Being on the forced active job search, I am under somewhat of a strain lately. To put it mildly. I thought it might be nice to slip out this afternoon and go down the grass path to the low water bridge and squeeze off a few rounds of my trusty pistola.
I gathered my .40 and magazines full of 42 rounds of Winchester ammunition, along with my trusty Daisy Powerline, two CO2 cartriges and a box of BBs.
Heading off toward the ditch, I was enjoying the Southeast breeze and the smell of all the grass. I saw a two foot long rat snake. We exchanged greetings and went our separate ways.
As I got closer to the ditch and the “road” that leads to our shooting spot, I noticed that there were new fenceposts and a strand of brand new bob wahr. To the rest of the country that’s “barbed wire”.
I was aghast. How could they do that? Staring in disbelief, I kept walking closer and closer, not wanting to believe my entry was being barred. Passively, yes, but barred nonetheless. There was a day not so long ago that I would have simply ducked under the fence, but in those days I wasn’t carrying a serious caliber pistol in my hip pocket. The thought of encountering someone and them calling the county mounties on me, all the while with a firearm (concealed) and a pile of ammo did not appeal to me. I am out of work, but I don’t think I want to spend that time in jail.
Crestfallen, I trudged back up the dirt track, half hoping to tell the snake my troubles. I crossed the dried up ditch and went up the other side of the tributary. This leads down to the main bayou/ditch where the low concrete bridge is where we used to stand and shoot.
Tromping down the open dirt road that runs parallel to the familiar road to the place I taught my youngest daughter to shoot, I began to really regret the advancement of civilization. Who would do that? Well, it’s just as well; the property I was walking alongside is rumored to have sold for development a while back, and the property behind that has turned into improved pasture for cattle. I looked out across the field to my right and even saw houses. I grew more nervous about seeing houses across the pasture. I made the decision to leave my big pistol holstered, so to speak.
But I just had to reach out and touch something! Good thing I brung my BB gun. I set up a lonesome Sam’s cola can and used up both CO2 cartridges, practicing my aim and trigger control, to the extent that one can on a Daisy Powerline.
So another page turns in my life; no more places to shoot for free. No more getting my nitrocellulose fix, not to mention my little gal and her Annie Oakley practice.
Saturday, September 19, 2009
Posted by aA at 8:22 PM