first time shooting

All rumor from the old man and older brother but,.... 4yrs old and shot my first cat with the ol .22 field master. Im sure I had his help as I remember several other kitties and a few coyotes with him helping me hold steady when I was a little fella thinking about it almost make me tear up a little, I remember him being so proud.

We had a groundhog that was digging under the house and my Dad had bought me a bow for my birthday. He said he would get me a 10/22 and take me hunting if I could snag that groundhog. I remember sitting outside in the back yard for hours every day after school just waiting for a shot at that ground hog. After a couple weeks of spending hours every day camped out watching the ground hog hole, my Dad was so impressed with my dedication that he bought me the 10/22 and I got that ground hog with my bow a few days after. The next weekend we went out to my Grandfathers farm and I got my first rabbit. I'll never forget how proud he was. I still have that bow and the 10/22. I hope to pass them on to my son one day.

1958 and I was 8 years old (pushing 9). My grandfather and uncle took me on a deer hunting trip upstate NY. A friend of my uncle had a cabin up there. I was handed a Remington Model 510P and got to drag the .22 around all day of course without ammunition. After a day hunting with the adults they set up a target and I finally got to shoot that rifle. This went on for four days. Carried that rifle up the mountain and down the mountain shooting in the afternoons. When we left my uncle's friend Charlie gave me that rifle. I still have it over 50 years later.

When my uncle turned 75 they had a party back in NY. Charlie was there and asked me if I even remembered my first hunting trip and shooting. He could not believe I still had that little Remington 510P single shot .22 rifle. He still has the cabin!

Ron

As near as I can remember it was shooting a single six 22 off the back porch with my Dad. We shot a lot of tin cans off of the porch. I must have been 6 or7. On my 9th birthday I got my first 10/22.

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I was too young to remember, but there's a piture to prove it, so its gotta be true. I was 4, and while trolling around the backyard I found a rabbit sitting about 20 yards away. Raising my Daisy BB-pump to my shoulder, I drilled the rabit right behind the ear, dropping him on the spot. My mom was mortified, and my dad couldn't be prouder.

It was before we had memory chips.

Yeah, it was 35 years ago but it was a 30/30 Model 336 (My BIL's) and it was the day before rifle season.

1960. I was seven and got a Daisy BB gun. My dad set up a "range" in the basement, maybe 25 feet. In my memory I was pretty good at knocking over the little cardboard tubes the BBs came in. Two years later at Boy Scout camp I got to fire some heavy 22LR single shot rifle at paper. That was when I got my first whiff of real ammo. I loved it but didn't shoot again for almost twenty years when a good friend took me to a farm and let me try his grandfather's 12 gauge pump. Even warned, I managed to plant my thumb against my nose. Two days later I had my own first firearms: a Ruger Single-Six and an H&R single shot 12 gauge. I've acquired a "few" more since then.

Jeff

I was 7 and a small kid.
That Ol H&R .410 picked my front foot off the ground.
It's still in the family.

We had been is marksmanship training, seemingly for weeks, learning about safety, sight picture, and all the rest. The anticipation was high in my high school JROTC class. That crusty old Master Sergeant with the hash marks from wrist to elbow of his tunic taught us all well. We shot the Remington 40x .22 rifles right there in the classroom / range. Each member of the class got to shoot 10 rounds that day. After more practice, nearly all of us qualified. I qualified expert and the next year joined the rifle team. I can still hear that man making sure we were all "right with the world". That was 1968.

When I was four, my dad took me out to a cinder pit with a can and his Ruger Mk I. He told me to remember not to put my thumb behind the bolt, or it would break it. I don't remember how much I shot, but I remember the can was full of holes when I was done.

Dad's gone now, I have the Mk I.

1956, 4 years old, old single shot 22, tin can. I still own the rifle and it has taught at least 6 kids to shoot.

Somewhere in early 60's I was maybe 5-6 years old. My dad had my grandads old Colt 45 out in the yard shooting at a stump. For some god only knows reason why dad let me shoot it, all he said was whatever you do dont drop it. I was sitting on a powder box when I pulled the trigger, ended up flat on my back with the gun straight up in the air. Been hooked ever since. Grandpas .45 has been mine for last 20 odd years now and I'll have it forever.

1958 in the army, 18 years old, M1 30-06 rifle.

Christmas Eve, I was 12. That deceptively small rectangular box ended up holding a Mossberg 20 gauge. I was on top of the world as I screwed the barrel in and read that manual cover to cover. Next morning, right after chores he walked me down the driveway and showed me how to load shells. We turned the corner, saw a pigeon sitting on the old stone silo, and BAM; the Pigeon Sniper was born.

I was a lot littler than I am now, and dad took me out to shoot his .22, the only gun he ever owned. He showed me how to aim and with a rest on a stick, I shot a cottontail. We had him for supper. Yup still got the .22, a Savage 6A. Made in the late 40's.

My dad would press a penny into the center of a washer, flip the washer high into the air, then shoot the penny out of the middle with a daisy BB gun. The penny had dimples from the BB, so I knew he wasn't just hitting the washer and knocking the penny loose. I never learned that trick, but Dad did coach me to a state title in skeet shooting and we nearly always bagged our limit at dove shoots. He had a reloader set up and my job at age 13 was to crank out all the 12ga and 20ga we needed for the next outing.

btg3, I think that's what the good book meant when it said, "Train up a child in the way he should go."

I can't remember how old I was but I'd guess around 6 or so. My Uncle and Grandpa used to stand me up on the bathroom counter and let me shoot a bolt action 22lr out the bathroom window. Looking back at it, I suppose they were hanging it out the window so (in my excitement) I couldn't turn around with rifle in hand and muzzle flash anyone. I put a sizable dent in the squirrel population back then...

Mine was a .22, too. I really don't remember if I was 7 or 8. Dad was out on the back deck one Sunday afternoon shooting out into the field at groundhogs. I went out there and he offered me the gun. There was a piece of white paper at the base of a huge apple tree way out in the middle of the field. We shot at that thing for hours, watching the dust fly with each shot. I should ask him if he remembers that.
More vividly, I remember the first time I shot the "hogleg" as he called it. Dad's Super Blackhawk. At the time he had ivory grips on it. We were on a long walk, looking for pigs. He had the hogleg I had the .22 Harrington and Richardson 9-shot. We were walking along wooded ravines that split two hayfields when we stepped into the woods to get a drink from an old spring. We sat down and he asked me if I wanted to shoot it. I was 14. I was scared but didn't want him to know it so I said yes! We picked out a small tree about 4" in diameter and I put all 6 shots into it. I used to go back to that spot every year and look at that tree. It finally fell over and not even a stump remains. Just in my memory.
He got me my "hogleg" when I graduated college in 2000. If the house was burning down I'd grab my hogleg and my bible. All I care about!

Daisy and Savage

First hunting experience was with my Daisy Red Ryder (still have it after 35 plus years). Shot a bird dead, grabbed it and ran into the house hollering at Mom to cook it for me--until Dad told me I had just shot the state bird--man I was crushed. I sure felt stupid, and scared the cops were going to come and put me in jail. I was all of 10 yrs old.

First powder burning gun was an old bolt action Savage 22 rifle a few years later. Shooting old bottles, cans, whatever we could find out of the "burn barrel." Hooked me for life.

Eight years old. My aunt taught me the basics of firearms safety and marksmanship with a Winchester pump .22. It lived behind the back door and was my frequent companion on my wanderings around the farm. I was told not to shoot anything living unless it was fit for the supper-table.

Well, rattlesnakes and cicadas were excepted from the rule and it was my job to keep those pests under control.

A .22 rifle and a pocket full of .22 shorts. Good days, good memories. Rest well, Aunt M.!



Will

I'm not sure I remember the first time. I'm not sure if I shot some sort of .22 rifle as a Boy Scout, but that was the 70's so I may have. I know I shot a .38 revolver, I think a S&W, when I was at AOC school in the Navy. That's the first I know for certain.

~8 years old, terrified of loud noises since my parents took me to a parade as a baby and they shot the cannon off right in front of us. I was petrified. Dad's Browning BL-22, tin cans on a camping trip. He helped me hold the rifle.

After the first round I was hooked. It was all downhill from there.