Home Forums Hunting & Shooting Hunting Rifles early shooting memories

I was thinking about days long past tonight. I have a lot of old memories of shooting as a kid, most of them hiking in the hills above the house solo (I was always solo, still am) deer hunting, chukars, grouse etc. etc. Remember those old Sports Afield's?
There was a mini fridge across one of the small canyons I used to haunt that some idiot had managed to leave there, probably close to 300 yards (its been almost 30 years, so I could be off a little) away from where I used to enter the canyon. I used to whack it with my little .22 single shot winchester on the regular, took a while for the little 40 grainers to get there and they would either bounce off or just stick in the outside layer. Great memories from when life was simple...
I would love to hear some similar stories from anyone willing to share.

I miss the good 'ol days of going to the dump in the country and shooting rats, and in down times, rummaging around looking for "treasures".

Our little town had a huge canning factory that would throw away gallon cans of peas or corn there as well. Quite the treat to shoot them after they fermented a bit in the sun, with the thurty-thurty, and watch the huge explosion of creamed corn and the lids turning into the frisbees of death.....

I remember trips to the dump back in the '50's with my Mossberg 146B peep sighted .22. LOL Amazing that I remember that, since I have trouble remembering what I did yesterday. I made life difficult for the rats and really learned to operate a bolt.

Dad would take me to the dump every Sunday after church to shoot up the various targets of opportunity. I got one of the "Chiklet" 25-packs of Remingtons. I remember a day when it was so cold that I shot from the car window as it idled with the heater running. One time there was a gallon jar of home-canned corn that had bubbles rising in it. Pretty much everything in the dump had at least one kernal of corn on it after it was relieved of its pressure.

This may age me a bit, but I remember shooting rats out of a freinds barn, and I figured to use something short, light and easy to handle with a flashlight.There was a Remington Model 4 Rolling Block in .32 rimfire in the cabinet. Perfect! I shot up the 7 or so boxes of ammo we had on the rats figuring to just go buy more.....


Wrong....

when I was 14 dad gave me a old 6.5 jap carbine with a shot out barrel,then he would take me to the dump out at johnson's pass and I would blast away at anything that needed it, then I would load up my empty's with a old lee loader and wait for the next trip out! thanks for taking me back!

Nice everyone! Those thoughts just pop in my head from time to time, I was lucky to grow up where I did, could shoot when I wanted- back when a box of .22's was cheap enough for a kid to buy and the local shop sold them to me (sold me any kind of ammo actually)
I remember going to Kmart the day before deer season and buying a tag over the counter for $15, I'm sure some here remember way farther back than those times...but for me, that was the old days.

I was blessed to have wonderful parents. They are both still alive and I love them with all of my heart. My love for hunting and shooting started early from experiences with my father and grandfather.

Anyway, I was 11 or 12 and had graduated from a 30/30 to a 30/06. That Christmas I asked my parents for a 300 Win. Mag. and got it. I remember cousins teasing me that it would shake my fillings loose. Actually, I had no fillings at that time but that is beside the point. Anyway, I lined the rifle up, squeezed off a shot and there was nothing to it.

I know everyone is different and I don't claim to be impervious to recoil but that taught me a lesson. I was not afraid to shoot the rifle and consequently, the recoil did not bother me. I thank my parents for letting me experience things at an early age that would have been out of my reach without their help.

Shooting rats at the dump was something a lot of people did when I was a kid. Heck, the dump authorities encouraged it.

Another favorite pastime for me was winging my sister in the butt with a BB gun.That probably explained why my parents didn't turn me loose with a .22 for a looong time...

Which side of the pass was the dump on? Been over that road many times and didn't know there was a dump...other than Terra.

I remember going squirrel hunting with my uncle and being afraid we'd meet a bear in the woods (I was 6, Dad was in Antarctica).

He assured me that his rifle would take care of any bear (an old marlin Model 81)

About 1948 or 49, I started going with my dad to hunt ground squirrels on my uncle Tony's ranch. I was only 4 or 5 yrs. old then.
Pop would drop to one knee, and the shot would ring out within a second. Almost as fast as he got into position. Rarely did he miss a squirrel out to 60 plus yards.
As the day wore on, he would put me between his legs as we sat on the ground and have me fire the gun, a Remington 241, .22 Long Rifle. I'd shoot at a mound of dirt left by a gopher. The range was never more than 20 feet. I can still remember the exciting smell of gun powder as I fired. And the hot shell casing being ejected out of the bottom of the action on my wrist.
I go out once every year and hunt ground squirrels. Usually I pack a Marlin 39, but this year I used a 760 Remington in .257 Roberts.
Got a couple of nephews who want to go. I would love to carry on the family tradition with them. E

I remember killing my first rabbit at age 4. My grandfather's garden was immediately beside his house. He looked out the kitchen window and spied a cotton tail working over the cabbage.

I saw him slip through the house and return with a Marlin Golden 39A. He motioned for me to follow him and I did. We sneaked out onto the front porch and he propped the rifle up on the wrought iron railing of the porch because the rifle was still too heavy for me to hold.

Bugs sat around too long, enjoying his salad, because when the hammer fell, he was DOA. When I saw how pleased my Grandfather was with me, I don't think I have ever had a moment in my life since that made me feel more proud.

Later, when I was in college, when I'd come in on the weekends, we'd take a carton of 22 ammo and go to a strip job, where we would shoot at various and sundry rocks and sticks or any other targets of opportunity with our .22 pistols.

I'd give almost anything to spend another fall saturday like that with him.

My brother and I (he was 10, I was 11 iirc) were learning to shoot .22s with my dad one sunny summer afternoon. We put a hurting on a couple targets with our Sears Single shot (made by Marlin) when a member of the club approached from across the parking lot. Tommy just finishes mowing the skeet fields and was holding a cup, stopping every few feet to take a drink. He was an old time Winchester employee and when he got to us, presented my brother and I the cup, filled with .22s. I was so fortunate growing up with people like him, real craftsmen, their likes will never be seen again I am afraid.

Dad started me deer hunting with an old Stevens 20ga. I remember my first shot, knocked me smooth on my butt, but I got the oil can!! 1st chance I had to shoot a deer with the thing I was too scared of the recoil to pull the trigger

I later upgraded to a 742 in 6mm Rem. Much more suited for the task. Damn thing would jam if not clean as a whistle. Ah, the good ole days...

just down the road then turn right towards orre's ranch, the road to the dump is over grown with sagebrush, was out there last night looking for dove's

I can still remember (when I was 8 years old) my first covey rise on Grand Dad's farm in Foyil, OK. My dad had me carrying his Stevens 311 16 ga. My dad had kept telling me that we were getting into a "birdy looking area" but there were never any birds. As we came up on a pond my dad told me he always found a covey down here by the pond. By now, I did not believe him. As we walked up to a large oak tree next to the pond the quail exploded around my feet. Up came the shot gun and I blindly squeezed off a round into the tree tops. Several branches fell to the ground but nary a feather was ruffled. I was hooked for life.

red robin as it flew over my head, shot with my Sheridan Blue Streak. Lucky but memorable..

Also my first deer hunt I was still hunting and the ground was COVERED with deer poop..I was positive a Muy Grande was about to bust out....turned out it was domestic sheep chit, the laugh was on me!

Thanks! I'm pretty sure I know about where you are talking. Sadly, I'll probably never be back there. Lots of interesting country and characters in that area.

My first shooting memories include clanging metal rams, chickens, turkeys, and hogs with my 22LR Anshutz Woodchucker. Dad got it for me when I was 5 or so. I generally shot it while sitting on the ground with a tall Harris bipod. As I got a bit older, I remember doing some plinking with dad's S&W M67 and light handloads, as well as his old AR15 SP-1, which I thought was really cool! When I was 9 or 10, he decided I was probably old enough to shoot a deer, so we filled up a steel "Weider Protein" can with water and set it in front of the firewood pile in the backyard. I stood on a milk crate next to the hood of dad's Bronco and fired one shot from his .308win Remington 600 Mohawk. The neighbor kids all watched that jug of water blow sky-high. My second shot was at a little button buck a few months later and I got him too.