Shot two rounds of Skeet, then swapped out the chokes for Modified and punished myself with two rounds of Trap. Ray Charles and Stevie Wonder could've done better than I did today, but it was a fine afternoon to be outdoors among kind, like-minded shooters. And a few of my hits were gratifying dust clouds, at both games. Most were chunkers and ragged course-diversions, though. I am woefully inconsistent when my brain is left on.
The back of the Rizzini's trigger guard was slapping my finger again. It never did that the first eight-odd rounds I shot it last autumn, and I cannot wrap my head around why it's suddenly happening. Considering rubber-cementing a strip of old approach shoe insole to the back of its bow to teach it some manners.
As usual, I had the only juxtaposed shotgun in any of the squads I shot with. Its configuration, its diminutive size, and its funky lumber drew a couple of gracious questions and compliments in what I'm coming to think of as Beretta's Montreal consulate. But there were a few Brownings out, including the most elegantly-drawn BT-99 I've ever seen. A modern one, with a screw-in choke. Just enough rib to whisper Trap Gun; not the expected Warren truss railroad bridge look. I had to ask what it was, because I couldn't quite believe my eyes. An early-fiftyish woman was shooting it, not poorly. When she hit them, they stayed hit, by gar.
Last edited by Fudd; 05/11/24 06:04 PM.
