Today would have been my younger brother's 69th birthday and as I reflected I remembered our annual rifle matches. We would have two matches with each of several rifles. We both grew up shooting, hunting and reloading.
We'd go to my club when here, or to his when we were in his place in Missouri. Start with .22s, move to varmint calibers, then "deer" rifles, and finally rifles bigger than .40. We'd finish up with handguns in .357 and .44 mag.
Courses of fire were simple, all bench rest or sandbagged, all at 100 yards. Five shots for group, five for score. So, when we were done there were 24 targets. We would then go back to whoever's house we were at and get out the following: calipers, sharpie, pencil, stacks of quarters and a few dark beers. Talk about fun. Scoring took about as long as the shooting. At the end, the quarters usually piled a little higher on his side and we were both laughed out.
When he died, back in '09, I was executor of his will, I was going through his file cabinet looking for pertinent papers and found a file. In the file were about a dozen targets from years before with notes: "got his butt on this one!" "beat him by a quarter inch", and others. I wish I had kept mine.
The only time I could consistently beat him was when we went to the trap range, but that is another story for another time. Miss that kid.
We'd go to my club when here, or to his when we were in his place in Missouri. Start with .22s, move to varmint calibers, then "deer" rifles, and finally rifles bigger than .40. We'd finish up with handguns in .357 and .44 mag.
Courses of fire were simple, all bench rest or sandbagged, all at 100 yards. Five shots for group, five for score. So, when we were done there were 24 targets. We would then go back to whoever's house we were at and get out the following: calipers, sharpie, pencil, stacks of quarters and a few dark beers. Talk about fun. Scoring took about as long as the shooting. At the end, the quarters usually piled a little higher on his side and we were both laughed out.
When he died, back in '09, I was executor of his will, I was going through his file cabinet looking for pertinent papers and found a file. In the file were about a dozen targets from years before with notes: "got his butt on this one!" "beat him by a quarter inch", and others. I wish I had kept mine.
The only time I could consistently beat him was when we went to the trap range, but that is another story for another time. Miss that kid.