As I've tried to explain to them in the past, I like to spend my time learning and experiencing new things. Hunting qualifies. So when Robin, my friend who owns the Sawbones Air Racing team, invited me to join he and his race pilot, Curt on a weekend hunting trip, I decided to take the opportunity to try something I'd never done before. But first I'd need a gun with which to hunt.
"How can I help you," the guy behind the counter at Bill's Gunshop in Hudson asked?
"I need a shotgun to go hunting," I replied.
"Okaaaay, what kind of shotgun?"
"A twelve gauge," I answered, since that was what they had at the gun range at the 3M conference center in northern Minnesota, where I won a Trap Shooting contest once.
"Okay, what kind?"
"Um... a long one? Don't I need a long one since I'm so tall?"
"You're new to hunting, aren't you," he said, demonstrating his power of deduction.
"Yes, I frankly don't know much about guns. My friend suggested an over and under."
"Well, we have three different brands here," he said, walking me to a wall of similar looking guns.
I immediately gazed at the price tags hanging from their trigger guards and saw four digit figures, some starting with 2 and some with 9. I knew right away I was out of my league.
"Anything in the three digit price range," I asked?
"Well, we have some semi-automatics here in that range. These are made in Russia and these in Turkey," he said pointing high on the rack.
As I moved to where he was pointing, I passed by a rack on the floor that held what looked to be used guns. I saw the brand Browning, which I remember from my childhood, and which was recommended to me by my friend. I thought they were made in the U.S., and this one had a low three digit price on it.
"What's this one?"
"That's a nice Browning A5, and semi-automatic gun. It just came in, so I don't know the history behind it."
I bought it, having no clue if or how it worked.
That didn't prove to be helpful as I was standing in the group of six hunters and two dogs at the start of our hunting expedition at a game farm near Le Center, Minnesota. I had explored a bunch of YouTube videos on how semi-automatics worked, how to load them, and how to shoot them. You'd never know that I'd learned anything if you watched me as I fiddled with shells, holding the action release button down with one hand while trying to feed the shells into the magazine tube with the other hand. It sure didn't feed easily. In fact, the first one jammed half way into the magazine. I couldn't push it further, and I couldn't pull it out. Quietly, I walked back to the truck, looking at the gun as if it was a hand grenade with my finger on the pin. Earlier in the comfort of my garage and workbench, I had disassembled the gun to understand it's parts. I started to do the same on the tailgate, hoping it would magically dislodge the shell. It didn't. Fortunately, one of the game farm handlers asked if I needed help, knowing full well that I did. He had a Leatherman tool he used to pull out the shell. Then he pulled back the magazine lock lever (hmmm, so that's what that thing does...). A wonder - the shells loaded smoothly- at least in his hands.
By this time it was clear to all they were dealing with a rookie. I walked up to the group apologizing for the delay as they all took a step back to the side of me opposite my gun. They offered that I walk on the far side of the line, keeping them all to that opposite side. My job would be to shoot anything that flew up to the right of us as we maintained that straight line walking up the field.
For some reason, I imagined we were going to be endlessly walking in fields of grass, hoping to stumble across an unsuspecting pheasant on a rare occasion, and that the probability of my having to aim a gun much less shoot it would be pretty low. What I didn't realize is that at a game farm, they bring a pickup full of farm-raised pheasants and plant them throughout the chosen fields. It's more like an easter egg hunt. Add to that a couple of dogs trained to scare those birds out of their hiding places, and they could fly up at any time from any position. We'd all have a chance to blast one or more out of the sky at some point or another. Oh, joy.
The second piece of evidence of my rookie-ness came as a bird flapped in front of me, moving to my right, away from the group. I raised the gun, put my finger into the trigger guard, and pushed against the safety. It wouldn't budge. My partners couldn't shoot, because I was between them and the bird. All I did was follow the bird in my sight, hinking and jinking the gun as I fought with the safety. The bird flew safely into the next field. Can't say I was overly disappointed. Just embarrassed.
Rule number something-or-other in hunting is to make sure you have fired your firearm and know your gun BEFORE experimenting in the field with observers all around. The safety IS tricky in that it's internal to the trigger guard rather than on the side, meaning your finger needs to push on one end of the guard to release it before pulling on the trigger. Most hunters leave the safety off as they walk so they can shoot faster, since the birds are rather quick themselves. I just didn't trust myself enough to do that yet. One of my nightmares was being called Dick Cheney after accidentally peppering the behind of another hunter with steel shot. After a practice round actually firing the weapon, I tried to hit another two birds that flew in my direction. Unfortunately, by the time I actually pulled the trigger (lift the gun, aim, release safety, aim again to make sure nobody is in range, look for the bald eagle to make sure he's not in range, aim again, pull the trigger) the bird was 50 yards downrange. Since I had never fired the gun before, I had no idea how the sights lined up, or how to adjust the shot for wind and range. In any case, I didn't hit a thing. Others much more skilled took care of that.
After the first day, I had used five shells, never even trying to use the automatic reload feature of the semi-automatic to fire more than one round at any one bird. None of the three actually aimed at a bird came close. I was 0 for 3. However, my compatriots were far more efficient, with the team recovering (my euphemism for shooting) 27 of the 30 birds distributed that morning.
Day two was only incrementally more fruitful on my part. The wind was strong, but I was more comfortable with the gun and with the hunting (finding) process, so I actually hit two of the four birds that flew in front of me. Well, in fact, I could never be sure it was my shot that brought the bird down, since I was traveling in the middle of the line and always had others on both sides of me shooting simultaneously. Of the 60 birds set out for us to find, we recovered 57. The team assumed at least one of those that escaped the previous day was readdressed on day two.
The real fun of the two days was watching the dogs work the fields, methodically sweeping back and forth in front of the line of hunters, exhausting themselves in the pursuit, and returning the hard-to-find birds after they had been shot. It was obvious they lived for the opportunity, and were well trained to serve their mission. The other fun was the walking and being outdoors, as well as the conversation, eating, and some drinking after the hunt. It was a great experience, and one that I'm grateful to have had, even if I don't have a chance to repeat it again in the future. If I do, I hope to have exercised that Browning on clay pigeons a few times.
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