silverlance
Member
I remember the first time I went to a gun range by myself. I was 18 at the time, the proud owner of a 35 year old Ruger 10/22 beater that I had gotten for $125 with an old weaver scope attached. I'd take painstaking care with the range rules, painstaking care with gun safety, and then - and then - take an eternity between shots, wondering all the while if someone was watching and internally sniffing disapprovingly of my aim, stance, or caliber.
I itched - postively seethed - to rapid fire my 25-round clip, sending rounds everywhere willy-nilly, but forced myself to take two deep breaths, hold one, aim, squeeze the trigger, surprise myself with the break ...
And when I left, I'd nonchalantly cart my paper about, wagging the 3" groups like a new passport amongst the much older, much more estabilished patrons that looked so terribly unlike me and, I feared, took my money with more than a little distate for the likes of me.
I itched - postively seethed - to rapid fire my 25-round clip, sending rounds everywhere willy-nilly, but forced myself to take two deep breaths, hold one, aim, squeeze the trigger, surprise myself with the break ...
And when I left, I'd nonchalantly cart my paper about, wagging the 3" groups like a new passport amongst the much older, much more estabilished patrons that looked so terribly unlike me and, I feared, took my money with more than a little distate for the likes of me.