I’m really digging the shared stories coming out of these recent threads, so to continue on that theme, what is the greatest shot you’ve ever seen or made, or both?
My dad and a nephew were plinking off the cabin porch some years ago, and as much as I wanted to join in with their little competition, I was only up to do some fishing and left the toys at home. They were shooting at white target paper taped to a carboard box and they were expanding holes so fast it was really hard to see who was hitting where. Being the warm day it was, there were some flies buzzing around and if one landed on the target, it became a race to see who would hit the fly first! Well, between the two of them, they were hitting about 30%. The flies weren’t resting long and often flew off just as the trigger was breaking. Fast forward to each shooter having 3 fly kills. They were tied. My dad looked over at my nephew and said, “Killing them is too easy for us. The champ will be crowned when somebody leaves a leg or a wing stuck to target, like you just nicked ’em. The very next shot, my nephew left a wing and two legs stuck to the target!
I’ve had some spectacular moments myself, but I still chalk them up to a good plan that combined with lucky execution. But one standout was again, with granddad’s 740 Woodsmaster 308. Last day of the season, one last desperate push to fill a tag. It was just dad and I that year and neither of us had even seen a deer the previous 8 days. A severe summer storm nearly leveled every tree in the swamp, and it was a terrible, terrible mess, but we decided to team up and push the swamp together anyway. Hopefully, we’d jump something hiding out in the deadfalls. As the first sign of losing daylight came, I jumped a doe out of her hiding place and in one jump, she was out of sight. Dad hollered, “She’s running for the ridge!” So, knowing where the runway that scaled along that ridge was, I watched against the snow-covered background for her direction of escape. She turned left at the base of the hill, and I searched ahead for a clear shoot window along the runway. I set my crosshairs on the expected placement of her vitals and as her head entered my scope, I squeezed the trigger. The barrel lifted and I lost track of her, but within seconds dad yelled, “I think you got her! I didn’t see her go down, but she didn’t clear the top of the ridge.” After 10 more minutes of dodging springs while climbing over this and ducking under that, I made it to the ridge and found my doe nestled neatly inside a knoll alongside the runway, which hid her from our sight when she went down. The gray of the cloudy sky was turning dark blue, so we quickly took care of business and headed home.
I had made a plan. I had little confidence in my timing of the shot because I’d missed “good plans” before, but this dog would have his day this time. It was a clean shot to the lungs, and while my eyes beamed in the amazement of success, it was dad’s big smile and firm pat on the back that made the moment a most special ride home.