Went to the trap range today. Weather was better than we can hope for this time of year in Md, not much wind and sunny, high 50s. So, it brought out some folks I hadn't seen yet.
At 54, I was the youngest shooter waiting around by quite a few years.Most of the shooters were old enough for Medicare.
And as we waited for the trap man to top off the racks, we talked.....
Guns were compared,and since most of these guys knew each other, some banter happened.A gent of perhaps 70 spoke to me," How do you manage to get here on a weekday, young man? You should be working", with a smile.
I told him I was retired, and mornings were a good time for me to waste some ammo and time. The talk moved to the guns, various ones stacked in the racks. There were a couple of Berreta gas guns, a pair of Browning singles, one Citori, my 870 Trap, a Model 12,an 1100, and a Savage pump dressed up with a lace on cheek piece and an optical sight. The frail looking man with the last one wore thick glasses and moved really slowly on the one foot he had left. We had enough for two squads,and I elected to shoot second squad as the shooters asked if anyone was in a hurry. So, I settled in and watched the geriatric gents move up to the line.
Now, I admit humility isn't my strong point. It takes heavy company for me to think I'm past my level on most shotgun endeavors.Here, I was past it in spades...
The banter ceased as the line started. It took a complete station before the first clay sailed away unmarked. I started paying close attention....
I wasn't counting hits, I was counting misses. Out of the 125 rounds these geezers fired, there may have been 15 misses.
Sitting on the bench next to me one guy mentioned that Soandso wasn't up to his normal scores. I stated that all of them were pretty good, and the gent told me that the old guy with the optical sight had his left eye removed a few months back, and was learning to shoot righthanded after 60 years of shooting leftie.The foot had been amputated summmer beofre last, according to my source. Diabetes...
I sat surprised and thoughtful. Here's a guy in a shape that NONE of us would wish to be in. Crippled, half blind, ailing, this gentleman was doing something he loved,and doing it not at all badly by any reasonable standard.Courage and dedication are two things that count with me, and one of life's lessons came in an unexpected way and time.
The round finished,the first squad moved off the line,and the banter started up again.
I grabbed my 870 and earmuffs, and stepped on up. As the squad shot, I concentrated hard and kept my end up, shooting better than usual.I finished up with 21, and as I left the line one of the oldsters gave me a tip on stance.
The first squad went back, and I didn't count this time, I watched and learned.
So it went, until it was time to pick up Daughter from school,and return to Daddying. On leaving, I stood next to my car and said a prayer of thanks.Sometimes we forget how lucky we are, and how courage is often hidden and unnoted, like other treasures....
At 54, I was the youngest shooter waiting around by quite a few years.Most of the shooters were old enough for Medicare.
And as we waited for the trap man to top off the racks, we talked.....
Guns were compared,and since most of these guys knew each other, some banter happened.A gent of perhaps 70 spoke to me," How do you manage to get here on a weekday, young man? You should be working", with a smile.
I told him I was retired, and mornings were a good time for me to waste some ammo and time. The talk moved to the guns, various ones stacked in the racks. There were a couple of Berreta gas guns, a pair of Browning singles, one Citori, my 870 Trap, a Model 12,an 1100, and a Savage pump dressed up with a lace on cheek piece and an optical sight. The frail looking man with the last one wore thick glasses and moved really slowly on the one foot he had left. We had enough for two squads,and I elected to shoot second squad as the shooters asked if anyone was in a hurry. So, I settled in and watched the geriatric gents move up to the line.
Now, I admit humility isn't my strong point. It takes heavy company for me to think I'm past my level on most shotgun endeavors.Here, I was past it in spades...
The banter ceased as the line started. It took a complete station before the first clay sailed away unmarked. I started paying close attention....
I wasn't counting hits, I was counting misses. Out of the 125 rounds these geezers fired, there may have been 15 misses.
Sitting on the bench next to me one guy mentioned that Soandso wasn't up to his normal scores. I stated that all of them were pretty good, and the gent told me that the old guy with the optical sight had his left eye removed a few months back, and was learning to shoot righthanded after 60 years of shooting leftie.The foot had been amputated summmer beofre last, according to my source. Diabetes...
I sat surprised and thoughtful. Here's a guy in a shape that NONE of us would wish to be in. Crippled, half blind, ailing, this gentleman was doing something he loved,and doing it not at all badly by any reasonable standard.Courage and dedication are two things that count with me, and one of life's lessons came in an unexpected way and time.
The round finished,the first squad moved off the line,and the banter started up again.
I grabbed my 870 and earmuffs, and stepped on up. As the squad shot, I concentrated hard and kept my end up, shooting better than usual.I finished up with 21, and as I left the line one of the oldsters gave me a tip on stance.
The first squad went back, and I didn't count this time, I watched and learned.
So it went, until it was time to pick up Daughter from school,and return to Daddying. On leaving, I stood next to my car and said a prayer of thanks.Sometimes we forget how lucky we are, and how courage is often hidden and unnoted, like other treasures....