The only two guns I remember ever actually HURTING me were a shotgun and a rifle.
When I was in Jr. High, my uncle, one of the most miserly fellows I've ever known, decided he had the key to making "free money." He'd go buy a shotgun with the longest barrel he could find, and march purposefully to the first turkey shoot he could find. He'd been to one recently with a drinking buddy, and found it amazing at the amount of money that flowed at these events.
Well, Uncle Lehmon didn't know a lot about shotguns, and wound up buying an old, light Crescent single 12 ga. with a 32" barrel. He was as proud as a peacock when he showed it to Dad and me, and proclaimed that he was really gonna' clean up at the turkey shoot that Saturday with that long barrel. I knew a little back then, due to reading mostly, and asked him what the choke was on it. "Choke?" he asked. I could tell right away that I'd probably opened a can of worms here, and knowing how miserly Uncle Lehmon was, I was instantly very sorry I'd uttered the question.
Truth has a way of coming forth sooner or later, though, and when he pestered me for more info, I reluctantly and respectfully tried to explain to him what choke was and how it worked - sort of like the nozzle on a hose, and all that. I could tell that he was starting to become very UN-pleased with his new purchase already, even before shooting it, but he declared that he'd better shoot it and find out before laying forth any of his precious pennies on it at the shoot.
We put up a sheet of newspaper and backed off what he figured was the distance they shot the targets at. He asked me to shoot it because he knew I was a pretty fair shot. The gun was built like some of the old muzzleloaders that had lots of drop at heel and comb. I knew it was going to rise a lot, but I wasn't fully prepared for what that gun did.
Fella's, a light 12-ga. with lots of drop and a razor sharp comb will DEFINIETLY get your attention. I felt so bad for him, knowing how miserly he was, that I actually shot it twice. I guess I figured I deserved the punishment after bursting his bubble the way I had. Bruised cheek and shoulder for over a week, and I healed QUICK back then!
Next session was with a buddy's Browning B-78 in .45/70. That one had a straight checkered grip, a lot of drop at heel and a crescent steel butt plate. Naturally, my buddy hadn't had it long before we discussed the potential of the gun at its upper limits. I was over at his house for a drink or two, and we perused all the manuals to find the hardest hittin' load we could find. One of the Speer manuals listed 63 gr. of RE-7 with a 400 gr. bullet at something over 2000 fps., if memory serves me. I had some 400 gr. cast bullets, which will usually get MORE velocity with a given load than the jacketed, so I backed off to an even 60 gr. and loaded up 5 rounds.
That weekend, at the bench, he INSISTED I do the honors. He and another buddy used to use me as their guinea pig for testing any hard kicking loads they'd come up with. The other buddy actually thought the old BPE loads kicked, but that's another story.
How could I deny a buddy the "honor" of firing first with HIS rifle? I couldn't. So .... I sat down at the bench, adjusted the rest and bags, and set the rifle on the bags. I looked up at my buddy, and the first pangs of doubt started to set in. They grew a bit as I turned back to the gun and slid one of the hellbenders in the rifle, cammed the breech shut, and gently nestled into the stock and bags. My buddy, ever the one to give timely advice, noted "This ought to be FUN!" I rose from my shooting position briefly, just long enough to give him a disdainful look for his lack of faith, and solemly and disdainfully returned to my shooting position. The rifle had a scope, and the only rings he could get at the time were high. There was no way to see anything but the back of the mounts if you had any cheek contact. Hmmmm, I thought. No cheek contact, practically .... crescent steel butt, and it IS kinda' sticking into the side of my chest whenever I get comfortable .... but did I listen to what Thomas Magnum called "that still small voice" in my head? Noooooooo, dear hearts! I was FAR too macho and inurred for THAT! I just raised my head so that I could see the aiming point. No sense just whacking something off without seeing where it's shooting, right????
Then the moment came - I had to pull the trigger. I could hear my buddy giggling immediately behind me, so there was NO way I'd EVER break off this little exercise NOW. Finally, I managed to ease that trigger back ever so gently .... possibly in the vain hope that the rifle would do likewise. It didn't.
Booooommmmm went the rifle! SKYWARD went that muzzle, taking it clean off the bags, and well on its way to the stratosphere! DOWN went my head, cheek firmly impaling itself on that hard comb ..... BACK went that crescent steel torture device, directly into the side of my chest, ripping flesh like a madman's razor! I can't say quite what happened next. Forgive me, but the memory's a bit "fuzzy." All I know is that the rifle somehow (luck?) fell back onto the bags, avoiding skinning the shiny new finish on the nice wood. The next thing I remember is hearing my "buddy" (???) saying, "Dang! .... Well, what was it like?"
Stunned, but with my mind gradually clearing and conciousness returning .... albeit at a rather slow pace .... I did the only thing ANY good man would do - I responded, "Not that bad .... HERE .... YOU TRY IT NOW."
It was my finest hour as an actor. It MUST have been, because of all things that could have happened, my buddy actually paused a moment, obviously weighing this decision very soberly ..... well, weighing it nevertheless ..... and THEN he ACTUALLY said, "O.K. My turn now," and he grabbed one of the hellbenders and took my place at the bench. I didn't let on at all. My shoulder was numb, and the side of my chest at the armpit burned, but the numbness seemed to allay the pain a bit, actually, so I kept a straight face and very matter of factly encouraged my "buddy" onward. I tried to tell him to try to get some cheek contact, but did he LISTEN???? Heck no! Why he was even MORE macho than I, by golly, and he was darn well fixin' ta' PROVE it. And he did, too!
He went through the regimen, and I noted that he was having some problems getting his eye in the right spot with those high mounts and the low drop of the comb and heel. Of course, I was no longer concerned for his health and well being, since he'd so adamantly assured me that he knew how all this stuff's done, so ..... I just sat there awaiting my revenge. I got it, too!
At the shot, the muzzle climbed even further skyward than it had when I'd shot it, only THIS time, when its upward momentum finally ceased and was overcome by gravity, it fell HARD on the bench beside the rest, dinging the forearm pretty good. Back went the butt, and down went his head onto that hard comb, just as above, and ..... well, I can't print here just what his NEXT verbalization was, but he immediately flung himself from the bench holding his arm, and his words had something to do with the rifle's ancestry, though how it had come from a she-dog is beyond my imagination. After a few more expletives deleted, he looked at me with the eyes of a paranoid schizo in a panic state, and noted my gentle, bubbly attitude toward the proceedings at hand. He didn't seem to appreciate my levity at the time, and made a comment about my own ancestry. "You KNEW that thing was going to kick the **** out of me!"
At this point, my acting ability completely failed me. Guess I'll never be a Hollywood star, because I lost it completely, and began laughing so hard I had to sit down. As badly as he hated doing it, my buddy joined me once his marbles all settled back to somewhere in the vicinity of where they'd started this little exercise at.
We now joke about it, but that gun left marks on my shoulder for well over a week. It really doesn't take a terribly powerful round to hurt you. Just load 'er up nice and warm, and shoot it from something designed by the Marquis de Sade, and you'll get a "lesson" in stock design you'll NEVER forget!
Oh, and for y'all boys who shoot the old guns with the crescent butts, I've since learned that you place these on your ARM, and NOT on the shoulder where they can tear your chest walls open. Silly me! Timing has a LOT to do with information's usefulness, doesn't it?
Enjoyed these stories. Now that I'm older, I see less and less merit in getting kicked any more than necessary. I guess that's why I love my Ackley Whelen and the Marlin Guide Gun .45/70, eh? Some of us NEVER learn, do we???? <img src="/ubbthreads/images/graemlins/wink.gif" alt="" />
