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Every two weekends or so, me and my friends go shooting out at our ranch/farmland out in Webster Parish.
It's like 2x2 square miles, three or four fields, and we usually go shooting in whatever field is farthest from the cows and the oil-drill equipment, which is usually the southern field. We shoot skeet, hay bales, and whatever we find (empty bottles, boxes, etc)
Last weekend, we were shooting. This is what we shot:
Heckler & Koch USP 9mm
.22 Revolver
.45 revolver
.38 revolver
AK-47, semi-auto (7.62 x 39)
SKS semi-auto carbine (7.62 x 39)
Marlin Model 1894 (.44)
Marlin Model 1894 (.357)
Marlin Model 1894 (.38 Special/.38)
Remington 870 Express (12-guage)
An assortment of other shotguns, 12, 20, 10 guage and .410 bore, but those aren't the topic of discussion.
Anyways, we were shooting as usual, which, in this field, means:
We shot the shotguns in the air, at clay pigeons.
The pistols, we shot south-southeast, at a pile of brush/tree stumps which we had targets set up in front of, near the ground.
The rifles we shot south, at a dirt pile/hay bale, with targets as well.
Anyways, the story begins about 30 minutes into our stay. I had just got done firing the Model 1894 .44 cal carbine, and was parched, so I talked to my pal Chad, and he gave me 10 bucks and asked his girlfriend (who was shooting the pistol) to take me to the nearest gas station/convencience store to pick up some dr pepper and pork rinds. All of our vehicles were at the ranchhouse and we had taken her 1995 4x4 Blazer and Ian's 2005 4x4 Avalanche, and since all the guns/ammo were sitting in his bed on the tailgate, her truck was the only one avaliable. Totally irrelevant to the story, but whatev.
As we're leaving, this dude comes up the road from the south and stops Kelly and I at the gate and gets out and is all "Who's doin' the shootin'?" We say "us", and he's like "Well, who?" ... "Sir, we are." He gives us this look like we're retarded and hops in his truck and goes down and talks to Chad, Ian, Clay, and Ashley.
(I'm going to ID everyone really quick:
Chad- owns the ranch
Kelly- his girlfriend, who is taking me to the store
Clay- our friend
Ashley- the chick who was with him, college friend
Ian- friend who owns most of the non-shotgun weaponry)
So he leaves Kelly and us at the gate, and we decide to stick around because we figured we've shot and killed somebody. They talk for a good 5 minutes to this guy (his name is Richard). Richard leaves, and I call Chad as we head on down to the store.
Chad says that apparently the guy "heard bullets flying 20 feet over his head" and asked them to stop shooting in his direction. Whatev. They switch to shooting shotguns and that's what they're doing when we get back with the dr pepper and pork rinds.
We keep shooting, Clay breaks the skeet thrower so after we toss a few dr pepper cans in the air, we set up the targets again and shoot, rreeeaaaalll carefully, into them. What doesn't hit the target, hits the ground, all bullets were accounted for (by seeing the visual impact) except twice when Chad practiced quick-draw'ing the USP (seeing how fast he can draw, fire off all 13 rounds, and be accurate) and when Clay fired off the SKS as fast as he could to see how accurate he was.
But besides those two instances, the rest of the time we stuck to the shotguns. We're all 18 and 19, and having the assault rifle and pistols was slightly illegal (They belonged to Ian's father, but we had his permission to use them)
About an hour after Clay fires off the SKS, Richard the Redneck comes back, and starts demanding we give him our pistols and rifles. Ian is a pretty big guy (he's one of those Republican, NRA guys who knows gun laws back and forth) and calmly asserts that the guy has no right. The guy starts threatening to call the Sherriff, and Chad is pretty adamant, says we haven't been shooting. The guy calls Chad a liar, to his face, and Chad's telling the guy hey, feel the rifle/pistol barrels, they're cold, we stopped shooting after you told us to quit (which is like 95% truth, except those two instances). The guy keeps at it, and it's starting to piss Chad and Ian off. You see, Chad's a country-grown boy, and the three things he values in life are his truck, his guns, and his pride. He's always super careful about things, and also super responsible, and always takes the fall when he's done something wrong. And this time he really didn't do anything wrong - it was his land, his right, and we highly doubt the bullets actually flew 20 feet above this guys head.
So the guy, Richard, calls Chad's dad. Calls Chad a liar, on the phone, to his dad, which really even bugs me - that's just a dick thing to do. Chad talks to his dad, explains what and where we were shooting, and Chad's dad starts laughing pretty loud - Chad hands the phone back to the guy, he listens intently, and the guy starts going off "Well, I'm not going to put up with your boy's lying, he shot over my house and that's that." Gave the phone to Chad, Chad says we'll stop shooting our rifles (which we have, for over an hour. Seriously.)
After he hangs up the phone, this dude rips into Chad some more. "You can lie to your Dad, but you can't bullshit me." What the fuck? I mean I know we're Chad's friends and all, but in all honesty, Chad was telling the truth - we had NOT been shooting for over an hour.
After that we just packed up and left, this guy had aggravated us and threatened to call the Sherriff, which would have been awkward since we had the pistols/assault rifles. Had we not had those, or had been of age to own them, we think the Sherriff would have also laughed in this dude's face.
We drove down the south road before we locked up and left, and this is what we concluded.
1. The guy lives at least a half-mile away from the targets we were shooting at.
2. The guy's house itself, where his truck was parked, was about a mile away.
3. At the end of our land and at the beginning of his was a ton of fencing, brush, and trees.
4. Also, we were on the bottom of a shallow, small hill... but a hill nonetheless.
The guy claims he heard bullets pass 20 feet over him. We were shooting down mostly, or at best, completely horizontal (except the shotguns, of course).
So how do bullets climb from 5-7 feet to 20 feet in the air? How do they stay 20 feet in the air over the course of at least half a mile? How do we not disturb any of his neighbors? (We were the last big piece of land before a small neighborhood, of which he lived in)
We figure the guy either heard the echo (I remember hearing the SKS's echo for at least 3 or 4 seconds) or even distinguished the non-shotgun sounds and either didn't want us shooting, or didn't want the noise in the first place.
The times he confronted us were fairly inconsistent with the times we shot the non-shotguns. We figure he confronted us to try to scare us away - he threatened to call the sherriff, but if he had actually seean or heard bullets pass over him and his wife he probably would have called him the second time - if not the first. So he was probably bullshitting us (and accusing of of bullshitting him, which still pisses me off)
Anyways, it's been annoying me, so can I have some analysis here?
The longest ranged weapon was the SKS, maybe 300 yards or so, being nice.
The guy lived southwest of us.
We shot mainly directly south.
We shot no more than 180 degrees horizontal - NOT UPWARDS -AT ALL-. So the bullets somehow gained 15 feet, defying gravity.
In two weeks or so we're probably going to go out there all legal (shotguns and carbines) and repeat our firing situation, and this time get the law involved, if this guy busts our chops. I want to make sure that there's not a realistic chance we could have somehow actually shot over this guy's head. If we get the sherrif involved, and he realizes there's a snowball's chance we could have actually done what he's claiming, we can either shut this guy up or counter-charge him with trespassing and harassment (he made some really threatening remarks, as well as extremely pissing us off by repeatedly accusing us of bullshitting him)
readysetgo
It's like 2x2 square miles, three or four fields, and we usually go shooting in whatever field is farthest from the cows and the oil-drill equipment, which is usually the southern field. We shoot skeet, hay bales, and whatever we find (empty bottles, boxes, etc)
Last weekend, we were shooting. This is what we shot:
Heckler & Koch USP 9mm
.22 Revolver
.45 revolver
.38 revolver
AK-47, semi-auto (7.62 x 39)
SKS semi-auto carbine (7.62 x 39)
Marlin Model 1894 (.44)
Marlin Model 1894 (.357)
Marlin Model 1894 (.38 Special/.38)
Remington 870 Express (12-guage)
An assortment of other shotguns, 12, 20, 10 guage and .410 bore, but those aren't the topic of discussion.
Anyways, we were shooting as usual, which, in this field, means:
We shot the shotguns in the air, at clay pigeons.
The pistols, we shot south-southeast, at a pile of brush/tree stumps which we had targets set up in front of, near the ground.
The rifles we shot south, at a dirt pile/hay bale, with targets as well.
Anyways, the story begins about 30 minutes into our stay. I had just got done firing the Model 1894 .44 cal carbine, and was parched, so I talked to my pal Chad, and he gave me 10 bucks and asked his girlfriend (who was shooting the pistol) to take me to the nearest gas station/convencience store to pick up some dr pepper and pork rinds. All of our vehicles were at the ranchhouse and we had taken her 1995 4x4 Blazer and Ian's 2005 4x4 Avalanche, and since all the guns/ammo were sitting in his bed on the tailgate, her truck was the only one avaliable. Totally irrelevant to the story, but whatev.
As we're leaving, this dude comes up the road from the south and stops Kelly and I at the gate and gets out and is all "Who's doin' the shootin'?" We say "us", and he's like "Well, who?" ... "Sir, we are." He gives us this look like we're retarded and hops in his truck and goes down and talks to Chad, Ian, Clay, and Ashley.
(I'm going to ID everyone really quick:
Chad- owns the ranch
Kelly- his girlfriend, who is taking me to the store
Clay- our friend
Ashley- the chick who was with him, college friend
Ian- friend who owns most of the non-shotgun weaponry)
So he leaves Kelly and us at the gate, and we decide to stick around because we figured we've shot and killed somebody. They talk for a good 5 minutes to this guy (his name is Richard). Richard leaves, and I call Chad as we head on down to the store.
Chad says that apparently the guy "heard bullets flying 20 feet over his head" and asked them to stop shooting in his direction. Whatev. They switch to shooting shotguns and that's what they're doing when we get back with the dr pepper and pork rinds.
We keep shooting, Clay breaks the skeet thrower so after we toss a few dr pepper cans in the air, we set up the targets again and shoot, rreeeaaaalll carefully, into them. What doesn't hit the target, hits the ground, all bullets were accounted for (by seeing the visual impact) except twice when Chad practiced quick-draw'ing the USP (seeing how fast he can draw, fire off all 13 rounds, and be accurate) and when Clay fired off the SKS as fast as he could to see how accurate he was.
But besides those two instances, the rest of the time we stuck to the shotguns. We're all 18 and 19, and having the assault rifle and pistols was slightly illegal (They belonged to Ian's father, but we had his permission to use them)
About an hour after Clay fires off the SKS, Richard the Redneck comes back, and starts demanding we give him our pistols and rifles. Ian is a pretty big guy (he's one of those Republican, NRA guys who knows gun laws back and forth) and calmly asserts that the guy has no right. The guy starts threatening to call the Sherriff, and Chad is pretty adamant, says we haven't been shooting. The guy calls Chad a liar, to his face, and Chad's telling the guy hey, feel the rifle/pistol barrels, they're cold, we stopped shooting after you told us to quit (which is like 95% truth, except those two instances). The guy keeps at it, and it's starting to piss Chad and Ian off. You see, Chad's a country-grown boy, and the three things he values in life are his truck, his guns, and his pride. He's always super careful about things, and also super responsible, and always takes the fall when he's done something wrong. And this time he really didn't do anything wrong - it was his land, his right, and we highly doubt the bullets actually flew 20 feet above this guys head.
So the guy, Richard, calls Chad's dad. Calls Chad a liar, on the phone, to his dad, which really even bugs me - that's just a dick thing to do. Chad talks to his dad, explains what and where we were shooting, and Chad's dad starts laughing pretty loud - Chad hands the phone back to the guy, he listens intently, and the guy starts going off "Well, I'm not going to put up with your boy's lying, he shot over my house and that's that." Gave the phone to Chad, Chad says we'll stop shooting our rifles (which we have, for over an hour. Seriously.)
After he hangs up the phone, this dude rips into Chad some more. "You can lie to your Dad, but you can't bullshit me." What the fuck? I mean I know we're Chad's friends and all, but in all honesty, Chad was telling the truth - we had NOT been shooting for over an hour.
After that we just packed up and left, this guy had aggravated us and threatened to call the Sherriff, which would have been awkward since we had the pistols/assault rifles. Had we not had those, or had been of age to own them, we think the Sherriff would have also laughed in this dude's face.
We drove down the south road before we locked up and left, and this is what we concluded.
1. The guy lives at least a half-mile away from the targets we were shooting at.
2. The guy's house itself, where his truck was parked, was about a mile away.
3. At the end of our land and at the beginning of his was a ton of fencing, brush, and trees.
4. Also, we were on the bottom of a shallow, small hill... but a hill nonetheless.
The guy claims he heard bullets pass 20 feet over him. We were shooting down mostly, or at best, completely horizontal (except the shotguns, of course).
So how do bullets climb from 5-7 feet to 20 feet in the air? How do they stay 20 feet in the air over the course of at least half a mile? How do we not disturb any of his neighbors? (We were the last big piece of land before a small neighborhood, of which he lived in)
We figure the guy either heard the echo (I remember hearing the SKS's echo for at least 3 or 4 seconds) or even distinguished the non-shotgun sounds and either didn't want us shooting, or didn't want the noise in the first place.
The times he confronted us were fairly inconsistent with the times we shot the non-shotguns. We figure he confronted us to try to scare us away - he threatened to call the sherriff, but if he had actually seean or heard bullets pass over him and his wife he probably would have called him the second time - if not the first. So he was probably bullshitting us (and accusing of of bullshitting him, which still pisses me off)
Anyways, it's been annoying me, so can I have some analysis here?
The longest ranged weapon was the SKS, maybe 300 yards or so, being nice.
The guy lived southwest of us.
We shot mainly directly south.
We shot no more than 180 degrees horizontal - NOT UPWARDS -AT ALL-. So the bullets somehow gained 15 feet, defying gravity.
In two weeks or so we're probably going to go out there all legal (shotguns and carbines) and repeat our firing situation, and this time get the law involved, if this guy busts our chops. I want to make sure that there's not a realistic chance we could have somehow actually shot over this guy's head. If we get the sherrif involved, and he realizes there's a snowball's chance we could have actually done what he's claiming, we can either shut this guy up or counter-charge him with trespassing and harassment (he made some really threatening remarks, as well as extremely pissing us off by repeatedly accusing us of bullshitting him)
readysetgo
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