This weekend turned out to be a bust as far as what I'd planned on doing with most of my airguns But... as the clouds assembled a defiant Harv pulled out a polymer P3 and went a plinkin'.
Let me tell you, it was a heck of a good time just looking around for pine cones, shooting an old Ford Falcon settling into the earth again. Plinking at rusted metal in a pile near the back of the stand of trees on my inlaws' land.
I was actually a little surprised at how much sound came back to me from hitting rotting steel at probably forty or more yards. It reminded me of my thudometer which I employed in my youth. A method using only my hearing by which I determined how many pumps at what ranges my venerable musket, that first Sheridan given to me by my father, could be expected to make a single shot kill.
If it connected me with those days when fun came in being in the moment, then it was better than a mid thirties father of twins may have a right to expect. Maybe that's the best part of these airguns; that they can take us back to the joy we experienced in our youth and bring it full circle again.
Harv
