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SHOOT TO THRILL

So let’s take a quiz. What is the appropriate response to the following question: “Hey, do you wanna go shoot shotguns and then drink free beer and eat ribs?”

(a) “Shotguns? Sounds dangerous. I’ll pass.”

(b) “Ribs? Why, that was once a helpless animal! No thanks, murderer.”

Of course, C is the correct answer. If you answered A or B, you can stop reading this column immediately, lest you get testosterone all over you, because this sucker is going to be dripping in it, folks.

It all started a few weeks ago when my neighbor approached me and asked me the above question. You see, my neighbor is in a service club, along with two other neighbors. Normally, they have educational and informative speakers at their meetings. But once in a while, they decide that blowing stuff up and tearing meat from the bone is a necessary release, so they go that route. No surprise, that is the night they invite people to see if they are interested in joining.

The event was held, fortunately, at a gun club out in the country. Frankly, had we pulled into a more suburban area and been issued weapons, I would have been more than a little concerned as to what type of club this was. The locale was a beautiful expanse of land designed to meet all your shooting-stuff needs. I have rarely had shooting needs, so I had not frequented this establishment. The last time I shot a gun, it was a BB gun, and the resulting shot is still imbedded in the palm of my hand. The last time I shot a shotgun was 12 years ago, and I somehow managed to take off a substantial chunk of my pinkie by catching it in some part of the gun that closes really fast. Despite my previous firearm ineptitude, there is something that still draws me into it, though. I guess it’s man’s genetically encoded desire to blow stuff up. Plus, I was out there with trained professionals, so I figured I would be in good hands.

We were corralled over to an area where lots of people were loading up guns. I thought we were going to shoot skeet. It turns out skeet is not the generic catch-all for shooting clay discs. Nor is trap. Apparently, we were doing something called Five Stand, where you stand at five different positions and shoot clay discs that are launched from various positions.

I was given a house gun, since I didn’t have one. Without a loaner gun, I would have had to run up and hit the targets with a stick, and I feel certain management would frown upon that. Fortunately, my neighbor was in the same group with me. Before I headed up and took my weapon I turned to him and said, “Hey, uh, do you think maybe, uh…”

He immediately sensed what I was trying to eke out. “Yeah, I’ll show you how to load it.” Whew. That’s all I needed – I’m trying to load a shotgun and I end up blowing my foot clean off.

Once in the stand, I was ready to start my assault on my clay nemeses. The woman who was launching the targets would call out a number, denoting which station was going to launch the disc. For my first turn, she announced four, which meant it would be coming from the right side. As instructed, I lined up my sites, steadied my gun, and said, “Pull!” I stared down the barrel, just waiting for that sucker to try and cross my path. And waited. And waited. And waited, until my neighbor, who was standing next to me said, “Uh, Mike, it’s already hit the ground.” Yeah, what a performance. My first shot and I don’t even see the launch. Great start.

I was given some instruction on how best to see the discs (“Try keeping your eyes OPEN.”), and geared up for the second one. “Pull!” Out came the target. I had a line on it. I squeezed the trigger. The blast echoed across the hillside. The blast, I believe, was the sound of the butt of the gun smashing into my shoulder. Here’s a little tip for all of you shotgun newbies – keep the gun firmly pressed against your shoulder when firing, unless you would like a nice bruise the size of a banana.

Although I missed my first five shots, I did work out some of the mechanical and technical kinks, and managed to take out a few. In fact, I did OK towards the end. If we ever get invaded by clay aliens (also known as Clayliens), I can definitely help defend against them.

After we all got our shotgun fill, we retired to the lodge, where we enjoyed a few beverages and some of the best ribs I’ve ever had. It was definitely a night that was custom made for guys. It was a perfect way to wrap up an evening of sheer testosterone-fueled excitement. I am sure that this evening will go down with fond remembrance. As soon as my shoulder stops throbbing.