New Contest Starting Now! This Target Haunts Me
- Thread starter alexj-12
- Start date
I always clear, then drop the hammer/pull the trigger on my pistols and rifles when I pick them up, ready for the next mag, condition 2, whatever you want to call it. Safely pointed as has been habit forever. I got off deployment and hadn't picked one up in a while and just woke up for a match, because of a late night at work I was really drowsy. I pulled my Comp pistol (Springfield XDM) out of the safe, immediately dropped the mag and thought I had cleared it. I didn't look good enough. Shot at the concrete on my garage floor and now there is a reminder forever of my stupidity. This contest may not have been designed for this kind of entry post but nonetheless that shot haunts me, and it definitely was "the one that got away."
I am a novice, self taught, big game hunter in CO. So far, I am one-for-five, taking an adorable 2-point buck @330 yds my second year. Until last year, I had never even seen a hunt-able bull elk, let alone get it in my sights. That all changed when I spotted a bachelor group the day before season. On the sixth day, I found them again with 30-40 minutes of shooting light left. Despite my best efforts, the closest I could get was about 675 yds. I have a great rifle, but I was using factory ammo and using the velocity printed on the box. When it came time to take the shot, I sailed it at least 2ft over the animal. My best shot at a great bull, missed because I was using "best-guess" ballistics. It turns out my MV was roughly 350fps faster than I calculated.
Never again.
In the mean time I've invested in an education, a chrono, and a couple grand in reloading supplies (Thank you Armory, Reloading, & Buy-sell-trade forums). Now I'm ringing a 10" gong at 1000 yds consistently.
This fall, they're going to have to hide a lot better and stay further away.
Never again.
In the mean time I've invested in an education, a chrono, and a couple grand in reloading supplies (Thank you Armory, Reloading, & Buy-sell-trade forums). Now I'm ringing a 10" gong at 1000 yds consistently.
This fall, they're going to have to hide a lot better and stay further away.
Was shooting in an NRA 600 yard FTR match with my GAP Hospitaller .308. Was shooting the first string of the 2nd relay and the wind died down and I started hammering the x-ring (3" diameter). Had always wanted to get a clean 100 score for a 10-shot string and just missed the 10 ring by maybe 1/16" on my 3rd shot. It was right on the line but scored a 9. Don't have the target but kept my scorecard. Was still pretty happy with the 8x shots out of 10 but that 9 haunts me. This was the same match I got my first cold bore x-ring hit, which was another goal of mine.
I want to say something compelling or perhaps profound, but too often I find myself just to big a jackass to have the desired effect…
I want to sigh
I want to cry
But the reality is is that I just have a bad flinch on my second shot…
Or I get confident and pull the shot to quickly…
Most the time I can call when the shot is bad the second it leaves the barrel, kinda like when you drink too much and say some dumb stuff you regret later… but there’s something that stings with consistency of my second shot being a loner
Perhaps it’s a metaphor for my impatience
Perhaps it’s a deep reflection I’m supposed to have about life’s imperfect nature
Maybe there’s a lesson to be learned about expectations…
It could also be that my pride tells me I’m a good shooter but the target tells me I’m not… that’s probably it… I like the life imperfection metaphor idea better though so I’m gonna embrace that and spout it out like in proverbs, as a dog that returns to his vomit, so a fool returns to his folly. Maybe I can blame shift my failures on the wind, perhaps the brand of my rifle shall be the holder of the blame…
I will never know the depths of insanity I will approach to convince myself that this is okay, that I can accept the second shot…
Aaanyways if you suffered that this was shot with a pws mk218 6.5 creedmoor
I want to sigh
I want to cry
But the reality is is that I just have a bad flinch on my second shot…
Or I get confident and pull the shot to quickly…
Most the time I can call when the shot is bad the second it leaves the barrel, kinda like when you drink too much and say some dumb stuff you regret later… but there’s something that stings with consistency of my second shot being a loner
Perhaps it’s a metaphor for my impatience
Perhaps it’s a deep reflection I’m supposed to have about life’s imperfect nature
Maybe there’s a lesson to be learned about expectations…
It could also be that my pride tells me I’m a good shooter but the target tells me I’m not… that’s probably it… I like the life imperfection metaphor idea better though so I’m gonna embrace that and spout it out like in proverbs, as a dog that returns to his vomit, so a fool returns to his folly. Maybe I can blame shift my failures on the wind, perhaps the brand of my rifle shall be the holder of the blame…
I will never know the depths of insanity I will approach to convince myself that this is okay, that I can accept the second shot…
Aaanyways if you suffered that this was shot with a pws mk218 6.5 creedmoor
Attachments
In my longtime effort to find 'the best' cartridge i have sort of settled on the 7-08. I had reduced loads to save barrel wear. So much so that when conducting a shoot at 1930 yds. (It rained and everything was flooded in between. And, we are on adobe clay) I had to elevate my aimpoint 25 mil. So much it took it out of the field of view when I pulled the trigger. I tried to drop the crosshairs but even though I had time I could not hold it steady enough to spot impact, At the end of the day I had one bullet we found in front of the target that looked like an impact but, it remained unconfirmed. My nephew, who shot with us and had confirmed hits with his 6.5 and 6 Creedmoor said I must have hit a rock. I should have contacted @168BTHP to see if if he would shoot too.
Last edited:
Got a pretty great group. It looks pretty awesome. But let's call a spade a 
that last one is just a flyer.
that last one is just a flyer.
Last edited:
Tell us about the one that got away, the flier that ruined your group, the zero that drifted, the shot you still see when you close your eyes.
We're also partnering with riflebarrelblanks.com for this contest, the winner will receive a free scope!
You may remember that we ran a similar contest with Rifle Barrel Blanks a couple months ago and we really appreciate everyone that participated! Unfortunately we had a few technical errors so we need to run the contest again, but if you participated last time, please PM me and I'll give you a special prize for the trouble
To enter:
You're in! The contest runs until August 7th and then we'll announce the winner. Good luck everyone!
- Tell us below about the one that got away
- Go to this page and enter your email
CZ 600
Handloads M118LR brass, CCI 200 primers, Varget powder @ 41gr with Hornady A-Tips (case mouths dipped in graphite)
Not a rifle shot I missed but at the WPW Sniper Match I completely lost it. We were shooting decent, just waiting for that one stage that we could really clean up and push ourselves to the top. The stage we roll up on is a pistol stage. I am, or was a pretty good pistol shot. I had earned my EIC bronze badge and taken second overall and second pistol aggregate at a regional match prior to the WPW. My teammate was also an incredible pistol shot. This was our moment. My partner damn near cleans it 19/20. I then proceed to shit the entire bed. 2/20. Hit to move on, and I could not get off the pistol rack. There was a staging box for those to heckle from. My performance was so bad the heckling stopped. I could hear some of the other competitors, “he’s gotta have a gun issue”, “oh, wow, he’s going through something”. To make matters worse, the RO for the stage was one of my instructors when I attended sniper school. We finished middle of the pack at the end of the match. I have since questioned my skills as a pistol shooter and have a small panic attack any time I see a plate rack.
Not just this one little branch, but probably a half dozen of them or more just like it. I am the unluckiest hunter you will ever meet. I'm not talking about shooting in the forrest and hitting trees, I'm talking about like shooting in a clear cut utility right of way and hitting the one single little thing growing it it. Heck I'd love to shoot a big tree or a fat branch some day.
It's always things that are sub caliber. Kind of like how you can miss the 32" wide opening of a trash can but somehow always hit the 1/4" wide edge. As far as paper targets... the fact that I rushed and ruined this one always bugged me. (100yds, all be it only 4 shots)
Shot with this.
I could still shoot back then. I could still see and I didn't shake like I had Parkinson's.
(when I was doing the technical pistol thing I ruined a lot of good groups due to long eye relief, low power scopes. More than once it was "WTF now? I only hit the paper once! Where are they going? Off the paper? Did the scope give up?" Then to shoot off to one side or another, or get sloppy and rush, only to find out in reality they all going in the same place, I just couldn't tell.)
Last edited:
It was actually a three shot group that haunts me: .541 at 100 yards with a rifle I had never held before.
It was 25 years ago. I had been invited to go with the All-Guard shooting team to shoot in the British Reserve Forces Skill At Arms meeting, held at the British Army Training Center Pirbright near Woking, UK. Pirbright is adjacent to Bisley Camp, home of the British NRA, and the two facilities share the same range fan. We stayed at Bisley at the London and Middlesex Rifle Club clubhouse but shot the competition on the Pirbright ranges. Due to gun laws in the UK we could not bring our US weapons with us, had to use British Army weapons that awaited us at the firing line. We stepped up to the line at each range, picked up the weapon at that firing point, fired the course of fire, then put the weapon down and moved on to the next range for the next course of fire.
There were run-down matches from 600 yards down to 100 yards, matches with pistols, matches with their light machineguns, matches with their sniper rifles, stationary/moving/pop-up targets, video/laser matches, and situational awareness exercises. If I remember correctly there were 7 ranges running continuously and we simply walked up, got directed to a point, shot the next relay, then moved on to the next range.
It was the sniper rifle that got me. A British Army Accuracy International .308. First time I had ever held one and first time I had ever fired one. I had also never shot for group size before, just for score. Position was prone with a sling. No practice shots, just aim at a 100 yard/meter target and shoot the smallest group. I shot the three shots then ran down to the target along with a range officer and the target was scored immediately - My three shots were scored as .541. I was floating on air, anxiously awaiting the competition results to be announced the next day. I thought I had a good chance of winning, or at least being in the top three.
Turned out that my own "Best group ever in competition" was ranked only 14th. What a letdown. I still think of it to this day.
It was 25 years ago. I had been invited to go with the All-Guard shooting team to shoot in the British Reserve Forces Skill At Arms meeting, held at the British Army Training Center Pirbright near Woking, UK. Pirbright is adjacent to Bisley Camp, home of the British NRA, and the two facilities share the same range fan. We stayed at Bisley at the London and Middlesex Rifle Club clubhouse but shot the competition on the Pirbright ranges. Due to gun laws in the UK we could not bring our US weapons with us, had to use British Army weapons that awaited us at the firing line. We stepped up to the line at each range, picked up the weapon at that firing point, fired the course of fire, then put the weapon down and moved on to the next range for the next course of fire.
There were run-down matches from 600 yards down to 100 yards, matches with pistols, matches with their light machineguns, matches with their sniper rifles, stationary/moving/pop-up targets, video/laser matches, and situational awareness exercises. If I remember correctly there were 7 ranges running continuously and we simply walked up, got directed to a point, shot the next relay, then moved on to the next range.
It was the sniper rifle that got me. A British Army Accuracy International .308. First time I had ever held one and first time I had ever fired one. I had also never shot for group size before, just for score. Position was prone with a sling. No practice shots, just aim at a 100 yard/meter target and shoot the smallest group. I shot the three shots then ran down to the target along with a range officer and the target was scored immediately - My three shots were scored as .541. I was floating on air, anxiously awaiting the competition results to be announced the next day. I thought I had a good chance of winning, or at least being in the top three.
Turned out that my own "Best group ever in competition" was ranked only 14th. What a letdown. I still think of it to this day.
Last edited:
A shot that still stands out in my mind, out shooting California Ground Squirrel with my brother. He was using a Colt Woodsman and I was packing a High Standard HD Military. A squirrel was running away from us and I took the shot. The bullet hit just underneath it and it bounced in the air with it’s legs going a mile a minute. Still the funniest “Miss” that I’ve ever had.
Short Range BR competition with a 6PPC. 5 shots at 100 yards. One shot cost me a first place finish at a national match. Still haunts me.
Last edited:
I was doing up a load for my 308 I built. Everything was going awesome. I forgot a target so the old pizza box and a quarter to trace made me a dot. I had picked a load just to try. I was doing everything right and then the one the got away. A lot of swearing and I look over at my daughter and her face was priceless. Cost me 10 bucks to the swear jar. Kid keeps me honest and didn’t tell mom lol
Attachments
A painful memory, and a somber lesson learned. I was Elk hunting in Idaho with friends. Started about 40 miles up the middle fork of the Salmon river, Near the mouth of Bull creek. From the river, we hiked up over one mountain ridgeline, then to the top of the next. All in a couple feet of snow, which was drifted well over three feet on the steep incline. I was the only hunter in the group that wasn't a roofer so it was hardest going for me. We'd slept overnight in our clothes and around a small fire near the top of the second mountain, got a decent bull the next morning, and packed out the boned meat and head/cape. We were working down a long ridgeline near dusk that eve, and I spotted a decent 25"+ mule deer several hundred yards below us. Not a super difficult shot for me. I tried to set up with my swiveling harris bipod, but the slope was much too steep to get both bipod feet on the ground at that angle. I tried to line up the shot resting on one bipod foot. I was a little more tired that I realized to put it mildly. Just before breaking the shot, my hold sort of just collapsed and drifted several feet off the buck, and I missed clean. And he was gone. Frustrating, disappointing and embarrassing. I learned back then to be more aware of my mental and physical state before any important shot, and to be sure of a stable solid rest.
I don't really have a real story about the one that got away related to shooting.
The one that got away was a high school sweetheart
nobody wants to hear about that
The one that got away was a high school sweetheart
nobody wants to hear about that
Was working in TX when I had to fly home to renew my DL. Chose to fly out a few days before elk season. I mailed my rifle back home & had a buddy drive me up to elk camp. Late in the season I heard an elk scrambling up the hill & got ready. Unfortunately he popped out only 10' from me. We looked at each other for a second (antler point restrictions here) & he took off straight away from me.I put the crosshairs on the back of his head & was a fraction of a second from boom when he got behind a tree & got away.
I can't say how many times I'm working on a .25-.5'' 5 or 10 shot group and the last round of the group always gets thrown out!
Shot the biggest whitetail I’ve ever seen while hunting in the chest, instead of waiting for a better shot. Deer ran into the neighbor’s property and they ended up killing it and keeping it. I’ve replayed the scenario hundreds of times in my head.
Hunting - My First Bison
In my ongoing preparation for the African safari to seek a Cape Buffalo which would never happen. I bought myself several more African hunting books for Christmas. I sought the memorable experience of the 1950's writer Robert Ruark as noted in one of my new books: "I...looked at Mbogo (the buffalo) and Mbogo looked at me. He was 50- to 60-yards off; his head was low and his eyes stared right down into my soul. He looked at me as if he hated my guts. He looked at me as if I had despoiled his fiancee, murdered his mother and burned down his house. He looked at me as if I owed him money. I never saw such malevolence in the eyes of any animal or any human being before or since. So I shot him."
I distinctly remember "my" bison at the Wilderness Hunting Lodge in central Tennessee. I had signed-up for a cow meat bison and we had found the one in the herd in the grassland portion of the operation’s remote lot in the morning. The guide, my wife and me walked within 10-yards of the meandering animals - which in retrospect meant that, they were semi-tame, unlike the bison in Yellowstone National Park which regularly “airlift” foolish visitors who approach that closely.
The guide, my hunting buddy and I returned that afternoon with the truck and trailer and spent an hour 4-wheeling up and down hills in the woods. I had my unloaded 375 Holland & Holland on my lap along with my African shooting sticks and a box of my handloaded ammunition, with the “de rigueur" 300-grain Woodleigh Protected Point (TM) African-style bullets, in the spacious pockets of my shooting coat with the my sewn-in PAST(TM) Magnum Recoil Shield.
We finally saw the bison herd slowly meandering along the back fence of the large property, and came to an abrupt stop. I bailed out of the seat, followed by my hunting buddy to whom I handed the ammunition box and asked him to get three rounds. I forgot that my CZ Safari would hold 4-rounds. As the herd approached, I frantically screwed the three sections of each of the three legs of the shooting sticks together and expanded them in the correct orientation such that the two long padded top sticks made a “V” facing the herd. I quickly loaded the three rounds, and double-checked with the guide where the heart was. His answer was “behind the front leg” which I thought meant about the usual 1/3 body height up to the rear of the front leg.
By this time the bison was only about 15-yards away and passing to the front of my setup. I looked through my 2-10 Nikon and was dismayed to see only hair somewhere on the bison’s hide. In my amateur mode, I had put the scope on maximum zoom instead of minimum zoom. I quickly racked the zoom knob and took a steady-aimed deliberate shot exactly where I thought that I was told. The shot that I remember is that the bison totally ignored my insult as if it never happened and kept on calmly walking away with no eye contact.
As noted in “The Perfect Shot” by Craig Boddington, which I subsequently purchased and subsequently met at a Dallas Safari Club Exposition, “unless angered, the bison is a phlegmatic beast, not subject to bullet shock…[and] usually takes a bullet through the lungs calmly and then lies down dies. By the way, the book showed the my error with the heart 1/3 up in line with the leg. I later saw that the bullet had gone clean through and exited as a complete double lung shot.
Mercifully, I was a fan of the books by Capstick and Ruark on hunting Cape Buffalo and took two carefully aimed calm and steady shots off my shooting sticks in the mode of the “rear quartering heart shot”. Despite being a rank amateur, I did not make the classic mistake of shooting the bison in the butt nor in the stomach/intestines.
The bison turned and went out of sight behind the trees and my hunting buddy came back yelling, “Get some more ammunition!”
I retrieved the ammunition box from the truck seat where my hunting buddy left it, extracted and loaded two more rounds and walked quickly to where my hunting buddy was. By this time he was standing over the dead bison.
After the obligatory pictures, I went back to my shooting sticks and grubbed in the leaves for a few minutes to retrieve the cartridge cases as souvenirs.
When the bison was processed, her guts fill most of a large plastic trash can. Her chest area was like Grand Central Station and her heart had a hole in the side.
On this year’s bison hunt, I will take the heart shot and have put two extra grains of powder in my cartridges to max-out the velocity at almost 2,500 ft/sec.
In my ongoing preparation for the African safari to seek a Cape Buffalo which would never happen. I bought myself several more African hunting books for Christmas. I sought the memorable experience of the 1950's writer Robert Ruark as noted in one of my new books: "I...looked at Mbogo (the buffalo) and Mbogo looked at me. He was 50- to 60-yards off; his head was low and his eyes stared right down into my soul. He looked at me as if he hated my guts. He looked at me as if I had despoiled his fiancee, murdered his mother and burned down his house. He looked at me as if I owed him money. I never saw such malevolence in the eyes of any animal or any human being before or since. So I shot him."
I distinctly remember "my" bison at the Wilderness Hunting Lodge in central Tennessee. I had signed-up for a cow meat bison and we had found the one in the herd in the grassland portion of the operation’s remote lot in the morning. The guide, my wife and me walked within 10-yards of the meandering animals - which in retrospect meant that, they were semi-tame, unlike the bison in Yellowstone National Park which regularly “airlift” foolish visitors who approach that closely.
The guide, my hunting buddy and I returned that afternoon with the truck and trailer and spent an hour 4-wheeling up and down hills in the woods. I had my unloaded 375 Holland & Holland on my lap along with my African shooting sticks and a box of my handloaded ammunition, with the “de rigueur" 300-grain Woodleigh Protected Point (TM) African-style bullets, in the spacious pockets of my shooting coat with the my sewn-in PAST(TM) Magnum Recoil Shield.
We finally saw the bison herd slowly meandering along the back fence of the large property, and came to an abrupt stop. I bailed out of the seat, followed by my hunting buddy to whom I handed the ammunition box and asked him to get three rounds. I forgot that my CZ Safari would hold 4-rounds. As the herd approached, I frantically screwed the three sections of each of the three legs of the shooting sticks together and expanded them in the correct orientation such that the two long padded top sticks made a “V” facing the herd. I quickly loaded the three rounds, and double-checked with the guide where the heart was. His answer was “behind the front leg” which I thought meant about the usual 1/3 body height up to the rear of the front leg.
By this time the bison was only about 15-yards away and passing to the front of my setup. I looked through my 2-10 Nikon and was dismayed to see only hair somewhere on the bison’s hide. In my amateur mode, I had put the scope on maximum zoom instead of minimum zoom. I quickly racked the zoom knob and took a steady-aimed deliberate shot exactly where I thought that I was told. The shot that I remember is that the bison totally ignored my insult as if it never happened and kept on calmly walking away with no eye contact.
As noted in “The Perfect Shot” by Craig Boddington, which I subsequently purchased and subsequently met at a Dallas Safari Club Exposition, “unless angered, the bison is a phlegmatic beast, not subject to bullet shock…[and] usually takes a bullet through the lungs calmly and then lies down dies. By the way, the book showed the my error with the heart 1/3 up in line with the leg. I later saw that the bullet had gone clean through and exited as a complete double lung shot.
Mercifully, I was a fan of the books by Capstick and Ruark on hunting Cape Buffalo and took two carefully aimed calm and steady shots off my shooting sticks in the mode of the “rear quartering heart shot”. Despite being a rank amateur, I did not make the classic mistake of shooting the bison in the butt nor in the stomach/intestines.
The bison turned and went out of sight behind the trees and my hunting buddy came back yelling, “Get some more ammunition!”
I retrieved the ammunition box from the truck seat where my hunting buddy left it, extracted and loaded two more rounds and walked quickly to where my hunting buddy was. By this time he was standing over the dead bison.
After the obligatory pictures, I went back to my shooting sticks and grubbed in the leaves for a few minutes to retrieve the cartridge cases as souvenirs.
When the bison was processed, her guts fill most of a large plastic trash can. Her chest area was like Grand Central Station and her heart had a hole in the side.
On this year’s bison hunt, I will take the heart shot and have put two extra grains of powder in my cartridges to max-out the velocity at almost 2,500 ft/sec.
Attachments
Seeing the really quality posts above, I’ll say just one thing:
Gentlemen, many of us like lying in position, staring through the scope with a cigarette in our teeth — but I went a step further and brought a thermos of coffee. My constitution isn’t the strongest, especially for such a divine combo.
Two deer at 90 meters clearly didn’t expect that today they’d be fired on with blanks in rapid succession, suppressor and all — straight from the bush where two gray hares suddenly burst out. Total chaos, guys, I wouldn’t have believed it myself.
That day, I came home from the most free hunt ever — without firing a single round.
(Every time my stomach acts up, that awful scene flashes back into my mind..)
Gentlemen, many of us like lying in position, staring through the scope with a cigarette in our teeth — but I went a step further and brought a thermos of coffee. My constitution isn’t the strongest, especially for such a divine combo.
Two deer at 90 meters clearly didn’t expect that today they’d be fired on with blanks in rapid succession, suppressor and all — straight from the bush where two gray hares suddenly burst out. Total chaos, guys, I wouldn’t have believed it myself.
That day, I came home from the most free hunt ever — without firing a single round.
(Every time my stomach acts up, that awful scene flashes back into my mind..)
I was out at the range doing load development with my just delivered 375 H&H. The load development was going fine, my loads were all printing close to an inch.
I had one round left when a woodchuck crawled up on the berm where I had my target set up. The woodchuck sat up straight without a care in the world and I decided why not. My rifle was shooting accurately and the last couple of rounds showed a nice cloverleaf.
I moved my rest so that I could place the crosshairs on the center of his chest. I was imagining what the 375 would do to the woodchuck as I squeezed off the last round. After the dust cleared, the woodchuck was still sitting there. No way I could have missed. The rifle was rock solid and the trigger squeeze was perfect.
Well, we all miss once in a while. I had fired 30 rounds and I could have flinched since that was the first time I had fired that caliber. I still couldn't believe that I missed. That woodchuck was still sitting there and I imagined that he was grinning at me for missing.
I rounded up my gear and put it in the car. I had to go and pick up my target, and the woodchuck was still sitting there. Most likely laughing his ass off at me.
The closer I got to retrieving my target, he was still there. I pulled the target frame from the ground and he still hadn't moved. The least he could have done was to have scooted off, but no, he just sat there with that typical groundhog look on his face.
I climbed to the top of the berm and he didn't move. I poked him with my finger and he rolled all the way to the bottom of the berm. Deader than a doornail. I couldn't believe that I shot a woodchuck with the almighty 375 H&H and he didn't even move. Next time the 458 Lott
I had one round left when a woodchuck crawled up on the berm where I had my target set up. The woodchuck sat up straight without a care in the world and I decided why not. My rifle was shooting accurately and the last couple of rounds showed a nice cloverleaf.
I moved my rest so that I could place the crosshairs on the center of his chest. I was imagining what the 375 would do to the woodchuck as I squeezed off the last round. After the dust cleared, the woodchuck was still sitting there. No way I could have missed. The rifle was rock solid and the trigger squeeze was perfect.
Well, we all miss once in a while. I had fired 30 rounds and I could have flinched since that was the first time I had fired that caliber. I still couldn't believe that I missed. That woodchuck was still sitting there and I imagined that he was grinning at me for missing.
I rounded up my gear and put it in the car. I had to go and pick up my target, and the woodchuck was still sitting there. Most likely laughing his ass off at me.
The closer I got to retrieving my target, he was still there. I pulled the target frame from the ground and he still hadn't moved. The least he could have done was to have scooted off, but no, he just sat there with that typical groundhog look on his face.
I climbed to the top of the berm and he didn't move. I poked him with my finger and he rolled all the way to the bottom of the berm. Deader than a doornail. I couldn't believe that I shot a woodchuck with the almighty 375 H&H and he didn't even move. Next time the 458 Lott
For me the one that got away was dirty blonde, 12 years ago. If only I knew then what I know now I would have made different choices. 
The first time I got to shoot a precision rifle there was an absolute downpour of rain. We were the only people at the range. I’ll never, ever forget learning recoil management and being able to watch the trace from the bullet flying down range, the trace separating the wall of rain in two before making an impact on the target some 700 yards later.
I’ve been hooked even since.
I’ve been hooked even since.
For my first PRS 22 LR match my trigger (Mr Fly on cz455) wasn't adjust properly. So bolt came out on every stage and on top of that I dropped my bolt on the ground few times. OMG what a shame but lesson learned. First match will teach more then all books you did read combine .
My last PRS match. Just so happened that day. I was shooting lights out and was sitting in a good place to win the whole match. Stage number nine was a three position single target at 650 yards. I was printing an excellent 4 inch group on target when I touched one of my final rounds off and felt a very light recoil impulse. The round impacted nearly 2 mil’s low. I watched it as if it were in slow motion and come to find out that one round cost me first place. I was the proud recipient of the major butt hurt award.
Shooting my 308 against a varied group for a 300 yard any rifle match. It was feeling really good after all the load work ups. Finished with a perfect 200-12x score. I was pretty disappointed when I was edged out by an F Class shooter with a 200-13x.
Attachments
Was hunting last season with my best friend and it was opening day...... he drove out from st Louis and I drove out from omaha and we got to our blind early as usual before the sun came up. The previous year my buddy came out to nebraska to hunt with me and I was able to get my first buck so this past year I let him shoot first and bam big 10 pointer at least that walked right past our blind...... thing was so close I could have tagged it with my now easy but I let my buddy take the shot. He was using an ar-10 and zeroed it the day before....... I was watching him get ready and he was waiting. I was ranging for him and the buck was 80 yards away...... he waited so long I told him if youre not taking the shot I will. I watched the buck as he squeezed the trigger....... buck heard the shot looked at us and ran. My buddy was 3ft low! A big beautiful buck on opening day missed at first light! Needless to say we got skunked the rest of the weekend haha while our other buddies from Wyoming got a monster buck just down the road.
Largest white tail I had ever seen in Wyoming. Took the shot and he dropped like a rock. Instead of being patient we drove up to him. He blinked a couple of times, jumped up and ran off. I took an offhand shot as he was running away and never saw him again. No blood, nothing. I must have ricochet'd off of his antler and knocked him out cold or something. Easy a 150 in whitey.
I have been a deer hunter all but the first 12 years of my life, when my Dad said I was finally old enough to carry my own rifle, to which, that season, I filled my tag! I killed more deer than I can keep up with since then. I will tell you that most of them have been within 100 yards or less and being left handed I even killed a few shooting right handed. Now many years later, I have enjoyed hunting open areas where I can take longer shots. In this one particular area, the previous year I shot a 300 lb boar at just a touch over 300 yards which was my career long. This particular season I had a Bergara B14 ridge dialed in and had plans of my first kill at 400+. I hunted almost the entire rifle season and it had come down to the last evening. I watched deer most of the day cruising a large wheat field in southern Oklahoma. As the sun started setting, finally a really wide buck that I had not seen all season made his way into the field. He was chasing does and running off smaller bucks. He stopped for a bite to eat and gave me a chance to range him. I kept getting different readings but settled on 425 yards. I set my scope for that range and laying prone just at the edge of the field and lay my rifle across my mystery ranch pack. It was steady and I had actually shot this way several times before so I felt quite comfortable. As I locked in on the target, it just felt right. I squeezed and the shot sounded. I watched through the optics to only see a large cloud of dust just above the bucks shoulders as he reared up and then ran off. He disappeared but to make doubly sure I hurried to the area he was standing before it was too dark to see. Yes, my first shot at live game over 400 was in fact a miss.
I honestly don’t even see how I lose this…
Earlier this year, me and a group of guys decided to do Andy frisellas 75 hard challenge. Outdoor workouts often ran super late. I was taking a late walk in the cold one evening close to my house and heard the coyotes lighting up across the berm. I got home as quick as I could, loaded up the 6 arc thermal rig and hauled ass back out there.
I pull up, walk up the berm and spot 4-5 coyotes about 200 yards out. Let out a few lip squeaks and here they come! I had a barbwire fence about 10 yards or less in front of me. One of those little aholes came straight through the fence and stopped a few paces in front of me. Put the crosshairs on his chest and shot over his left shoulder! turns out bumping my thermal a few nights earlier completely effed my zero.
In the video I can be heard trying to snort up all the damn snot that was running from the bloody cold and me just finishing a workout. Trying to be a badass and completely missing a dog at pissing distance. Unbelievable.
Earlier this year, me and a group of guys decided to do Andy frisellas 75 hard challenge. Outdoor workouts often ran super late. I was taking a late walk in the cold one evening close to my house and heard the coyotes lighting up across the berm. I got home as quick as I could, loaded up the 6 arc thermal rig and hauled ass back out there.
I pull up, walk up the berm and spot 4-5 coyotes about 200 yards out. Let out a few lip squeaks and here they come! I had a barbwire fence about 10 yards or less in front of me. One of those little aholes came straight through the fence and stopped a few paces in front of me. Put the crosshairs on his chest and shot over his left shoulder!
turns out bumping my thermal a few nights earlier completely effed my zero.In the video I can be heard trying to snort up all the damn snot that was running from the bloody cold and me just finishing a workout. Trying to be a badass and completely missing a dog at pissing distance. Unbelievable.
Few years back I got up in a random tree stand in the woods while deer hunting. I had a group of 3 bucks walk in, directly towards the tree stand. The first one wasn't legal but the third was a nice size. I had my pack at the base of the tree and knew once the young one in the lead caught wind of it, he was going to be gone. At this point he was no further than 20yards.
I anxiously waited until the third buck cleared the trees that was blocking him, hoping they didn't get spooked beforehand. He turned broad side and I shot.
All three took off running, I watched as I expected the one I shot to drop. Nope, all three ran off and none ran like they were injured. The shot was no further than 30 yards, no way I missed.
My brothers made their way to my location and helped search the whole area, we couldn't find anything.
Only explanation I can think of was that I hit a branch, but I looked and couldn't find any obvious sign of that either. I was baffled.
I anxiously waited until the third buck cleared the trees that was blocking him, hoping they didn't get spooked beforehand. He turned broad side and I shot.
All three took off running, I watched as I expected the one I shot to drop. Nope, all three ran off and none ran like they were injured. The shot was no further than 30 yards, no way I missed.
My brothers made their way to my location and helped search the whole area, we couldn't find anything.
Only explanation I can think of was that I hit a branch, but I looked and couldn't find any obvious sign of that either. I was baffled.
I have love/hate relationship with a shot I missed back in 2009. First time hunting elk, went solo from San Diego out to Colorado. Had a 300wm that I felt confident with out to maybe 500yds. Long story short, I hunted my BUTT off and everything that could have gone wrong, did. Truck broke down in BFE san jaun mountains, way colder than I was prepped for, etc. I fought through and got into elk though!
I found a small group bedded down in the snow at the bottom of a steep bowl. Little raghorn bull in the group. I watched them from up top and spent a ton of time taking the shot, ranged him numerous times, triple checked my dope, even dry fired on him a few times. Took a shot from 420 yds, the elk split, and I had no clue how I could have missed, had to have hit him. Hiked through what I discovered to be about 3 feet of snow at the bottom to check for blood, searched and searched, missed clean.
Months later, after learning about this little ballistic factor called INCLINATION, it all made sense. Im guessing it was a solid 40 degree slope and that means my 210 VLD went right over his back. I hate that I missed that shot, because I wasn't educated and prepared enough.
Now on the other hand, I love that I missed that shot because I now know that I was not prepared to get that elk packed out from that location alone.
That miss made me a much better shooter and a more ethical hunter.
I found a small group bedded down in the snow at the bottom of a steep bowl. Little raghorn bull in the group. I watched them from up top and spent a ton of time taking the shot, ranged him numerous times, triple checked my dope, even dry fired on him a few times. Took a shot from 420 yds, the elk split, and I had no clue how I could have missed, had to have hit him. Hiked through what I discovered to be about 3 feet of snow at the bottom to check for blood, searched and searched, missed clean.
Months later, after learning about this little ballistic factor called INCLINATION, it all made sense. Im guessing it was a solid 40 degree slope and that means my 210 VLD went right over his back. I hate that I missed that shot, because I wasn't educated and prepared enough.
Now on the other hand, I love that I missed that shot because I now know that I was not prepared to get that elk packed out from that location alone.
That miss made me a much better shooter and a more ethical hunter.
I was 13 years old and it was my second or third time hunting alone. My dad dropped me off about a half a mile from my tree stand in the marsh. My dad tells me it’s the peak of the rut so I may be in luck for my first buck. It was a cool quiet afternoon without much wind.
After the 30 minute hike through the marsh, I made it to my tree stand and noticed two does bedded about 300 yards out. I lift up my binoculars and watch them for about 15 minutes until they vanished. As I struggle to find them in the long grass, I hear something making its way through the water about 40 yards behind me. I try to locate the source of sound but my knees are so shaky i realize I’m better off waiting if I want to stay in the tree.
About 15 minutes pass by and I see a doe dart across me. A big 10 point steps out behind it but goes back behind the trees after about 5 seconds. I tried to steady my rifle as I’m counting my breaths. The massive buck steps out again and I am circling it with my crosshairs. I take a few deep breaths so that I can hold still and get on the buck. As I’m getting ready to shoot a loud BANG cracks about 100 yards away from me. I almost dropped the gun and lost my drawers it scared me so bad. I look up to see the deer dead in its tracks.
Long story short poachers suck and I’ll never get over that one. Yes we got the deer and the scare of a lifetime, but I never expected it to be from a poacher sitting under a tree about 100 yards from me. Right around 10 years later, I’m still thinking I’ll never get over this “miss”.
After the 30 minute hike through the marsh, I made it to my tree stand and noticed two does bedded about 300 yards out. I lift up my binoculars and watch them for about 15 minutes until they vanished. As I struggle to find them in the long grass, I hear something making its way through the water about 40 yards behind me. I try to locate the source of sound but my knees are so shaky i realize I’m better off waiting if I want to stay in the tree.
About 15 minutes pass by and I see a doe dart across me. A big 10 point steps out behind it but goes back behind the trees after about 5 seconds. I tried to steady my rifle as I’m counting my breaths. The massive buck steps out again and I am circling it with my crosshairs. I take a few deep breaths so that I can hold still and get on the buck. As I’m getting ready to shoot a loud BANG cracks about 100 yards away from me. I almost dropped the gun and lost my drawers it scared me so bad. I look up to see the deer dead in its tracks.
Long story short poachers suck and I’ll never get over that one. Yes we got the deer and the scare of a lifetime, but I never expected it to be from a poacher sitting under a tree about 100 yards from me. Right around 10 years later, I’m still thinking I’ll never get over this “miss”.
My first PRS match. I start off pretty bad, missing some easy stages. We get to this stage that has 3 targets at 6 or 700 yards. Targets are 2” wide and 12” long, one horizontal, one vertical, and one diagonal.
Course of fire is left to right, double tap, move position, right to left, double tap. Prone to modified prone.
Everyone is struggling and getting few hits. I go up thinking okay probably lucky to get a hit. I set up and start on the first target, holding a left edge. Two impacts. Okay wow, must have gotten lucky.
Next target, two impacts. Okay I’m doing something right, last target is the diagonal which was the hardest. Two more impacts. Holy shit I love the PRS.
I switch positions and I do the same thing. One flier, miss since I rushed the shot. Okay no big deal, I did great, right? The RO says I got you for 8, and I was like no that’s 11, right? Nope, I did the same thing on the second position, left to right instead of right to left. They gave me the two in the middle. I couldn’t believe it, I thought I had done so well!
Course of fire is left to right, double tap, move position, right to left, double tap. Prone to modified prone.
Everyone is struggling and getting few hits. I go up thinking okay probably lucky to get a hit. I set up and start on the first target, holding a left edge. Two impacts. Okay wow, must have gotten lucky.
Next target, two impacts. Okay I’m doing something right, last target is the diagonal which was the hardest. Two more impacts. Holy shit I love the PRS.
I switch positions and I do the same thing. One flier, miss since I rushed the shot. Okay no big deal, I did great, right? The RO says I got you for 8, and I was like no that’s 11, right? Nope, I did the same thing on the second position, left to right instead of right to left. They gave me the two in the middle. I couldn’t believe it, I thought I had done so well!
Dropped one shot off of my first moving target at my first PRS match with my old hunting 243. Will never top that feeling I had until the last shot fell off the front side of the plate.
Finally found some .22 that my Walther target rifle likes well enough to cloverleaf at 100 yards and the manufacturer stopped making it. That one really got away.
One of the first deer I ever shot at with a compound bow about 30 years ago - my buddy told me to stand in a certain place (where deer cross) on his dirt driveway, and he'd do a circle in the woods and try to kick something out to me. About 5 minutes later a big doe came walking slowly out across the driveway perfectly broadside to me 25 yards away. I put my 20-yard pin on the front shoulder and let my broadhead fly shooting JUST under the vitals missing her completely, I misjudged the distance slightly and she went bounding into the woods unscathed. My buddy reemerged back out from the woods, and I had to tell him I screwed up.
My dad and I were hunting an abandoned farmstead. Walking the fence a rooster pheasant jump up in front of me. I was using a Browning BPS 12 gauge with a full choke, with a new box of Remington shells. Can't recall what they were called, but they were better than the cheap Duck and Pheasant loads. I hit that bird hard and saw a big puff of feathers fall off. I kept walking towards it, and it jumped up and started to fly again, like he hadn't been hit! I hit it again, and again there was a big puff of feathers falling off. This time I was walking faster, and it jumped up again. I hit it a third time, and again the big puff of feathers falling off. This time I started running towards it, and that bird got up and flew out of range and into a field we did not have permission to hunt. Back at the pickup, totally mad and disgusted, I handed my dad the rest of the shells and told him to only use them on a charging rabbit!! I have not bought another box of Remington shotshells since, and that's been about 44 years now.
Can’t remember which year but it was a F TR National Champion. I was at 600 yards and shot everything into the 3” X ring until the last shot. My ammo was too hot and pierced a primer and dropped the last rds straight down just into the nine ring. So not only did I miss out on a record number of X”s. I did not score a perfect numerical score
Well now I have a good one for you and it is absolutely true. My young Asian wife decided she wanted to go sit in the stand with me, I agreed as hunting had been slow. So there we are and she starts getting frisky, next thing you know her head is out the window and I am behind her doing my duty. Low and behold out walks the biggest damn 10 Point buck I have EVER SEEN on our property, he stops and stares at the commotion going on in the deer stand. I tried to dismount and grab my rifle but with my pants around my ankles I fell hard to the floor. Mr. buck left never to be seen again. Moral of the story, I do not take her hunting with me anymore
Last edited:
This story wasn’t particularly exciting but did leave me eating some crow and enduring some ball busting. I was still a Special Agent Bomb Technician with the feds. It was a really hot summer day and one of my buddies from the local PD where I started my career gave me a call. They were doing some SWAT training and had a dud flash bang that didn’t go off and they needed to get rid of it. I picked up the flash bang, threw it in a frag bag and called another bomb tech buddy to meet up if he was available, so as to do things by the book.
We met at a local gravel bank. My buddy was grabbing some stuff for us to countercharge the flash bang with, but I said, “eh it’s hot, let’s not mess around with all that stuff, I’ll just shoot it with my rifle from a distance.” Besides, a flash bang with a bullet hole in it would make a better paperweight than one blown to crap with high explosives.
We put the flash bang out a little less than 100 yards away. I grabbed my issued Colt M4A1 Eotech equipped rifle and rested it on the hood of my Tahoe GOV. 3 “Fire in the holes” and I’m ready to send it. Carefully fired the shot and to my chagrin, and my buddy’s laughter I missed. Not to be outsmarted by this flash bang, I grabbed my backpack and put that on the hood to act as a steadier rest. Fired that round and just barely touched the flash bang spinning it off into the distance. When we found the flash bang, it turned out that I didn’t actually center punch the flash bang and completely vent its contents. So with my buddy laughing the whole time we grabbed a cast booster and some time fuse and ended up blasting the damn thing anyway.
So nothing terribly exciting and nothing of any real consequence but I definitely ate my fair share of crow that day.
We met at a local gravel bank. My buddy was grabbing some stuff for us to countercharge the flash bang with, but I said, “eh it’s hot, let’s not mess around with all that stuff, I’ll just shoot it with my rifle from a distance.” Besides, a flash bang with a bullet hole in it would make a better paperweight than one blown to crap with high explosives.
We put the flash bang out a little less than 100 yards away. I grabbed my issued Colt M4A1 Eotech equipped rifle and rested it on the hood of my Tahoe GOV. 3 “Fire in the holes” and I’m ready to send it. Carefully fired the shot and to my chagrin, and my buddy’s laughter I missed. Not to be outsmarted by this flash bang, I grabbed my backpack and put that on the hood to act as a steadier rest. Fired that round and just barely touched the flash bang spinning it off into the distance. When we found the flash bang, it turned out that I didn’t actually center punch the flash bang and completely vent its contents. So with my buddy laughing the whole time we grabbed a cast booster and some time fuse and ended up blasting the damn thing anyway.
So nothing terribly exciting and nothing of any real consequence but I definitely ate my fair share of crow that day.
“The Shot That Still Echoes”
Two years ago, opening morning of whitetail rifle season. I was tucked into a pine ridge overlooking a frozen creek bottom, wind in my face, frost on the leaves, and just enough fog hanging low to muffle the woods in silence.
I’d tracked a wide 10-point buck on my trail cam for three weeks. I named him “Ghost” because he never showed in daylight—only in the fog, right before dawn or right after dusk. That morning, he stepped out at 186 yards like clockwork, following a group of does. My heart started pounding before I even shouldered the rifle.
I had a rock-solid rest, dialed my scope, breathed slow. Crosshairs settled behind the shoulder. I squeezed.
Click.
Not a bang. Not a misfire. A full, gut-sinking, dry click.
I racked another round, heart now really pounding. Ghost looked right at me. One hop and he was gone into the timber. Never saw him again—not on cam, not in the woods, not even a shed.
Let’s just say I will never shoot another federal round out of my gun again.
I Still hear that click sometimes when I close my eyes.
Two years ago, opening morning of whitetail rifle season. I was tucked into a pine ridge overlooking a frozen creek bottom, wind in my face, frost on the leaves, and just enough fog hanging low to muffle the woods in silence.
I’d tracked a wide 10-point buck on my trail cam for three weeks. I named him “Ghost” because he never showed in daylight—only in the fog, right before dawn or right after dusk. That morning, he stepped out at 186 yards like clockwork, following a group of does. My heart started pounding before I even shouldered the rifle.
I had a rock-solid rest, dialed my scope, breathed slow. Crosshairs settled behind the shoulder. I squeezed.
Click.
Not a bang. Not a misfire. A full, gut-sinking, dry click.
I racked another round, heart now really pounding. Ghost looked right at me. One hop and he was gone into the timber. Never saw him again—not on cam, not in the woods, not even a shed.
Let’s just say I will never shoot another federal round out of my gun again.
I Still hear that click sometimes when I close my eyes.
Similar threads
