As a kid I ventured far up a canyon outside Tonapah, NV with a friend and his geologist father. We came across a couple old cabins on a claim, and while dad went to explore a nearby shaft we ventured into one cabin with our .22 and found it skittering with packrats. The cabin didn't have much in it that would have brought comfort or collectibles, so we started plinking rats. One hid behind a board up on a rafter, and my friend shot thru the board, which shockingly triggered a substantial explosion. My buddy and his rifle foreend took most the blast, we both were knocked to the ground, and there was a hole in the roof you could throw a rocking chair through. The rat was nowhere to be found, or more likely everywhere. Luckily we didn't lose eyes or much blood. It was a slog getting to the hospital, but we made the local newspaper! Fifty years later I still have a scar on my chest where something glanced past putting entry-exit holes through my shirt. My buddy was full of splinters, small pebbles and other bits suspiciously looking like rat bone which floated out of his hide over ensuing weeks. Blasting caps? We were happy enough to just be alive that we never tried to figure it out. Be careful out there!
