I guess I've had two memorable "long shots" (distance or percentage) in my 67 years:

Back when I was 15 in 1954, and my fowling piece was a Stevens .22/.410 O/U, my father ran a warehouse in Franklin Park Il, and behind the loading ramps was a small dry pond area that looked likely. After a full day's work this boss's son took his peashooter out back, while a few curious secretaries, salesmen, and about a dozen warehousemen stood on the loading docks not expecting much. As luck would have it, a rooster got up and I luck shot him dead in the air--my first pheasant. There was a loud "Whooop!" and a round of applause. I was hero for the day.

A couple of years ago, having had not much luck with my bow and arrow for deer, I was reduced to using my 870 Sabot during gun season. A doe ran past my tree stand at full tilt at about 25 yards and I missed; then she stopped right-broadside at 65 yards and I took a more well-considered second shot, but she ran off again on a radis to present herself again right-broadside at 65 yards in the cornfield. I tried to squeeze off another shot, but nothing! I realized that I had not pushed the pump grip completely forward, did so and tried again, the third shot being the charm. She fell over on her left side. The entry wound on the right side (up) was perfectly located. I field dressed her, pulled her into my truck bed, hauled her to my shed and hung her for a week. Wife Nancy was steadying the carcass as I pulled off the hide when she commented about "two holes." But they were on the left side! A quick look at the right side showed a single slightly egg-shaped entrance wound--two shots at 65 yards with an open sights shotgun perfectly placed, through no fault of my own.

My duck hunting buddy Destry aka Markethunter has as many stories as someone twice his age ought to have, but he forgot to tel this board about his double on mergansers down at Delacroix LA a few years ago. Never fear, they will be in my new book--Parker Guns: Shooting Flying and the American Experience--so that such "long shots" are not soon forgoten. And then there was the "grinnin' mallard"...which reminds me of the hooker in the casino attached to our motel.

As I recall she told Destry that she'd do "anything" for fifty bucks. I distinctly heard Destry incredusouly say, "Anything?", as he escorted her out of the bar. I figured I'd better stay away from our room for a while, but Destry appeared a short 5 minutes later. According to Destry, she said, "Anything," so he had her plucking our ducks. EDM

EDM