Saturday Morning, 0700, 26JUN99. The Mid-Atlantic TFL participants rendezvoused in a parking lot just off I-81, in Virginia's famous Shenandoah Valley. Serendipitously, at that location there was a huge smoker/cooker fired-up and making smoked chicken halves for some benefit campaign that was to occur later in the morning. We all bought the first ones off the racks, and bought last minute items at what was to be the last outpost of civilization. Thereafter, we convoyed our 4x4s up the winding mountain roads, behind a very large and very slow cement truck. The inter-vehicle communications made the slow crawl behind the truck at worst an opportunity to quip on the funky look of the new Lincoln Town Cars, and at best an excellent opportunity to view the beautiful surrounding countryside from an eagle's perspective. Getting off the black top highway was effected as a right turn at an acute angle, uphill and on loose rock. Doing so gave all the immediate gratification which can only be realized when in a 4x4 under such circumstances. The gravel and dirt one-track road was bumpy with the jagged edges of rock outcroppings, potholes, the occasional fallen rock. Surprisingly enough, within the first mile, and in a small clearing off the track, was a glossy-black late-model Volvo station wagon with a trailer attached to it. On the trailer sat a fire-engine red Harley Davidson Soft-tail (model indeterminate). There's no need for lengthy commentary in order to share my thoughts as to these folks having IQ's on par with the barometric pressure reading of the day.
The 8 position range was in good shape and with only a few shooters when we arrived. It was a busy little range however, especially when at one point there were a total of 14 of us firing (some of us laying or sitting on the concrete pad between the benchrest table positions). After having shot the best 3-shot, 100-yd, .30-caliber group of my entire life, I figured things could only get worse from there and subsequently assumed the burdensome but much needed role of rangemaster. I loved it! I'd get goose-bumples and grin every time I bellowed out: "The Firing Line ® is READY." A morning of shooting builds a good appetite, so we stepped off the line for a few minutes to wolf-down some sustenance; that smoked chicken was the perfect pick-me-up. Another couple of hours of launching lead found us with a consensus to seek out our campsites.
A few miles further up the narrow and winding mountain road took us deep into the heart of nature at her finest. The excellent campsite coupled with outstanding camping companions made for a truly memorable outing. After setting up camp, we settled down and got to know each other a little better. Suddenly bowling pins appeared; as if by telepathy, everybody grabbed guns and ammo and proceeded to conduct the 1st TFL Bowling Pin Shoot. The sharp, snappy report of a 9mm Parabellum to the tree-shaking roar of a short-barrelled .45-70 Gov't were resounding preludes to the wild gyrations and conclusive displacement of the bowling pins in the "TFL Alley." Ammo spent, and another appetite built, it was back to the camp for a dinner that would rival those immortalized by Arlo Guthrie's song "Alice's Restaurant." The obligatory bonfire, telling of tales, watching a bright moon rise, a sprinkling of stars throughout the night sky, and a quaffing of favored beverages finally ended a continuously recreational and wonderfully fulfilling day.
Next morning, a French roast coffee and chicory mix, cooked to the consistency of "Watch Standing Coffee in the best Navy tradition," was lightened with an appropriate amount of cinnamon-hazelnut flavoring. Umm… mmmm… good! Café Du Monde in the French Quarter of New Orleans would have been proud of our concoction. It had much the same effect as hydrazine in a rocket engine - pure energy. As a result we all felt the need to move about and subsequently proceeded to scout-out the immediate area. We found another excellent shooting location, the landmark being a 25 foot vertical embankment that would lend itself well as the backstop for future rapid fire events. Back to camp, pack up, load-up and down the road we go. We stopped in at the range and spent another morning of shooting and generally having fun. Along towards noon we bid adieu and went our respective ways, each a richer person with a fuller life for the experiences and friendships shared. My 4-hour drive home gave me lots of time to reflect on how marvelous it was that a number of total strangers could come together from diverse places and backgrounds and share so many things in common. Yep, TFL certainly made it's contribution to my outlook on life!
------------------
Mykl
~~~~~
"If you really want to know what's going on;
then, you have to follow the money trail."
$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$
The 8 position range was in good shape and with only a few shooters when we arrived. It was a busy little range however, especially when at one point there were a total of 14 of us firing (some of us laying or sitting on the concrete pad between the benchrest table positions). After having shot the best 3-shot, 100-yd, .30-caliber group of my entire life, I figured things could only get worse from there and subsequently assumed the burdensome but much needed role of rangemaster. I loved it! I'd get goose-bumples and grin every time I bellowed out: "The Firing Line ® is READY." A morning of shooting builds a good appetite, so we stepped off the line for a few minutes to wolf-down some sustenance; that smoked chicken was the perfect pick-me-up. Another couple of hours of launching lead found us with a consensus to seek out our campsites.
A few miles further up the narrow and winding mountain road took us deep into the heart of nature at her finest. The excellent campsite coupled with outstanding camping companions made for a truly memorable outing. After setting up camp, we settled down and got to know each other a little better. Suddenly bowling pins appeared; as if by telepathy, everybody grabbed guns and ammo and proceeded to conduct the 1st TFL Bowling Pin Shoot. The sharp, snappy report of a 9mm Parabellum to the tree-shaking roar of a short-barrelled .45-70 Gov't were resounding preludes to the wild gyrations and conclusive displacement of the bowling pins in the "TFL Alley." Ammo spent, and another appetite built, it was back to the camp for a dinner that would rival those immortalized by Arlo Guthrie's song "Alice's Restaurant." The obligatory bonfire, telling of tales, watching a bright moon rise, a sprinkling of stars throughout the night sky, and a quaffing of favored beverages finally ended a continuously recreational and wonderfully fulfilling day.
Next morning, a French roast coffee and chicory mix, cooked to the consistency of "Watch Standing Coffee in the best Navy tradition," was lightened with an appropriate amount of cinnamon-hazelnut flavoring. Umm… mmmm… good! Café Du Monde in the French Quarter of New Orleans would have been proud of our concoction. It had much the same effect as hydrazine in a rocket engine - pure energy. As a result we all felt the need to move about and subsequently proceeded to scout-out the immediate area. We found another excellent shooting location, the landmark being a 25 foot vertical embankment that would lend itself well as the backstop for future rapid fire events. Back to camp, pack up, load-up and down the road we go. We stopped in at the range and spent another morning of shooting and generally having fun. Along towards noon we bid adieu and went our respective ways, each a richer person with a fuller life for the experiences and friendships shared. My 4-hour drive home gave me lots of time to reflect on how marvelous it was that a number of total strangers could come together from diverse places and backgrounds and share so many things in common. Yep, TFL certainly made it's contribution to my outlook on life!
------------------
Mykl
~~~~~
"If you really want to know what's going on;
then, you have to follow the money trail."
$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$
Please, don't throw me in that briar patch!
