The Shot You’ll Never Forget Giveaway - Enter To Win A Barrel From Rifle Barrel Blanks!
- By erichard
- The Bear Pit
- 277 Replies
I'm gonna say my most "memorable" is the earliest shooting, because it was my entry into the sport. Having come from a family of hunters extending back to the 1700's of Virginia, to Kentucky, and then to New Orleans ("Sportsman's Paradise" state), I was given a Crossman 740 BB/pellet gun when I was about 12 or 13. We had just moved to rural Pennsylvania in the Fox Chapel region, and my neighbor friend also had the same gun. Being competitive young men, we set to competing with those old wooden stocked airguns, which were terrific for a young teen.
He had a big apple tree out in his backyard, and we got good enough that the competition involved shooting, not the apples, but the stems of the apples, with the winner downing an apple first, like some combination of Daniel Boone and William Tell in our imaginations. That was great fun, and one of the consequences of honing our stem shooting was of course occasionally hitting the apple itself.
The sweetness of the pierced apple drew the attention of hornets, as I recall. These hornets would dig into the bb hole to forage for food with some reliability. Boys being boys, we hated hornets with a passion, and the only good hornet was a dead hornet in our minds. Very un-Christian frame of mind, perhaps, but those were the facts. So naturally, the competition then evolved to striking the butt's of those hornets as they dug into the apples. Their butt was about the size of a BB, so it was a perfect target. And we became quite the proficient hornet hunters.
Those days still stick in my mind as quite the bucolic upbringing that I enjoyed thanks to my Dad's thoughtfulness for us.
As a an epilogue to that story, when I later went to summer camp in Maine, at Camp Belgrade I believe, they had quite the junior NRA marksmen program. I started from the bottom of the medaling, and gradually worked my way up to Distinguished Expert, shooting their Anschutz 22's with iron sights. No one had ever done that in one summer, at that camp at least, and I was only about 14 at the time. So they decided I would be good to pair up with an older camper in a two man team for the national summer camp competition. The older kid was probably 17 or so, so much more mature and qualified to compete, though I never did meet him. Separately, we shot prone, kneel, and standing, and I was super obsessive about pulling the trigger at the correct time, with nothing less than perfection as my ambition. At the end of the summer, those targets were sent into the national office where they compiled all the results.
I soon forgot about the competition altogether as we had an abrupt change of living conditions, with my Dad getting divorced and us moving to Chicago. Years later, my Dad said one day, sort of nonchalantly, that the owner of the camp had written him and told him we had in fact won the national completion in that two man team class. I was quite shocked. So there's another memory that "stemmed" from my earlier hornet safari's.
He had a big apple tree out in his backyard, and we got good enough that the competition involved shooting, not the apples, but the stems of the apples, with the winner downing an apple first, like some combination of Daniel Boone and William Tell in our imaginations. That was great fun, and one of the consequences of honing our stem shooting was of course occasionally hitting the apple itself.
The sweetness of the pierced apple drew the attention of hornets, as I recall. These hornets would dig into the bb hole to forage for food with some reliability. Boys being boys, we hated hornets with a passion, and the only good hornet was a dead hornet in our minds. Very un-Christian frame of mind, perhaps, but those were the facts. So naturally, the competition then evolved to striking the butt's of those hornets as they dug into the apples. Their butt was about the size of a BB, so it was a perfect target. And we became quite the proficient hornet hunters.
Those days still stick in my mind as quite the bucolic upbringing that I enjoyed thanks to my Dad's thoughtfulness for us.
As a an epilogue to that story, when I later went to summer camp in Maine, at Camp Belgrade I believe, they had quite the junior NRA marksmen program. I started from the bottom of the medaling, and gradually worked my way up to Distinguished Expert, shooting their Anschutz 22's with iron sights. No one had ever done that in one summer, at that camp at least, and I was only about 14 at the time. So they decided I would be good to pair up with an older camper in a two man team for the national summer camp competition. The older kid was probably 17 or so, so much more mature and qualified to compete, though I never did meet him. Separately, we shot prone, kneel, and standing, and I was super obsessive about pulling the trigger at the correct time, with nothing less than perfection as my ambition. At the end of the summer, those targets were sent into the national office where they compiled all the results.
I soon forgot about the competition altogether as we had an abrupt change of living conditions, with my Dad getting divorced and us moving to Chicago. Years later, my Dad said one day, sort of nonchalantly, that the owner of the camp had written him and told him we had in fact won the national completion in that two man team class. I was quite shocked. So there's another memory that "stemmed" from my earlier hornet safari's.