Mine would have to be my father. A quiet man who learned to shoot from his uncle Oscar, a man whom I never met. Uncle Oscar was a WW-I sniper, who did what he had to do, came home and seldom touched a rifle again, except to impart his talent to my dad.
Dad was a crack shot, who kept rabbits out of his garden by head shooting them from 250-300 yards from the porch of his house with an old single shot Remington bolt action .22, that I had know idea he had until I was an adult!!! He taught me to shoot by renting guns at the range when I was but a wee sprite and never consented to purchasing me one. I think it was in deference to my mother, who is (she is still alive at 85) a "proper" eastern liberal.
Dad lived on 40 acres in extreme north eastern Arizona. Early on, he Bulldozed a berm into existence and turned it into a firing range. We spent many a round there until his untimely death at 82!!