After I regained some composure, I mounted the gun to my shoulder and aligned the barrel at eye level. The tighter the stock of the barrel is against your chest (i.e., just over your fight breast), the less painful the gun recoil will be. Jimmy instructed me to lay my cheek on the side of the gun. This meant wedging the gun under my top molars so that the stock pressed against my lower jaw.
“When you’re ready,” Jimmy said, “yell, `Pull!'”
I got into position and uttered an uncertain “Pull.”
The target flew undisturbed through the air, crash-landing on a mound of orange and black shards of clay.
“You flinched,” Jimmy said.
No kidding, I thought, rubbing my jaw and feeling like I had just taken a jab from Laila Ali.
My arms started to shake
I tried five or so more times, without hitting a thing, until my arms started to shake. An eight-pound gun, as it turns out, gets heavy fairly quickly. By noon, my jaw was sore, and 1 was beginning to bruise above my right breast from the gun’s recoil.
When I shot again, I was simply too exhausted to lilt my head off the gun. I kept my cheek tight to the stock and swung my barrel smoothly through the target, feeling rather than calculating when I should pull the trigger.
Blammo! The bird shattered in midair.
I looked at Jimmy, stunned.
“Got fun suddenly, didn’t it’?” Jimmy deadpanned.
I loaded up, confidently pushing the button and pushing my cheek eagerly against the barrel, trying to remember the sight picture. [Read more…]