Your Favorite Stories

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Woody55

New member
Story telling is an art.

They don't have to be strictly true. In fact, part of the art is how elegantly and far you depart from the truth for the purpose of entertaining your listeners.

What are your favorite firearms related stories? Are you the original author or are you borrowing it from another (It's ok. It's a compliment.)? Would you care to share the truth behind the story with us?

I'm going to hold off a bit before I contribute.
 
Steps into confessional

My first time shooting a 1911, I took aim and used my thumb to depress the safety. As it turned out, what I pushed was the mag release. Mag dropped, base plate shattered sending pieces of mag and ammo everywhere. I didn't notice until I had already discharged the round in the chamber and was wondering why the slide locked back:confused::o

Forgive me, JMB, for I have sinned against you and your creation.

Not a terribly interesting story - but seems to get brought up any time I handle a 1911 in front of my FIL now:p
 
Before I messed my shoulder up I hunted with a Remington Rolling Block in .45-70. I had a terrible time with meat spoilage because by the time I'd get to the animal the meat had turned. I went to Dury's Gun Shop in San Antonio and the original owner made me some heavy bullets with a deep hollow point. I pack the hollow point with salt. After I'd shoot game the salt would preserve the meat so it was still good by the time I got to the animal.
 
Steps into confessional

My first time shooting a 1911, I took aim and used my thumb to depress the safety. As it turned out, what I pushed was the mag release. Mag dropped, base plate shattered sending pieces of mag and ammo everywhere. I didn't notice until I had already discharged the round in the chamber and was wondering why the slide locked back

Forgive me, JMB, for I have sinned against you and your creation.

Not a terribly interesting story - but seems to get brought up any time I handle a 1911 in front of my FIL now
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I hope you sent it back to the manufacturer. The slide shouldnt lock back without a mag in it.
 
I used to hunt a lot of groundhogs just outside Worden, Illinois. A friend of mine and I had a competition going on who could shoot a groundhog at maximum distance. We both had 22-250 rifles and I had a K10 Weaver on mine.

Bob, at the time held the record of 450 yards. Bob had leukemia at the time and could not get around well. Between treatments, he would sometimes make it to the beanfields and we would meet up.

I had a favorite field where I could pull my Suburban well off the road and look down into this beanfield.

One afternoon, I am out there scoping the place out, and this little hog came out of the edge of the field and it looked to be a pretty good shot so I had my rifle on a rolled up blanket and let one loose and dropped the hog as though a freight train had hit it.

I stepped it off and calculated 515 yards.

I walked back to my truck and heard Bob pulling up in his old 1930 something Plymouth I think it was.

He could hardly walk by this time and we were just shooting the bull and I told him I now held the record with my shot. We were just getting ready to pack up and leave when I took a look see down the field and saw this hog waaaayyyy down at the end.

I told Bob I was going to shoot it and he asked me if I knew how far it was down there and I replied I did not.

I did know it was a decent walk.

I laid the rifle over the blanket and to gauge the holdover, I set the horizontal crosshair on the top of the free grass/weeds growing at the edge of the field. I figured it was about three feet high.

The hog wandered out a little from the edge and when he stood up, I split him with the vertical and set one off.

I heard the report and then I heard the bullet hit him. He dropped where he stood.

Bob said: "I don't believe this ***t."

I stepped off 655 yards. I know it was pure luck and I could not do that again in a lifetime.

I was back in Illinois this past summer and went back to that same field and lots of things have changed.

From my vantage point, it did NOT look like 655 yards to the end of the field.

I am 6'4" and I have a pretty long stride. All these years, I have been thinking how far away it was and how far away I thought it was.
I have a laser range finder and today when I look at something that far away, I wonder how I could have seen a groundhog at that distance.

I will be going back to Illinois fairly soon and I am going to take the range finder along and go back to that field and range the end and see how close the numbers are.

I expect I will be disappointed in the real numbers. I really want to know the truth. . .I think:rolleyes:
 
I was at the range and my dad told me to shoot the new hunting rifle. I was about 8 or 9. The new hunting rifle was a Remington 700 in 30-06, and to my dad, 30-06 just doesn't kick. The man is huge. But I was skinny as a twig. I sat up on the bench, and took aim, and pulled the trigger. If he wasn't standing behind me I would have hit the ground cause the combination of recoil and my jumping reaction made the bench start backwards. Took me months to shoot anything but a .22 lr. Now I am a recoil junky. i can't get enough.
 
Oh, and there is the first time I tried taking apart and putting together a Mosin Nagant M91/30 bolt. I took it apart and didn't learn a thing. There was no method to the madness, just fumbling till it came apart. Then it came to putting it back together. Well, I got confused, and decided to use google, and spent most my time looking at the screen. And as I looked at the screen, bolt in hand, I some how got a large piece of my palm skin caught in the bolt between the guide rod and the rest of it. The bolt was dissasembled. Amazing how fast I learned to take it apart then. Must have broke the record. I still have a small scar to remember it by.
 
I remember when my son shot my M77V 25.06 the first time.

I did not tell him about the importance of eye relief.

He got bonked pretty good but it did not scare him off. That same day he wanted to shoot my Model 29.

I told him to get a good grip and he did. The look on his face was priceless.

He just really liked it. Now. . .he shoots a Desert Eagle in 50 AE.

I have shot that gun and I don't like it much.
 
@Shotgun693,

At least you appreciate the art of the tale. It's probably because you're from Texas.

Not only are the other guys telling true stories, but one of them actually turns it into a confession.
 
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I hope you sent it back to the manufacturer. The slide shouldnt lock back without a mag in it.
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Very, very well worn 70 series - shooting it now, I am realizing that it does all sorts of strange things that it perhaps should not. Honestly, I couldn't even say what happened first (the shot or the mag drop) - was very new to guns at the time and really was not paying attention, even if I had known what to pay attention to - if that makes any sense
 
Way back in time,,,

it was 1960 and the summer between the 5th and 6th grade,,,
We visited an old codger friend of my Dads named Joe.

He was getting ready to go hunting,,,
So we went to this "range" out in the woods,,,
There was a rickety old shooting bench and a 100 yard target.

Joe fired a few rounds out of his sporterized 8mm German Mauser,,,
He was satisfied with the scopes alignment and was ready to leave for home.

I asked him if I could shoot it one time,,,
He looked at my Dad and got the necessary nod of approval,,,
I was wild eyed and excited as I had never shot anything bigger than a .22 before.

I was barely tall enough to stand behind the shooting bench,,,
Joe loaded up one round and I took as careful aim as I could manage,,,
I pulled the trigger and was almost thrown back onto my skinny little rear end.

Joe ejected the empty case and gave it to me,,,
I asked if I could have the paper target,,,
Dad said, "Why, I think you missed."

Joe looked through his binoculars and chuckled,,,
He walked the 100 yards and came back with the paper.

I had nailed the bullseye exactly dead center,,,
I felt as tall as Alvin York.

It was a different age back then,,,
I took the empty cartridge and the target to school,,,
It was my Show and Tell that week and I was complimented by my teacher.

The paper target got thrown away over time,,,
I still have that cartridge in a box of childhood treasures.

Old Joe as my dad called him,,,
Remains large and saintly in my memory.

Aarond

.
 
I used to hunt a lot of groundhogs just outside Worden, Illinois. A friend of mine and I had a competition going on who could shoot a groundhog at maximum distance. We both had 22-250 rifles and I had a K10 Weaver on mine.
Click to expand...

I live in litchfield and some of my family has land by worden(the straubs) the rest live around white city/ mt olive.
 
I know that place:D

I lived in Hamel and my wife taught school at St. Paul Lutheran. I worked in Saint Louis at the time at McDonnell-Douglas.

My favorite time of the year was the month after the soy beans went in. Groundhogs would just clean out the corners of a bean field.

I had farmers in Hamel, Carpenter and Worden call me with ground hog sightings.

The trick was to arrange as long a shot as you could. Had some good times back then.
 
When I was but an 18 year old kid the school shooting in Salinas(?) happened. It didn't take a genius to read the tea leaves and know that California would be outlawing assault rifles as soon as the legislation could be drafted. If I wanted one, I would have to buy one NOW!

I went to the next gun show I could and purchased a Daewoo Max 1; at the time about the cheapest assault rifle you could buy. I spent every last dime I had on it. The seller thought I was being a jerk about not coming off my position during the haggling until I showed him my wallet, "This is everything I've got. I'm not trying to haggle for a great price. I'm telling you what I've got!"

Anywho.... It wasn't until the deal was done that I realized something... I had come to the show on the back of a motorcycle. I had originally planned on getting a cab to get to a friend's house (friend had agreed to store the gun until I found my own place (military barracks...personal firearms are a no-no!)), but having spent every dime, that was no longer a possibility.

Meanwhile the motorcycle owner had purchased some sort of folding stock shotgun. He'd expected to send his gun with me in the cab but.... And yeah, he'd spent every dime as well.

If this was a movie, it would be a jump cut to two guys wearing leather jackets and full face motorcycle helmets with combat firearms slung over their shoulders riding a crotch rocket down I-5.

Yeah, traffic got out of our way that day!
 
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Had a real magpie problem in the neighborhood. Attacking pets, ruining fruit crops etc. Since these are apparently western birds, I'll describe them. About the size of a large Robin, dark blue and white, long tailfeathers. VERY intelligent, closely related to crows, somewhat nasty and aggresive, scavengers. Neighbors used fairly top of the line airguns and killed them. Before you start anyone starts fussing, It's legal here!http://wildlife.utah.gov/rules/R657-03.php
I decided that I could change their behaviour with avoidance therapy instead:D We took my sons old single pump smoothbore BB gun out of mothballs. It was weak enough to cause pain but not injure.
Only one problem, without my contact(yes, I only need one)in I'm nearly legally blind in my right eye and this thing has open sights. The usual time I saw them was in the mornings. Grab the BB gun, aim at the blue and white blurry object and listen for indignant squawking sounds indicating a hit. The back fence wasn't that far away, 40-50ft maybe. It would have been hard to miss. The birds smartened up quite quickly and we suddenly seemed to have the only magpie free yard. The last one thought he was smarter, flew off the back fence when I opened the door, and landed on the neighbors roof. I figured this out and came out the front door, the magpie sees me and flies off. Instinctively I threw the gun to my shoulder, pulled a little lead and pulled the trigger...loud indignant squawking breaks out! 50+ feet away, on the wing, with a smooth bore BB gun loaded with BB's! Especially considering my sight, the equivalent of a hole in one, but no one but me saw it!I told my wife and kids, they just rolled their eyes and said"sure Dad, whatever" like I would tell them tall tales:eek: Well, maybe I told a FEW whoppers here and there,:D but this was the truth really, I swear! They still tease me about "the long magpie shot" like it was another whopper. 'How sharper than a serpent's tooth it is to have a thankless child":D
 
My friend's Mother had a cat. This cat was kinda dragging around and acting poorly. The Mother asked my friend to take the cat out and put it down so it wouldn't suffer anymore.
Next trip to the range he took the poor cat with him. Now he's a fine shot but things happen. He put the cat down range a bit and carefully aimed his rifle right between the eyes. Well, as he pulled the trigger, he sneezed. The cat kicked in the afterburners and lit out at high speed. Behind the cat was a long fine spray of feces. He left a brown trail for about 10 yards. My friend was rather embarrassed and just didn't say anything when he got home. Three days later the now perky cat returned home. The cat lived another 2 years. He had,'til the day he died, a neat part right down the middle of the top of his head. It was also impossible to force him into any car or truck.
 
When I was in grad school, I lived in a small house with a giant elm tree that was two blocks from the grain elevator. Needless to say the the tree was a favorite nesting place for the starlings and grackles. The back yard was a mess with their droppings.

I built a blind in the back yard. With my trusty Crossman pellet rifle I would shoot the birds and send my black Labrador out to fetch. We spent many hours ridding the community of the pest.
 
I have always considered myself somewhat of a "detective", . . . and with my military background, . . . at least one leg up on most folks when it comes to figgerin' the whats, wheres, and whys.

My uncle had bought a house at auction which included everything inside. One of those "lock, stock, and barrel" auctions.

The rumor was that the little old lady had a 9mm inside, . . . part of the reason no one ever tried to mess with her.

Trouble with the rumor, . . . nobody could find the gun.

They told me about it, . . . and I just good naturedly said "Lets go find that gun".

A couple of the younger guys rolled their eyes that the old geezer thought he could succeed where everyone else had failed.

We went in and straight to the bedroom, . . . her bed was still up. They told me not to bother with the bed, . . . all of them had already searched it. About 30 seconds later, . . . I had her bright & shiney .25 automatic in my hand.

They had lifted up the mattress, found nothing and quit, . . . it was laying in the void between the box springs and the bed rail. She had positioned it so all she had to do was slip her hand down along side the mattress, . . . she would have her shootin' iron if she needed it. All I applied was a little logic and found it first try.

I had a smile, . . . they had egg, . . . and we've all laughed about it ever since.

May God bless,
Dwight
 
Well, while I prefer the tall tale with lots of embroidering, the trend here seems to be true stories. So, I'll go along.

This took place before we had kids.

I had a Ruger .22 rifle. I used it for plinking. I still have it.

I also had a wife. I used her for . . . well, y'all know. I still have her too.

Anyway, I was in the mood for plinking so went to look for the rifle. It wasn't in its usual place in my closet. I mentally went over the last time I shot it and visited all the likely places it might be. Still couldn't find it. I searched the house, the local range, called friends, tromped all over the place - nothing.

I couldn't believe my wife would take it and shoot it, but I asked her anyway. She looked at me like I was crazy. Said she hadn't seen nor heard it in a long time. Of course she was quite willing to be helpful and suggest lots of places it could be. Wouldn't actually help me look for it though.

Time went by. The seasons changed. I looked less and less. Months turned into years. I kind of forgot about it.

Then one summer day I was doing what I do best - laid out on the couch reading a book - when my wife walked into the room with a sheepish look on her face and that rifle in her hands.

"Where did you find that?"

You could see the wheels turning. She was considering making something up. "In my closet." Ahh. The truth.

"I looked in your closet. Where was it?"

"It was hanging inside my flowerdy pink dress."

I know I didn't put it there. OK. I'll bite. "How did it get inside your flowerdy, pink dress?"

"Well, the man was coming over to spray for bugs. And I was cleaning. And it was sitting in the corner of the bedroom. And I didn't want him to see it. Or steal it. Or be in his way. And you weren't home. And I didn't know where you kept it . . . "

Ohh, I can see it coming. She wanted to . . .

"And I wanted to . . ."

Put it.

". . .put it . . ."

Somewhere.

". . . somewhere . . ."

Safe.

". . . safe. And I thought that no one would ever look in my pink flowerdy dress for bugs or guns. So I put it there. And I forgot."

How can you not love a woman like that? And it was safe. And when we both pass on and our children go through the house, they will find lots of things that haven't been seen in decades.

But they were safe.
 
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