifle to his shoulder so the bottom of the stock digs into his clavicle. He presses the stock weld into his cheek and looks down the sight, taking three deep breaths to work oxygen into his eyes. Slowly, without moving any muscles except in his right index finger, he takes up the slack on the trigger. Finally, after a slow exhale and a pause, he squeezes off a round.
Two hundred yards away, a paper target takes the hit on the outer ring of the aiming area. That is not up to his expectation, which is to hit an inner ring the size of the bottom of a Coke can.
"This is the first time I've shot since August," he says, apologetically. "That's really bad shooting."
Target shooting with a high-powered rifle is not one of those hobbies with instant appeal. It is solitary, expensive and loud enough to mandate earplugs. There is no glamour. It does not take you to exotic places. The national championship is in between Cleveland and Detroit. The state championship is in Coalinga(Fresno County), deep in the San Joaquin Valley.
Tough on reputation
"That's the only thing you'd want to do there, shoot," he says. It is also not the kind of hobby where having gear in your college dorm room will bring you cachet. What it will more likely bring is a visit from campus police.
"We're in student housing," he says. "I prefer not to have a rifle."
If you are not a hunter or a survivalist, what will make you stick to high-powered target shooting is success. Twenty-twenty vision helps. So does having a dad who was in the 2nd Battalion Yorkshire Volunteer Rifles in the service of Her Majesty, the Queen of England.
That is what got the Enfield to Kentfield. After introducing his son to the big rifle, with its big kick, Hugh decided to start James with something smaller, like a .22-caliber target rifle. He was small for his age, but he wasn't about to shoot small bore.
Alternative to wrestling
"He wanted to shoot high-powered rifles," says Hugh, a real estate agent with a touch of British bluster. "The moment he did that, there was no turning back."
The younger Macmillan's other high school sport was wrestling in the 145-pound class. As a junior, he dislocated his shoulder in the county championship. Still determined to shoot, he switched sides and hit 199 out of 200 from the seated position at the state meet.
Back to shooting from his good side, the following year he was on a six-man team that set a national record. Last year, the team broke its own record, and Macmillan won the Distinguished Rifleman Badge issued by the Civilian Marksmanship Program. Only 2,055 people have earned this badge since the program began in 1884.
The badge is brass and as heavy as a war medal, with his name engraved on it. General Petraeus would wear it, but Macmillan wouldn't. The only ornamentation he wears is a sweatshirt with a grizzly head in the center of a target.
On this day of practice, his first round of 10 shots yields two bull's-eyes. His second round yields five. His third round yields six, all bunched together on the X at the middle. That is all the glory he needs.
"I like the progression of watching my scores go up, and watching myself get better," he says. "There is always room for improvement."
Sam Whiting is a San Francisco Chronicle staff writer. E-mail: [email protected] Twitter: @samwhitingsf
Read more: Rifle acumen yields a collegiate hotshot - SFGate
Rifle acumen yields a collegiate hotshot
Sam Whiting
Updated 10:38 pm, Sunday, January 6, 2013
photos = Rifle acumen yields a collegiate hotshot - SFGate
Growing up in Kentfield, James Macmillan failed to take to any of the gentlemanly pursuits presented by his father, Hugh. Fencing, sailing, fly fishing all came and went.
What captured James Macmillan was the Lee-Enfield locked in the wine cellar.
Once he saw that World War II rifle, Macmillan wouldn't let up until he was old enough for the range. Finally, at age 12, he lifted that heavy wooden stock, bolted a round into the chamber and fired. The recoil nearly knocked him over, and by the time he got home, his shoulder was black and blue.
He had his hobby, and eight years later, Macmillan is the Collegiate Service Rifle Champion, as decreed by the National Rifle Association at a national tournament last summer. The Lee-Enfield has been exchanged for a modern AR-15, and at ranges from 200 to 600 yards, standing, sitting and prone, Macmillan is more accurate than any shooter in any college in the country.
But nobody knows this at his college, Cuesta in San Luis Obispo County, just as nobody at Redwood High School in Larkspur knew he was a sharpshooter until his picture appeared in the yearbook under the "random sports" category.
"I don't publicize it a lot," he says. "People say, 'Are you a sniper in the military?' and I say, 'No. It's just for fun.' "
For six years, Macmillan has been the only Marin County member of the California Grizzlies Junior Rifle Team, based in Sonora (Tuolumne County).
Unusual at his age
He knows of only two other people from his county who do what he does. One is in his 50s, the other in his 60s.
"I wish there were other shooters my age," says Macmillan, "but I'm the only one."
It doesn't help the sport that his rifle, the AR-15, is the type that was so deadly at Sandy Hook Elementary.
"It's more along the lines of who owns the rifle," says Macmillan, who is the same age as the Newtown, Conn., killer and has been deeply troubled by the reports. "All these shootings, the people are psychologically unstable. The people I have met target shooting are very responsible, generous individuals. It's the few who are irresponsible that always show up in the news. "
Macmillan has never hunted game or birds, or shot at anything besides a paper target, which is what he is doing on a recent morning at the Richmond Rod & Gun Club. Members are clustered together blasting clay pigeons at the skeet and trap ranges that face the bayfront.
Lone pursuit
But over at the 200-yard range, Macmillan is all alone with a box of ammunition he loads himself. He has just finished exams and needs to clear his mind. He picks up his lead-weighted AR-15, the civilian version of an M16 military rifle, and reaches into the holster on his jacket for a copper bullet.
He stands with it at his waist, eyes closed, breathing slowly. Then in a slow ritual of a movement, he lifts the rifle to his shoulder so the bottom of the stock digs into his clavicle. He presses the stock weld into his cheek and looks down the sight, taking three deep breaths to work oxygen into his eyes. Slowly, without moving any muscles except in his right index finger, he takes up the slack on the trigger. Finally, after a slow exhale and a pause, he squeezes off a round.
Two hundred yards away, a paper target takes the hit on the outer ring of the aiming area. That is not up to his expectation, which is to hit an inner ring the size of the bottom of a Coke can.
"This is the first time I've shot since August," he says, apologetically. "That's really bad shooting."
Target shooting with a high-powered rifle is not one of those hobbies with instant appeal. It is solitary, expensive and loud enough to mandate earplugs. There is no glamour. It does not take you to exotic places. The national championship is in between Cleveland and Detroit. The state championship is in Coalinga(Fresno County), deep in the San Joaquin Valley.
Tough on reputation
"That's the only thing you'd want to do there, shoot," he says. It is also not the kind of hobby where having gear in your college dorm room will bring you cachet. What it will more likely bring is a visit from campus police.
"We're in student housing," he says. "I prefer not to have a rifle."
If you are not a hunter or a survivalist, what will make you stick to high-powered target shooting is success. Twenty-twenty vision helps. So does having a dad who was in the 2nd Battalion Yorkshire Volunteer Rifles in the service of Her Majesty, the Queen of England.
That is what got the Enfield to Kentfield. After introducing his son to the big rifle, with its big kick, Hugh decided to start James with something smaller, like a .22-caliber target rifle. He was small for his age, but he wasn't about to shoot small bore.
Alternative to wrestling
"He wanted to shoot high-powered rifles," says Hugh, a real estate agent with a touch of British bluster. "The moment he did that, there was no turning back."
The younger Macmillan's other high school sport was wrestling in the 145-pound class. As a junior, he dislocated his shoulder in the county championship. Still determined to shoot, he switched sides and hit 199 out of 200 from the seated position at the state meet.
Back to shooting from his good side, the following year he was on a six-man team that set a national record. Last year, the team broke its own record, and Macmillan won the Distinguished Rifleman Badge issued by the Civilian Marksmanship Program. Only 2,055 people have earned this badge since the program began in 1884.
The badge is brass and as heavy as a war medal, with his name engraved on it. General Petraeus would wear it, but Macmillan wouldn't. The only ornamentation he wears is a sweatshirt with a grizzly head in the center of a target.
On this day of practice, his first round of 10 shots yields two bull's-eyes. His second round yields five. His third round yields six, all bunched together on the X at the middle. That is all the glory he needs.
"I like the progression of watching my scores go up, and watching myself get better," he says. "There is always room for improvement."
Sam Whiting is a San Francisco Chronicle staff writer. E-mail: [email protected] Twitter: @samwhitingsf
Read more: Rifle acumen yields a collegiate hotshot - SFGate
