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Old October 22, 2001, 01:50 PM   #1
Senior Member
Join Date: July 9, 2001
Location: Denison Texas on the banks of Texhoma
Posts: 1,556
Range report from hell (rantin N ravin)

I have a story about my range trip today that I just have to pass on. Before I start, let me assure you that I did not make this up.

After a really bad night at work I thought a quick range trip would do me some good, so I threw my shotgun, a case of shells, some clays and my thrower into the trusty subaru. Since I was off to the local public range and there isn't always room to bust clays, I also packed my favorite Mosin, Enfeild, and Mauser. I got to the range and as it often is this time of year, it was crowded, but I got a free bench and unpacked my rifles (no clay busting on this trip ). I gave up on putting my targets out after the three young men at the far end of the range ignored all three of my request to hold fire and instead continued to send a barrage of .22 fire down range from several small pistols. I gave half of my bench to a man who showed up with his 10 year old daughter and her new .22 Henry lever action. Seemed like the neighborly thing to do, and my butt is not yet quite so wide that I need the whole bench. I then proceeded to shoot at various dirt clods and clay pidgeon chips at the 50 yrd backstop in front of me. The man to my left was trying out what appeared to be a really old Hi-point pistol that jammed every other round. Each jam was followed by a string of vulgarity that would have made any sailor proud. The man sharing my bench cringed with each word, especially when the word "C*NT" made its way around, which it did with great frequency. I hoped in vain that his daughters ear protection filtered out those words. The two young men to my right began moaning about "those people", said while casting a gaze in my direction, who bring there modern rifles and ruin the range for the black powder shooters. Both of these purest were shooting in-line magnum rifles that I'm sure put my old bolt actions to shame. The final straw came when I looked to my left again, only to find myself looking down the barrel of the Hi-point pistol as the man tried to clear a jam of some sort. I packed up my toys and came home.

Man, I miss living in the country.
John A. Monroe, Never Forgive, Never Forget, Blood Pays Blood
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