A couple of weeks ago I had the opportunity to go skeet shooting. Skeet. Shooting. I still don’t know why those clay “pigeons” are called skeet. And I had never held a real firing arm in my entire 51 years on this earth. With quite a bit of arm twisting, there I was firing a pretty cool rifle with silver trim. It was way heavier than I thought it would be, and two weeks out, I still have the bruise on my upper arm from the recoil of my first shot – the rifle slipped from just inside my shoulder straight to my arm.
My only knowledge of this whole sporting endeavor was from old movies or TV programs showing the high society set yelling “pull” and drinking champagne. Turns out it is a wee bit strategic and takes a lot of patience. I am okay with the knowledge that my first time out I hit a resounding 25%. I credit my photographers patience in being able to follow the pigeon and then take aim. I also learned that you never point a rifle (or gun) at people, regardless of whether it is loaded or not – I think my little shooting party had to duck a couple of times. HA!


No, I didn't kill this one - it was hanging in the lodge.
I’ll confess, I only took my camera as a way of being able to refuse taking part. But I got to do both. One of my friends grabbed my camera and caught me in action.


Do I look scary? Scared?
And this is a couple of my friends – obviously, they fit in a lot more than I did!


See the clay pigeon in the far left corner?
And finally, this shot was worth the entire day: My friend’s very groovy kicks and the spent shells.


Ok – so, I guess I’m a wee bit closer to being a TEXAN. Not a Californian, nor a Bostonian. Sigh….
Have a great evening everyone!
xx – Ivy













no comments