BobWright
Member
Recent post here regarding accuracy reminded me of this........
Years back I was doing some long range revolver shooting, using my Ruger Super Blackhawks. I was shooting on the Shelby County Rifle and pistol range. The range had a berm about ten yards behind the 100 yard line. I often would plink targets on this bank, and could cut up a foam coffee cup left down range. And at times even could cut the stem of the Johnson grass that sprang up there in the ditch behind the 100 yard line.
The range was operated by Shelby County, and inmates, for non-violent offenses were range assistants. These for failing to pay child support, DUI, or drunk and disorderly. Common complaint was that painters got arrested on drunk charges when there was painting need to be done around the area.
One Saturday I spotted something white on the berm, and remarked to a nearby range assistant, "Watch that white spot."
"You ain't that good," he remarked.
I fired a round from my .44 and the white jumped up. Another shot and more flailing of something obviously cloth. The inmate was duly impressed, to my delight, or course.
When the line was cleared, we went downrange and he investigated. It was a pair of white boxer shorts.
The range was closed on Mondays and Tuesdays. What went on there then was only a matter of speculation.
Bob Wright
Years back I was doing some long range revolver shooting, using my Ruger Super Blackhawks. I was shooting on the Shelby County Rifle and pistol range. The range had a berm about ten yards behind the 100 yard line. I often would plink targets on this bank, and could cut up a foam coffee cup left down range. And at times even could cut the stem of the Johnson grass that sprang up there in the ditch behind the 100 yard line.
The range was operated by Shelby County, and inmates, for non-violent offenses were range assistants. These for failing to pay child support, DUI, or drunk and disorderly. Common complaint was that painters got arrested on drunk charges when there was painting need to be done around the area.
One Saturday I spotted something white on the berm, and remarked to a nearby range assistant, "Watch that white spot."
"You ain't that good," he remarked.
I fired a round from my .44 and the white jumped up. Another shot and more flailing of something obviously cloth. The inmate was duly impressed, to my delight, or course.
When the line was cleared, we went downrange and he investigated. It was a pair of white boxer shorts.
The range was closed on Mondays and Tuesdays. What went on there then was only a matter of speculation.
Bob Wright
