When you were a kid, where did you go to shoot?

A

aarondhgraham

New member
When I was 11 we moved to the far south-side of Oklahoma City,,,
There was an ancient garbage dump about 2 miles south of us.

Me and my buddies used to make a day of it,,,
We would trek out there and shoot rats all day long.

My Mom said we looked like an old west posse headed out after the bad guys.

I wore my Mom's Colt Frontier Scout in a raggedy old leather holster,,,
My long gun was either a Mossberg bolt action 410 shotgun,,,
Or my J. C. Penny's single-shot bolt action .22 rifle.

Silas had a new fangled Nylon 66 and was the king of our crowd,,,
His sidearm was a Crossman pump pellet pistol.

Bill had an Ancient Winchester pump .22 rifle with an octagonal barrel,,,
He didn't have a pistol but he did wear a Bowie knife.

Jimmy had a bolt action .22 of some ilk,,,
He had an older break-open .22 pistol that was probably an H&R.

We would pack a bunch of sandwiches,,,
And carry water in those quart sized Coke bottles,,,
On a good day we would kill 30-40 of those humongous dump rats.

We would all try and fire at the same time after picking our target rats,,,
The report from our guns would send the rats to ground,,,
It took 10-15 minutes for them to come back out.

Silas was well on his way to being an Eagle Scout,,,
On the rare occasion we saw a rabbit out there,,,
He knew how to skin and cook it over a fire.

I was the youngest at 11 and Bill was the oldest at 13,,,
I honestly don't recall anyone ever giving us anything more than a glance.

Old Doc did tell us to lean our rifles on the outside wall before coming into his gas station/store,,,
The pistols were ok by him as long as we didn't take them out of the holsters.

That summer (1962) was the best summer of my childhood,,,
And miraculously, we still have all of our fingers, toes, and eyes.

Aarond

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we went to two differnt places to shoot. one was about 3miles out of town. a pig farmer would tell us when he was going to lock the pigs out of the barn/lean to. and he wanted us to come out and shoot rats. that was so much fun. the other place was about a mile out of town at the juncture of a creek and small river. like you there would usually be 4 or 5 of us walking through town with either our 22s or shotguns of various gauges. nobody ever gave us a 2nd look. this would have been late 70s to mid 80s. oh my 22 was my dads old stevens 87a that i still have, he died in 1995. still shoot that gun and will always be my favorite no matter how many parts i replace lol
 
I grew up on a dairy farm in VT bordering on Quebec. There was a field above the barn that had a hill to the north which made an excellent backstop; that was our official shooting range.

We hunted regularly for deer and small game, and we had a few hundred acres to keep woodchuck-free to prevent damage to farm equipment.

A good place to grow up, and an experience most kids never will get these days.
 
Hello sirdiealot and Sparks1957,,,

...there would usually be 4 or 5 of us walking through town...
Click to expand...

We never walked "through town" with our guns.

We were right at the edge of town,,,
SW 89th St was the county line and the "edge of civilization".

North of 89th street was residential housing from the late 40's,,,
South of 89th was a few scattered homes and lots of open field areas.

Crossing that street was like stepping into a time machine for us south-siders.

I grew up on a dairy farm in VT...
Click to expand...

I had true envy for my country cousins,,,
They could hunt small game or just target shoot any time they wanted to.

It was a real treat to visit Uncle Kid's small dairy farm in Ada, Oklahoma.

My Uncle Kid was a great old guy,,,
He only had a few rules for me and my .22 rifle:

Don't shoot any farm machinery,,,
Don't shoot the out-buildings,,,
Don't shoot up into the air,,,
Don't shoot his cows.

Anything else was fair game.

They also had a feed area that was always full of rats,,,
Natures little targets they were.

Aarond

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In West Virginia, in the woods behind the house.
In Florida, an abandoned orange grove. I killed more rabbits than I can remember in that orange grove w/bow, pellet rifle and .22lr rifle.
 
Even though I grew up in what is now considered suburban Atlanta we simply went in the wooded areas behind my Parent’s home or my Grandparent’s home.
 
When I was a kid, my local Boy Scouts still ran a youth shooting program which was the first place I used a .22, had a lot of experience with pellet guns.

We lived on acerage and shot around the property alot.

AND... all the boys in town (keep in mind rural area) would ride bikes with their .22's and go shoot in the vacant lot behind the safeway grocery store for bragging rights of who shot best that day.
 
this thread is bringing up some old fond memories. i remember going to the gas station in town only one there was, and buying a box of 22lr for i think .50cents course that was alot of money for a 10yr old lol
 
Sand pits. I grew up in Florida, and there is a sand ridge that runs along the east coast a few miles inland - the dune line of a prehistoric seashore. Large amounts of sand were dug out for fill, leaving soft sand sloping sharply up at angles ranging from 45 to 75 or even 80 degrees. They made great backstops for shooting cans and plastic bottles, and people used to dump old appliances which were also fun to shoot up. The dunes were also fun places to play with motorcycles and jeeps. They are pretty well built up now in most places.
 
I too grew up in a time when half a dozen boys sittin' outside the general store drinkin' cokes with 22s leaned up against a tree was a sight even little old ladies were comfortable with. My boyhood town consisted of a gas station, that general store/post office, maybe a dozen houses and 3 taverns. The town dump was within shotgun range of the grade school and many of us would take our guns with us to shoot rats after school. When the rats grew wise of us and our tactics, we had a coupla highway bridges over railroad tracks within walking distance where the pigeons would roost and nest. When their numbers grew thin, we resorted to shootin' Minnows in one of two creeks that were close. If all else failed there were always gophers or tweety birds to stalk. Still got a small scar on my scalp from where I stood up too fast in front of someone else shooting rats. Just grazed me, but taught me a valuable lesson at the ripe age of 7. Folks were told I caught my head on a barbed wire fence. Dump shooting taught me other things too, like don't shoot at a steel tank with a low powered 22, the bullet will bounce back and hit you in the face. Folks were told that time I got stung by a bee. The welt it left looked like a bee sting and it felt like it at first too, and actually thought so......till we looked down and saw the flattened bullet layin' on the ground. It also taught me to be sure of my target. One time while waitin' for the rats to come back out, I spotted a small patch of brown fur moving ever so slowly. Having just gotten one of them new fangled 10/22s for my tenth birthday(summer of 64) I picked an opening and when I saw brown I pulled the trigger as fast as I could. To my amazement the bottomless pile of tin cans exploded and out came the largest Badger I have ever seen and it was madder than 'ell. I never broke stride till I made it home and then hid in my room for weeks in fear of two things. One, that that Badger was still alive and still P.O'd and Two, that I was going to jail for life for killing Wisconsin's' prized mascot and protected state animal............
 
I sat up in the loft of the barn with my 514 Remington single shot .22 and plinked at tin cans sitting on fence posts about 30 yards away. Where we lived I could safely shoot a .22 up in the air as long as I shot North or East from our house, so I spent a lot of time stalking starlings and sparrows in trees around the chicken house. We had company one time, and they loaned me a Winchester 62 slide action .22. It was a wonderful week.
 
Didn't have any neighbors for a couple of miles behind the house. It was clear enough to shoot 100 yards.

If I wanted to shoot long range I road over to a big farm about a mile east of me and you could shoot up to 1000 yards if you felt like it. About 600 was the farthest I ever practiced.
 
On thing the southern district of the peoples republic of new jersey is blessed with is an abundance of played out pit mines, sand for the glass industry, clay for the bricks that built Atlantic City, and bog iron that was forged into Revolutionary War cannon balls. They made for great places to shoot as most were off the beaten track. Unfortunately, they were also great places to dump toxic waste, you learn quickly not to shoot certain barrels. After I turned 18 my friends and I would load up much like the OP (pre- ban) Me with my CAR-15, Chuck with his M-1A and Greg with his Mini-14 and a coupe hundred rounds of ammo each. Fun times with good friends.
bob
 
Until very recently, I could shoot small bore, pistols, and skeet in my backyard back in my home town.

For big bores, Pops and I would travel to the local WMA, about twenty-25 minutes away. It was free at the time.

I shot a CZ rifle at Boy Scout camp once as a camper, and a variety of things as a Camp Director for "mental health reasons."
 
The dump, sandpits, the back yard - pretty much anywhere we wanted where it was safe to shoot. This was 55 or so years ago, and only 50 miles west of Boston - my, how times have changed, and not for the better.
 
At bottles, cans and vermin, in the woods at the end of our dead end street.
In the alley, behind the house, at the rats that lived under the garage.
At the rats harassing the live chickens, behind my grandmothers grocery store.
At the rats in my grandfather's scrap yard.
Wonder if rats know how useful they are at helping to make young marksmen.
And on the target range at summer camp.
All either bb guns or .22s.
Life was good.
 
The city dump. It was an extremely target rich environment. Some of the targets would move.:D We lived in a house with huge trees in the back yard and large flocks of starlings would roost in them and use my mom's clean hanging laundry for "target practice". My father bought a Benjamin air rifle and told me he would give me 25 cents for each one I killed. I FILLED trash cans with those starlings.
 
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