Interesting we should now bring up the brass-spraying thing. Autos spit brass--it's a fact of life. Screens, nets and the like would be nice (and make brass policing a hell of a lot easier) but not everybody has them. I say, either learn to deal with it, get the far left lane (so YOU can spray everybody else) or find some other time/place to shoot.
This brings up one of my favorite stories:
I was shooting at the local outdoor pistol range (there's a rifle side, berms out to 400 yards). I had my Ruger Mark II SS 6" tapered (I love the looks and heft of this pistol) and was shooting one-handed in a style that used to be called "precision". I had my Bushnell 10x50 binoculars with me and every magazine, I'd take a peek at the target I'd set out at 25 yards. Not botherin' nobody.
After a while a squad from the chin-fuzz crowd shows up, hats on backward to a man. They parked their rice burners at the far end of the range and unloaded EBR's, hi-cap pistols and tacti-cool shotguns and set up targets of some sort at the 7 1/2 and 15 yard berms, then proceeeded to have a noisy great time.
Since I had my 10x50's I was able to wait until they called "cease fire"--and they did, their firearms discipline was more than adequate. Still nobody botherin' nobody.
Until--and there's ALWAYS an "until"--one of their crowd, I don't know, maybe he was a hanger on and got tired of the shooting real quick, maybe he'd shot his few rounds and nobody else would share, maybe he got tired of the kick from folding-stock shotguns, I can't really say. What I CAN say is that he drifted down by me to watch me shoot. I've shot competition, so having a spectator is no big deal. What made this a big deal is that he started at the back side of the range and kept getting closer and closer.
When I shoot precision, I stand side on to the target, right hand extended all the way. My left hand goes either on the hip or in the pocket, depending on slow or rapid fire. It's rather like the classical dueling stance.
Anyhow, this guy keeps getting closer and closer. Normally, I don't like anybody within arms length of my back when I'm shooting, unless you're my coach--and he definitely wasn't. Closer and closer, just like all those awful scary campfire stories...
So, after emptying my third and last magazine, instead of grabbing my binos, I laid down the Ruger, took a long step to my left and picked up my Llama Max-I .45acp, slapped in a loaded magazine, hit the slide stop and cracked off seven as fast as I could, then dropped the mag, popped in another and did it again. I was reaching for the third when I glanced behind me.
He was doing the brass dance. Now bear in mind that this all happened so fast that a couple of the empties were still in midair, so I got to enjoy his last few pirouettes.
He continued to watch but from far, far away.
The moral of the story? Don't infringe on a shooter's space except by invitation. I'll bet this guy never forgets that one. Sidebar, if he'd spoken to me at all, I might have been friendlier. He just kept silently creeping close and closer and that kind of behavior, especially if I have more than one gun case open on the bench, just makes me edgy.
See, expended brass CAN have its uses.
ed