Most of us here now have more than one air rifle. We talk about velocities, energy at the muzzle and retention down range at the target. We talk about stockers and tunes. We debate the merits of scopes and finding the most accurate pellets for our airguns. We fire our air rifles at rest and from unsupported stances.
As kids we dreamt of shooting our own guns. Driving our own superfast cars. Being the masters in our imaginative worlds. Merely by the vehicle of ownership, some ostensibly adult-precious materialism, we believed we could escape a world of rules and boundaries. We longed for the day when we could claim our natural rights to manhood. To claim sole ownership of that air rifle was the sign to every mate. You'd grown up.
That day came for me much the same as it has for most of us.
I stood there, utterly suprised. I had no idea this was coming. A beautiful Sheridan topped with a High-Score 4 power. All the thoughts I had of what I was going to do with such an air rifle washed through me. Dreams come to pass.
The herd of neighborhood boys I ran with suddenly found an interest in shooting. Like seeds in the soil of our tousled hair, petitions to parents began to sprout up and down the blocks. Soon Crosmans, Benjamins, Sheridans and Daisys were regularly seen, held across the handlebars of Huffies and Schwinns. There's a lot of lead and BB's in the woods around that little neighborhood where I grew up.
We scouted those woods like men. Holding our air arms just like they did in every war movie on late night television. We built huts on the edges of the fields that could keep a slight rainy mist at bay. We worked tirelessly to reenact our renditions of their glory of the hunt on the African plains. Except that their .375's and .577-450's were our .177 and .20 calibers. And their elephants and wildebeasts were our field gophers and chipmunks.
Someone haphazardly tossed out the idea that maybe we should try a night on the open plain. Live like men, think like men. Naturally this was a great idea. We set about collecting that which we thought we needed. Bedrolls, canned food. Matches, canteens and all manner of Boy Scout paraphanalia. Our bikes, er, horses were hid amongst the bushes. Our rifles were kept with us. Some dug a small pit and others lined it with stones. We were prepared for anything.
The night was cold. We suffered. By the silence of breathing you just knew you weren't the only one lying awake. This was nothing like camping with adults. It was up to us that that was all there was to it.
Dawn found less of us in "camp" than were there after sundown. Every face showed signs of a sleepless night. Grogginess and a little bit of that night-frights wide eyed jitteryness fading as we realized we survived the night. Someone's bedroll smelled of pee. Someone no longer in camp.
We walked to the firepit. The idea was alright last night, but this morning, no one was in the mood to open cans and try their hand at cooking. It was different when we camped with family. Adults. Or set up tents in someone's back yard. This was different. It changed us in an unspeakable way. It was a taste of reality for a bunch of neighborhood boys. Some who survived that first night and some who hadn't. We learned empathy that horrible night. Their flight, our paralyzing fear. There wasn't much difference.
We learned to face our fears. We helped each other. We camped again.
Just one of those experiences I remember. Tied to airguns in the most usual fashion. Thought you folks might enjoy another little memory of mine.
yes my imagination made me belive I was a man with that Daisy raider in BB's. I went through many woods looking for any target even lizards. I must of walked 20 miles a day with that BB gun until I got the Benjain pumper in .20 cal.
shot that BB gun to the ground, used Singer sewing machine oil on it, still I belived I was the ultimate hunter. I even waited for everybody to take a shot and miss and then would step up with my new addition the Benji pumper and show off
boy's to men or is it men to boy's, I do not know. It seems like I am a bigger boy now it's like the bigger the boy the bigger the TOY but still a boy
thanks Harvey, you do it again and again
warren
and remember "it's 30% the gun and 70% the shooter"
My first paragraph is... incomplete to the rest of the piece and I apologize for that. I'm glad you saw through my mistakes and were still able to connect to it.
Harvey, your post really made me reflect back on when I was a kid. Many toy guns and many wars. My brother always at my side through the many battles. Does anyone remember the toy rifle that would make a "ricochet sound" when the trigger was pulled? I remember the colt 45. pistol and holster I had, the gun came with little spring bullets. My Dad was a Marine and came home one day with wooden mock M 14's used for some type of Practice. My brother and I would take those gun, along with all the Marine Corp freebies my day would bring home, helmets, packs, etc. and go into the nearby woods looking for Japanese soldiers. At last count, I think we wiped out the entire Japanese Army. We had a little help from Sgt. Striker.
Thank for the memories Harvey
SHOOT STRAIGHT LADS DON'T MAKE A MESS OF IT!
DAVE@VABCH
I experienced all those things and emotions in your walk down memory lane. We also had a couple of night expeditions in the woods before the bulldozers leveled the area to build homes a couple of years later.
One night especially has stuck to memory which I 'll never forget. We decided to go in search of racoons or other night creatures down by the lake where we normally do our hunting or plinking during the day.
We were unusually armed to the teeth like we were participating in guerilla warfare! Crosman 760 pump rifle in one hand and pistol grip of a Shiloh 1861 holstered revolver on the other, with a pocket knife secured on the belt next to it, all dragging my pants down.. Walking single line behind the kid leading in front with the flashlight, we 'd make our way down to the reservoir after we got through a large cornfield and a 100yd wide wooded area. Believe me you get an eerie feeling walking through a corn field at night with stalks 5-6' high. Especially if you had watched a vampire movie the night before We 'd then walk 2-3 miles around the lake making use of an old narrow trail that other kids before us had created by walking through the woods. We were trespassing on the Water Company's property which made it all more exciting. Expecting something paranormal to come out of the woods and jump on us at any moment, we were at a hightened state of alert with one finger on the safety ready to shoot a .177 pellet or BB at anything that moved. One of the guys shot his Daisy lever action at some leaves moving from a breeze insisting some animal was there watching us. We all got an uncanny feeling that maybe something was watching us.. The safari feeling had faded and now we felt like we were hunted. We were conquering our fears of the dark and the unknown. The only real creature we ran into was a skunk on the trail not more than 10 feet in front of me soon after I took the lead with the flashlight. I saw it raise its tail ready to spray and started coming towards me. All I did was yell "skunk" and take flight the way we came from. It chased all 3 of us 14yr olds for what it seemed like 10-15yds but we kept running for a 1/4 mi. or more getting cuts by thorn bushes and running into branches in the dark that left some nasty marks on our faces and body. We then switched our attention to the ground looking for more skunks on our way back The flashlight died like in the movies so we waited until our eyes adjusted to the dark and tried to make the most of the moon light to see ahead of us, before we moved a muscle.. With an increased fear factor, we pushed on feeling a strong bond between us along with a sense of survival.
We were very much relieved to be back on familiar ground an hour later, and see car lights up in the distance half way through the corn field. Boy were we glad to walk on concrete that night That was our first time. Subsequent adventures at night were more successful at making it all the way around the lake and each time we gained more confidence and even stopped and made a fire once. We learned to bring extra batteries, stronger flashlights, warmer clothes, and even more powerful airguns. We eventually learned to walk that narrow trail by memory in the dark laughing and joking turning the flashlight on every 50-75ft to ensure the absense of a skunk, and daring each other to go a little further without the use of artificial light. The last time we went we chased and killed a possom like pygmies in the bush. Took about 5 shots from our more powerful pneumatic (~6fpe) rifles in our arsenal at close range. We felt like conquerors of the forest, and of the night. We felt like men.
Diana 350 Mag .22
Hammerli 850 .22
Various Crosman CO2 & Pump
Thanks for the ride in your time machine. Revisiting our youth makes us young again for a time. Thanks for making me innocent once more if only for a short stroll down Memory Lane. It was a good place---and time---to be a boy. Tom
and saying "gosh I wish my parents would buy me a bb gun". Sadly they never did. I had to wait until I was12-13 yrs old to buy my own (a crossman multipump).
The dumbest thing I remember doing was while I was a freshman in high school. Me and bunch of guys from my ROTC class decided to go out to Oso river basin (Corpus Christi, TX), make up two teams of 5 and hunt each other down with pellet guns (sorry but no paint or soft air guns back then). Our only protection was the old BDUs we dawned. At that time, since I was now working, I was able to purchase a Benjamin .22 (this was back in 1989 so I have no idea of the model). Anyways we got into a shooting fight across a farmfield when I spotted my friend (shawn) sticking his head up. The distance was from 80-100 yards. While kneeling I remember having to look over the countour of the farm field. I began walking pellets (pointed field)towards him looking at the dirt kicking up. When he saw the pellets getting close kicking up dirt right in front of him he started putting his head down. I waited for his head to pop up, then bang I remember aiming about 1-2 ft over his head, pulled the trigger and waited what seemed like forever. Then I saw him grab his neck and lay down. OMG what have I done! I ran over there with my team and he's laying there bleeding. The skirt of the pellet is sticking out of his neck with blood coming from the wound. He pulled the pellet out, stopped the bleeding, and we all sighed with relief. He kept the pellet in a zip lock and swore he would always keep it.
To this day I think to myself, my god how could I do such a stupid thing? I literaly could have shot his eye out. That old Benji is still around with a friend in Colorado but the seals are worn and the blueing is almost gone with brass showing everywhere.
Re: I remember seeing that movie "A Christmas Story"
February 5 2008, 8:38 AM
Ah, the memories.
Dad let me have his old daisy lever action when I was about 10. It was already pretty much dead, but if you cocked and dry fired it a few dozen times, suddenly the sound would change from Crack to THUMP and you'd know the seal had finally opened and the bb's would now clear the barrel. After a while with that, I was allowed to spend my christmas money on a Marksman 1010 repeater pistol.
Neither gun was good for any more than punching paper, and it had better be a big sheet. Power was too low to break skin with either.
The winter of grade 9 came, and I had a new friend. His dad was an RCMP officer. We spent our time in the woods, building lean-toos and hiking aimlessly. One day there was a big snowstorm, and school was cancelled. My friend and I built snow forts on either side of his driveway. We grabbed our bb guns and began plinking each other from 20' apart. BB's ricocheted of our glasses, creased our hair, buried themselves in snowbanks. My retainer was broken as it was shot while I laughed my ass off. The fun degenerated to just sticking the guns over the bank and firing blind. Youth and brilliance aren't mutually exclusive, but they're not the best of mates either. Soon enough that horrible sound came. A BB (from my Marksman, of course) hit the driver's window of his Dad's Volvo with a sickeningly soft sounding "click". A weird sizzling sound followed as the entire window became crazed with cracks, and sagged a bit under it's own weight. We were in trouble.
I ran home, and he went inside. No parents were home (of course, what parent would have permitted this stupidity???). A few hours later the phone rang. The marksman was religated to an unknown location under Mom's strict control. Didn't find it for about 2 years, in her pile of sweaters in the closet. Allowance was diverted to the window fund. My friend and I didn't hang out anymore.
We both got a little smarter, I suspect. We did feel pretty dumb.
Hey Marty, your right, I still have that Pellet gun here in Colorado. I'll remember to bring it down to Corpus next time I go. We did do some stupid things with those pellet guns. If you remember, after you and I got those .22's pellets, nobody wanted to go up against us. I am shocked and surprised nobody was deathly injured in our incouters. I now have two boys and will have to watch them like a hawk. Good thing is, now they have soft BB's so people shouldn't have to run to the hospital to get a pellet removed from an inch away from the heart (remember shooting Pelletier?) Good times..lol. I'm glad my parents allowed me to have BB and Pellet guns. I have GREAT respect for the weapons I own today.
Way to go Harv.!! Another GREAT one!! I LOVE your storys!! Check out thread from KRickter,, YOU ARE a shoe in!!! Boy you have a SPECIAL gift. Share it! I wish I had half your way with words, or, could even spell decent!! Reading your storys & posts from others here gives me such an emotional "lift" I CANT put it into words like you. You guys are the greatest! Someday some of our pathes will meet, Roanoake next year??? Good shootin guys! Tim.
Rick, I looked into the link you provided me. They don't want to deal with any kind fo writing promoting hunting. Now I do shoot paper, but mainly to prepare for the hunt. I suppose an article involving the preparation could be written {for them} but then I don't know if the mere implication of what that prep work was for would be too obvious for their style of magazine. Personally I think they need to broaden their horizons but that's their call not mine lol.
I want you guys to know I had as much fun reading what you guys wrote in preply to me as I'd hoped I might provide for you. The intensity of the tales left me literally in the dark, wondering if a skunk would cross my path. Wondering if my flashlight still had power. Great stuff!
If my off the cuff story-posts can draw that stuff out of you guys, please post more. Honestly, we have more and better talent in the writing arena than me, here.
The reason I write these memories is to remind other airgunners of the blueprints we created the first days we held those wonderful airguns. The things we intended to do with them. The things we're more likely able to do with them now than back then. Its my interest to draw us into thse experiences in the real world again. To take the time to revisit those memories and make new ones. It may be with the next generation of airgunners, it may be with like minded friends. The numbers are fun, getting a new airgun is too. But the best part to me will always be that mini safari. That chance to get out into the quiet of the woods or fields and live another great day.
someone enjoyed the misadventures from my youthful past
I think there is nothing more hair raising than having to walk through skunk infested woods at night in almost complete darkness.
Like a few others posted, I also did a couple of stupid airgun related things. I accidentally shot my friend in the leg when I was 14 (high school freshman). We were sparrow hunting and he wanted to go walk along the lake shore and I want to take another trail through the woods. The younger and "inexperienced" 13yr old (I was the much more experienced 14yr old! hehehe) was not respecting my opinion and started taking BS and walking towards a different direction without the big great hunter's approval
I shot a warning BB with the 760 pump in front of him to scare him and convince him to go. The BB landed visibly on the sandy ground surface and caught his attention. He was fearless! He says "I don't care what you do I 'm going this way where I saw some birds earlier". I give him one last warning and demand he follows me. No response. I pump the 760 5 times (10 is max. power) and again aim about 12" to the right and ahead of him. It happened to be a very windy day with strong gusts and next thing I see is the BB turning sharply to the left like a curve ball, and hitting him in the leg at 15yds. He happened to turn to look at me (having heard the pumping) at the same time I pulled the trigger so the BB got him on the side of the leg 2-3" above the knee. He lets out a big cry and starts yelling at me "I can't believe you shot me!" and using profanity. The BB not only penetrated his blue jeans but was almost completely under the skin. We had to squeeze it out but there was very little bleeding. The entire area however about 1 radius around the POI was black & blue and remained like that for over a week! His mother grounded him and didn't let him hang out with me for a whole month! Not to mention she took his airgun away and he never got back into guns of any kind after that. If I had gotten shot, maybe I 'd be the one without any guns today. These incidents work in weird ways later on in life..
Diana 350 Mag .22
Hammerli 850 .22
Various Crosman CO2 & Pump
change the way you tell the story to analize the gun shot or about to shoot
Harvey, you have a gift, extend that gift to a greater audience, don't tell me you can only write about a single scenario. make your writings for a bigger audience, if you can write like this for us why can't you write for the WORLD
easy, just try and send your draft to that place and see what they say about it, you can always change them
Warren
PS: just my little thought, Rick; make him write and expand himself, you started this
and remember "it's 30% the gun and 70% the shooter"
then again Airgun Hobby is more about historical aspects ,refurbing,rebuilding and restoring . I just don't see how a nostalgic look back in the types of scenarios Harvey writes about wouldn't be of value to AH's readership ? It would be something all airgunners would relate to - young or old . I guess The Great Oz has spoken . We know how far that got him in the movie don't we? Keep on it Harvey ! There will be other opportunties , I garaundamnteee.
Crosman 760 pump rifle in one hand and pistol grip of a Shiloh 1861 holstered revolver on the other, with a pocket knife secured on the belt next to it, all dragging my pants down.. Walking single line behind the kid leading in front with the flashlight, we 'd make our way down to the reservoir after we got through a large cornfield and a 100yd wide wooded area. Believe me you get an eerie feeling walking through a corn field at night with stalks 5-6' high. Especially if you had watched a vampire movie the night before 