ditchparrot19
Member
My shooting has gradually deteriorated over the past several years. There's a good reason for that -- I hadn't been practicing it at all.
Two events occurred almost simultaneously in early 2009: 1) the gun club I was a member of and had easy access to closed its gates due to environmental issues; and 2) my wife gave birth to a baby girl. Something had to give time-wise, so I chose to drop clay-shooting since I already had an excuse (the club closing) to do that anyway. That way I could maintain most of my hunting and fishing excursions.
All the shooting I did after that was at live birds of one sort or another, and that amounted to two to three boxes of shells per year. I didn't really take note of my prowess going downhill until 2012. On my trip to Montana this year it was particularly poor and got to the point where I wouldn't even fire at birds that forced me to swing to my left. Most right-handers have an easier time going to that side, but I've always been the opposite.
I was never a serious competitive shooter, but I began shooting at age 10 and was well-schooled in my early years. Less than a decade ago I was a regular member of a trap league and my scores for a round from the 16-yard line would almost always fluctuate between 20 and 23. One time I ran 25 straight.
After I got back from Montana last month, I shelled out $150 for a membership in a club that I don't really like anything about, but they shoot trap there on Tuesday and Saturday mornings and I badly needed to start putting some rounds through my guns. I bought a 100-pack of target loads Monday night and went out there yesterday morning.
My results were predictable: 17, 13, 16 and 17.
As the morning went on I was able to hone in on a couple of key concepts, like achieving a hard focus on the target and not glancing back at the barrel, the sensation of "pointing" at the target with my left index finger and keeping my cheek glued to the stock. At my final station, which was No. 1 on the field, I ran all five birds and let out an audible "Yes!" when the final clay shattered.
It'll take a few more 100-packs to get back to the level I was at before, and then regular maintenance after that. Once I get out of this current funk, I'm determined never to fall back into it.
I owe that to my dogs -- and the birds I pursue with them.
Two events occurred almost simultaneously in early 2009: 1) the gun club I was a member of and had easy access to closed its gates due to environmental issues; and 2) my wife gave birth to a baby girl. Something had to give time-wise, so I chose to drop clay-shooting since I already had an excuse (the club closing) to do that anyway. That way I could maintain most of my hunting and fishing excursions.
All the shooting I did after that was at live birds of one sort or another, and that amounted to two to three boxes of shells per year. I didn't really take note of my prowess going downhill until 2012. On my trip to Montana this year it was particularly poor and got to the point where I wouldn't even fire at birds that forced me to swing to my left. Most right-handers have an easier time going to that side, but I've always been the opposite.
I was never a serious competitive shooter, but I began shooting at age 10 and was well-schooled in my early years. Less than a decade ago I was a regular member of a trap league and my scores for a round from the 16-yard line would almost always fluctuate between 20 and 23. One time I ran 25 straight.
After I got back from Montana last month, I shelled out $150 for a membership in a club that I don't really like anything about, but they shoot trap there on Tuesday and Saturday mornings and I badly needed to start putting some rounds through my guns. I bought a 100-pack of target loads Monday night and went out there yesterday morning.
My results were predictable: 17, 13, 16 and 17.
As the morning went on I was able to hone in on a couple of key concepts, like achieving a hard focus on the target and not glancing back at the barrel, the sensation of "pointing" at the target with my left index finger and keeping my cheek glued to the stock. At my final station, which was No. 1 on the field, I ran all five birds and let out an audible "Yes!" when the final clay shattered.
It'll take a few more 100-packs to get back to the level I was at before, and then regular maintenance after that. Once I get out of this current funk, I'm determined never to fall back into it.
I owe that to my dogs -- and the birds I pursue with them.