On the fourth station of the skeet range one of the older club members mentioned something about my semi-automatic 12-gauge. It sported a battered camouflage finish and well-used sling. Nothing fancy. At the time it was one of two scatterguns in my safe and my go-to for almost everything I pursued while hunting.
Another club member told the first to shush, remarking that I’d only missed two clays so far in the round. I was holding the gun and shouldering it as I would for dove or quail, instead of shouldering before calling “pull.” Apparently, that wasn’t copacetic to the Skeet Gods or something. But that was my familiar routine. I only shot skeet a few times a year. I shot how I hunted: reactionary, finding the bird and, hopefully….READ MORE.
by Alan Clemons
