Smaug
Member
I was about nine, on a summer vacation on my uncle’s tree farm. It was my first time shooting a gun.
We started with his Marlin 39A, a sweet .22 lever action. We shot clay birds at 50 yards.
My little brother and I had been practicing all day with .22 pistols. First a Colt Woodsman, which jammed all the time due to my uncle only having 22 Long ammo, which wasn’t stout enough to cycle it reliably.
We then switched to a .22 snubby revolver; a S&W, I think. We shot it for HOURS and I got very good with it, out to 10 or 12 yards.
A couple hours later, it was getting dark and my uncle told us “There’s a raccoon that comes out of the woods every night and raids the bird feeder. Can you shoot him for me?”
“Sure! Lemme have that little .22 revolver!”
“I think you’d better use the rifle.” said he.
So I sat out with the 39A as the campfire burned down, until around midnight. Sure enough, the trash panda came out and I brought up the heavy Marlin with its dim old Redfield scope. I couldn’t see very well, but finally leveled the crosshairs on him. I let it fly and the coon lept off the 6’ high feeder, belly-flopped on the ground and ran back into the woods.
Dad and uncle Tom burst out of the door of the cabin and asked: “‘ja get ‘eem?”
“I think so, but he ran off. Are you sure a .22 is enough for a big raccoon like that?”
“Let’s just say they don’t like it.” (It’s plenty powerful enough, of course. )
I didn’t get much sleep that night trying to figure out how I could’ve hit the raccoon and he still ran off. I wished he’d let me use the little revolver I’d been practicing with all day.
We examined the bird feeder the next morning and found a bullet hole, which was about 2 inches below where his chest would’ve been. The rifle was zeroed for 50 yards and I didn’t know to hold over for such a close shot.
Even though I was only nine, I never really forgave myself for missing that shot. It was many years later before I finally had a shot and another animal like that.
We started with his Marlin 39A, a sweet .22 lever action. We shot clay birds at 50 yards.
My little brother and I had been practicing all day with .22 pistols. First a Colt Woodsman, which jammed all the time due to my uncle only having 22 Long ammo, which wasn’t stout enough to cycle it reliably.
We then switched to a .22 snubby revolver; a S&W, I think. We shot it for HOURS and I got very good with it, out to 10 or 12 yards.
A couple hours later, it was getting dark and my uncle told us “There’s a raccoon that comes out of the woods every night and raids the bird feeder. Can you shoot him for me?”
“Sure! Lemme have that little .22 revolver!”
“I think you’d better use the rifle.” said he.
So I sat out with the 39A as the campfire burned down, until around midnight. Sure enough, the trash panda came out and I brought up the heavy Marlin with its dim old Redfield scope. I couldn’t see very well, but finally leveled the crosshairs on him. I let it fly and the coon lept off the 6’ high feeder, belly-flopped on the ground and ran back into the woods.
Dad and uncle Tom burst out of the door of the cabin and asked: “‘ja get ‘eem?”
“I think so, but he ran off. Are you sure a .22 is enough for a big raccoon like that?”
“Let’s just say they don’t like it.” (It’s plenty powerful enough, of course. )
I didn’t get much sleep that night trying to figure out how I could’ve hit the raccoon and he still ran off. I wished he’d let me use the little revolver I’d been practicing with all day.
We examined the bird feeder the next morning and found a bullet hole, which was about 2 inches below where his chest would’ve been. The rifle was zeroed for 50 yards and I didn’t know to hold over for such a close shot.
Even though I was only nine, I never really forgave myself for missing that shot. It was many years later before I finally had a shot and another animal like that.
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