Haven't read the whole thread but I used to live there - called rural Pennsylvania. If you could hit a paper plate at 100 yards every time you qualified as marksman.
To qualify for that one, you had to first win the Regionals, which consisted of hitting a coke or beer can at 50 yards. It had to be done with factory ammo of which you could not use two sequential boxes of the same brand or bullet weight, much less lot number. Who knew what the hell what a lot number was, anyway, other than where your single-wide was parked.
You absolutely could not fiddle with the sights. If you said you had peeps, people would close their curtains, well, except Billy-bob's wife..
When shooting with your hunting buddy, the first to declare "well, She's ready!" cinched a berth at the next round..That's how we did it.
