The guy with the shaved head and Bob Marley T short rested the muzzle of his rented trap gun in the dirt while he transferred shells to the pockets of his droopy pants. The two other guys with him were not doing that much better as they had to be told to don eye and ear protection. I had just arrived at PGC and wanted desperately to shot a few rounds, but decided to sit this one out.Rental guns, glasses, and a box of AAs each.
The word,"Mother" was in their vocabulary only as part of a longer word.
Steve, a veteran shooter I knew slightly was also waiting, his BT99 resting in the rack next to my TB.
The three on the line might have been tough and streetwise, they looked it. But they were clueless about shotguns, and it started to look like a long day as they started to shoot. Their first shots were fruitless, and they discussed the misses at length while bird after bird got launched. Voice releases cannot tell the difference between "Pull" and "$%^&*" if spoken loudly. They were loud.
These guys were lost. And, my conscience was riding me like a saddle bronc, with spurs raking from the point of my shoulders back, deep.
So, about shot # 10, I walked forward and asked,
"Would you guys like some help?". Big grins all around.
So, one more class of Shotgun 101.Stance, mount, grip,sighting swing,shot,follow through. Cheek on stock, eye on bird, not bead. Repeat, because they hadn't done it before.And then again,because they forgot.
Then guy #2 smashed one, and we high 5'd. Some hits for all followed, and after being thanked effusively I returned to the bench with warm fuzzies. Thw worst was to come.
No good deed goes unpunished. These guys were so slow geological eras seem to pass while they discussed every shot, fumbled around, dropped shells, ad nauseam. Steve and I fidgetted, looked to see if any other traps were open, and prayed these guys would smarten up. The frustration built and built.
The Geezer Squad looked like amphetamine crazed jackrabbits next to these 20-ish, fit men.
Finally, after a wait longer than the gestation periods of rabbits, they fired off the last shots and left the line.Steve and I stuck plugs in ears, grabbed our shotguns and moved to the line faster than middle aged men usually move. As I passed the first one, he thanked me and I told him that we would not hit them all either, but he was welcome to watch and maybe get some ideas.He relayed that to the others and they stood vigil at the fence.
Steve and I then shot was may be the fastest two man squad in trap history. We wanted to get at least one round in before they went for more ammo.
It was downright aerobic. Our shots weren't 10 seconds apart, and it went like a well oiled machine. After the first post, with 10 smokers between us, the newbies applauded and waved as they left in the direction of the clubhouse. That spurred us on, and a faster round would be very hard to do.
And it's funny, I shot a 24 and Steve said he dropped a couple, tho I didn't see them. The speed didn't hurt our shooting...
Next two rounds went likewise, a 23 and 24. Not bad for me at all. Maybe frustration helps concentration(G)...
The word,"Mother" was in their vocabulary only as part of a longer word.
Steve, a veteran shooter I knew slightly was also waiting, his BT99 resting in the rack next to my TB.
The three on the line might have been tough and streetwise, they looked it. But they were clueless about shotguns, and it started to look like a long day as they started to shoot. Their first shots were fruitless, and they discussed the misses at length while bird after bird got launched. Voice releases cannot tell the difference between "Pull" and "$%^&*" if spoken loudly. They were loud.
These guys were lost. And, my conscience was riding me like a saddle bronc, with spurs raking from the point of my shoulders back, deep.
So, about shot # 10, I walked forward and asked,
"Would you guys like some help?". Big grins all around.
So, one more class of Shotgun 101.Stance, mount, grip,sighting swing,shot,follow through. Cheek on stock, eye on bird, not bead. Repeat, because they hadn't done it before.And then again,because they forgot.
Then guy #2 smashed one, and we high 5'd. Some hits for all followed, and after being thanked effusively I returned to the bench with warm fuzzies. Thw worst was to come.
No good deed goes unpunished. These guys were so slow geological eras seem to pass while they discussed every shot, fumbled around, dropped shells, ad nauseam. Steve and I fidgetted, looked to see if any other traps were open, and prayed these guys would smarten up. The frustration built and built.
The Geezer Squad looked like amphetamine crazed jackrabbits next to these 20-ish, fit men.
Finally, after a wait longer than the gestation periods of rabbits, they fired off the last shots and left the line.Steve and I stuck plugs in ears, grabbed our shotguns and moved to the line faster than middle aged men usually move. As I passed the first one, he thanked me and I told him that we would not hit them all either, but he was welcome to watch and maybe get some ideas.He relayed that to the others and they stood vigil at the fence.
Steve and I then shot was may be the fastest two man squad in trap history. We wanted to get at least one round in before they went for more ammo.
It was downright aerobic. Our shots weren't 10 seconds apart, and it went like a well oiled machine. After the first post, with 10 smokers between us, the newbies applauded and waved as they left in the direction of the clubhouse. That spurred us on, and a faster round would be very hard to do.
And it's funny, I shot a 24 and Steve said he dropped a couple, tho I didn't see them. The speed didn't hurt our shooting...
Next two rounds went likewise, a 23 and 24. Not bad for me at all. Maybe frustration helps concentration(G)...
