The Firing Line Forums - View Single Post

a7mmnut · April 8, 2009, 09:29 AM

My dad had repeatedly told me over and over in the 1960's and 1970's to NEVER mount a scope on a rifle or I wouldn't ever learn how to shoot. About the age of 16 or so (cockiness extreme), I decided I'd had enough squirrels get away, and mounted one of those cheap 3/4" 4x scopes on my Ithaca 72 lever rifle. It took several shots to get it just like I wanted it in the 40 yard range of our back yard.

My dad laughed at me for "shooting all my ammunition up" with the new scope, and offered a challenge with his little Winchester single shot. I put a new tuna can up with a nail sticking through the center. We flipped for first go, and dad won. He blared out, "Step back and let the old man show you how it's done, and save some ammo to boot." I'll admit I was a little worried. I'd hunted with this rifle, too, and it was a tack driver at this range. He propped over the towel laid across our aluminum step ladder "bench". At the crack, I instantly saw a good hit near the center, and we walked down to check. It was about 3/4" low @ 7 o'clock from dead center. My turn.

I can remember sweating the shot, the ribbing he gave me on the way back, and trying to calm my breathing as I looked through the blurry glass in the early fall morning heat. Then I thought about missing one squirrel in particular years before, at a range I stepped off at 45 paces. He only had his head stuck out from behind a fork of a huge beech tree, and was barking at me. I knew that this tuna can was a lot bigger than that squirrel's head, and I could focus very clearly now on the center ring of the can with 4 power help. I tried to catch those cross hairs as they fell back down across the ring.

At my shot, the sound was all wrong--sorta like "tick-plank", instead of the usual "tick-pow" that echoed through the back field and woods. "Oh Lord, I don't know what that was all about?", was dad's reply. I just smiled and nervously crossed my fingers. We walked to the board we used as a back stop to check for any sign of the apparently errant shot. There was only the hole of my dad's-a little low, and a bent-over 6P nail that was used to mount the can driven deeply into the center. What was our bet?", Daddy asked with a big "'backer-chewin'" grin. "That you'd let me 'be sick' on Friday so I could get my limit this year?", I questionably replied.

I killed 62 that year, mostly with that little Model 72. It still kills them today, but wearing a better 4x scope, and occasionally makes a miss when it's tired. As for me and my tiring eyes, I've got two squirrel busters to train of my own--or with the help of my little Ithaca friend. I don't doubt they'll outshoot me, as well.

<7><))))))))))))))))))))))

April 8, 2009, 09:29 AM	#19
a7mmnut Junior member Join Date: February 27, 2009 Location: NC Foothills Posts: 1,150	My dad had repeatedly told me over and over in the 1960's and 1970's to NEVER mount a scope on a rifle or I wouldn't ever learn how to shoot. About the age of 16 or so (cockiness extreme), I decided I'd had enough squirrels get away, and mounted one of those cheap 3/4" 4x scopes on my Ithaca 72 lever rifle. It took several shots to get it just like I wanted it in the 40 yard range of our back yard. My dad laughed at me for "shooting all my ammunition up" with the new scope, and offered a challenge with his little Winchester single shot. I put a new tuna can up with a nail sticking through the center. We flipped for first go, and dad won. He blared out, "Step back and let the old man show you how it's done, and save some ammo to boot." I'll admit I was a little worried. I'd hunted with this rifle, too, and it was a tack driver at this range. He propped over the towel laid across our aluminum step ladder "bench". At the crack, I instantly saw a good hit near the center, and we walked down to check. It was about 3/4" low @ 7 o'clock from dead center. My turn. I can remember sweating the shot, the ribbing he gave me on the way back, and trying to calm my breathing as I looked through the blurry glass in the early fall morning heat. Then I thought about missing one squirrel in particular years before, at a range I stepped off at 45 paces. He only had his head stuck out from behind a fork of a huge beech tree, and was barking at me. I knew that this tuna can was a lot bigger than that squirrel's head, and I could focus very clearly now on the center ring of the can with 4 power help. I tried to catch those cross hairs as they fell back down across the ring. At my shot, the sound was all wrong--sorta like "tick-plank", instead of the usual "tick-pow" that echoed through the back field and woods. "Oh Lord, I don't know what that was all about?", was dad's reply. I just smiled and nervously crossed my fingers. We walked to the board we used as a back stop to check for any sign of the apparently errant shot. There was only the hole of my dad's-a little low, and a bent-over 6P nail that was used to mount the can driven deeply into the center. What was our bet?", Daddy asked with a big "'backer-chewin'" grin. "That you'd let me 'be sick' on Friday so I could get my limit this year?", I questionably replied. I killed 62 that year, mostly with that little Model 72. It still kills them today, but wearing a better 4x scope, and occasionally makes a miss when it's tired. As for me and my tiring eyes, I've got two squirrel busters to train of my own--or with the help of my little Ithaca friend. I don't doubt they'll outshoot me, as well. <7><))))))))))))))))))))))