Well, as a result of my shoulder problems I have not fired a gun since April, so decided to have an outing at the local club today. Having been told by what appeared to be a 12 years old member of Staff at the local Hospital, that I was a 'Degenerate', something that I already knew, I had come to realise that it was a "now or never thing" !
Saturday night found me busily preparing all of my gear and putting the the correct colour and number lens in my Pilla frames (that cost me a fortune off the bay :wink: ). I was cursing that I had not bought the Randalls, then I could have put 2 differing colours in each side, thus covering more eventualities. Then of course making sure I had put sufficient cartridges in my bed, to obtain their optimum performance. All of my long abandoned shooting clothing was dragged from the back of the wardrobe and out of the plastic boxes where it had lain since the house move. I decided to hang them outside to try and lessen the stench of mothballs. Another mistake, had I bought the terribly expensive but immaculate Italian variety, even the moths would have shown some respect, I suppose.
Sunday morning and up well before the alarm had activated, I had turned over and stubbed my left big toe on the 250 cartridge slab that was lurking at the foot of the bed, (just in case you still read these rantings Nicola, I think I will go back to just storing cartridges in the cupboard) so I was off to a good start. Having had the 3 'S's, you know the S**t, Shower and Shave, I pondered over breakfast. Having learned that in order to perform at my best, the 'Full English' was out. I decided upon the rabbit food and Red Bull, with of course the soya milk. I had opted to 'dress light' in view of the weather forecast. I had noticed that the Surveyor who had completed a survey prior to our moving in to our new home, had failed to spot the damp in the fitted wardrobe. This had caused all of my trousers and shorts to shrink dramatically, especially around the waistband. Having filled several Morrisons bags with stuff for the charity shop, the only pair that I was able to still fasten were a delicate shade of pink, due to them mating with a bright red top, during their last bath together. Although they fastened, they were still a bit tight at the rear (so to speak). Still, if I refrained from picking up everyone elses empties around the stands, I should be OK, and I was planning on using the auto anyway, 'winging it' I believe the expression is. I finished off the ensemble with my 4 x 4 all terrain hill walking sandals, forsaking of course, the socks.
Arriving at the shoot I was stuck with another dilemma. Should I take the pouch or wear my cheap ill fitting mesh shooting vest. The vest has the advantage that I can seperate the 6 3/4's from the 7's, the 8's, the 8 1/3's and of course the 9's (for anything under 6 feet), the large rear pocket can carry the 4 choke boxes, the 2 towels, spare lenses for the Pilla's, the 3 piece rod set, the spray 3 in 1 and the box of clens thingy wipes, oh, and the choke key. Of course this does away with the requirement of a range bag, especially now that I have an aluminium drinks bottle, with................'a belt hook' ! I decided upon the pouch. After all, I had to come back through the car park to reach the second half of the layout. I then had to further deliberate upon the "flag it or bag it" options. I decided to take the gunslip rather than sling the auto onto my shoulder and see how much damage I could create around the shoot, it was just too hot for the hassle. So with my shooting buddie, we made our way to the first stand. There was a couple of Guys already there and I got into conversation with one. I had noticed that he too was using an auto and I was asking him to just run through the loading principle with me, it having been some considerable time since my auto had seen daylight. So, holding the gun across my front, I accidentally pressed the button on the side. The breech bolt slammed forward, which seemed to unnerve both the Ref and the Guy that was shooting.Not even my assurance that the gun was empty would placate them. Putting it down to the heat making them both grumpy, I continued my conversation with my fellow auto user. It soon became my turn to shoot. I stepped into the stand and asked to "see a pair". The Ref asked why I had not watched the targets upon my arrival at the stand. I explained that I had been busy talking to another auto user and going through the loading procedure, as it had been a while since I had used the gun. I saw his facial expression alter and he said that I could see a pair from outside the stand. I pointed out to him that as I would be shooting them from INSIDE the stand, that it would be preferable to see them from there too. He became quite abusive to me, so I decided to just shoot and move on. I pulled the first cartridge from my 'pouch', it was a 9. Hmmm, I felt that the 8 1/3's would, coupled with the 3/8 extended, ported, titanium ultra long choke, would give me the edge. I fumbled in my pouch to find the right cartridge. Having found one, I dropped this into the empty breech and pressed the button. I now just had to locate another in my pouch. I was pulling just about every shot size except the 8 1/3 from the damned stupid pouch. The Ref was holding all the 9's, my shooting buddie had the 6 3/4's two other shooters were holding the 7's and the 7 3/8's. I could sense the lack of patience coming from the Ref so, I turned around to ask my shooting buddie for one of his 8 1/3's from his pocket. Now I know my Beretta 303 is some 25 plus years old, but to see all of these other shooters shouting a pointing at it, I really did not think it was going to attract such attention. Having managed to get another cartridge, I then turned back to start shooting. I was trying to get the second cartridge into the bit under the gun, but my McDonalds shooting gloves kept getting stuck in the hole. I turned to ask the Ref if he could help, only to see the remaining shooters at the back of me, all lying down sunbathing. Some were even finding the sun a bit too much as they were sheltering in some nearby bushes. During all of this debacle, I had dropped the second cartridge among the 30 or so already lying on the floor. I promptly bent down to retrieve the dropped cartridge when RIIIIIIIIP, the pink shorts gave out. I stumbled out of the stand trying to cover my modesty. It was at this point the Ref had grabbed my gun. He operated the breech bolt and ejected the live round from the breech, this too fell onto the floor. I bent down to try and retrieve the dropped round. I then felt this searing pain from my backside and realised that walking had just become an issue. I was beginning to wish that I had put more oil on the outside of the barrel of my gun because my eyes were, by now, watering profusely. I staggered back to the car park asking my shooting buddie for assistance, he seemed to be finding the whole incident highly amusing. In fact he had collapsed to the floor holding his stomach and was laughing so much he began to cry. My eyes too were watering but for a completely different reason, after all they did NOT include this manouvre when I had done the Refs course
So, you now can visualise my predicament and if anyone can assist with an 'Extractor' for a Beretta 303 , I really would be most grateful. Sitting on a comode to eat one's meals is NOT very becoming !
Saturday night found me busily preparing all of my gear and putting the the correct colour and number lens in my Pilla frames (that cost me a fortune off the bay :wink: ). I was cursing that I had not bought the Randalls, then I could have put 2 differing colours in each side, thus covering more eventualities. Then of course making sure I had put sufficient cartridges in my bed, to obtain their optimum performance. All of my long abandoned shooting clothing was dragged from the back of the wardrobe and out of the plastic boxes where it had lain since the house move. I decided to hang them outside to try and lessen the stench of mothballs. Another mistake, had I bought the terribly expensive but immaculate Italian variety, even the moths would have shown some respect, I suppose.
Sunday morning and up well before the alarm had activated, I had turned over and stubbed my left big toe on the 250 cartridge slab that was lurking at the foot of the bed, (just in case you still read these rantings Nicola, I think I will go back to just storing cartridges in the cupboard) so I was off to a good start. Having had the 3 'S's, you know the S**t, Shower and Shave, I pondered over breakfast. Having learned that in order to perform at my best, the 'Full English' was out. I decided upon the rabbit food and Red Bull, with of course the soya milk. I had opted to 'dress light' in view of the weather forecast. I had noticed that the Surveyor who had completed a survey prior to our moving in to our new home, had failed to spot the damp in the fitted wardrobe. This had caused all of my trousers and shorts to shrink dramatically, especially around the waistband. Having filled several Morrisons bags with stuff for the charity shop, the only pair that I was able to still fasten were a delicate shade of pink, due to them mating with a bright red top, during their last bath together. Although they fastened, they were still a bit tight at the rear (so to speak). Still, if I refrained from picking up everyone elses empties around the stands, I should be OK, and I was planning on using the auto anyway, 'winging it' I believe the expression is. I finished off the ensemble with my 4 x 4 all terrain hill walking sandals, forsaking of course, the socks.
Arriving at the shoot I was stuck with another dilemma. Should I take the pouch or wear my cheap ill fitting mesh shooting vest. The vest has the advantage that I can seperate the 6 3/4's from the 7's, the 8's, the 8 1/3's and of course the 9's (for anything under 6 feet), the large rear pocket can carry the 4 choke boxes, the 2 towels, spare lenses for the Pilla's, the 3 piece rod set, the spray 3 in 1 and the box of clens thingy wipes, oh, and the choke key. Of course this does away with the requirement of a range bag, especially now that I have an aluminium drinks bottle, with................'a belt hook' ! I decided upon the pouch. After all, I had to come back through the car park to reach the second half of the layout. I then had to further deliberate upon the "flag it or bag it" options. I decided to take the gunslip rather than sling the auto onto my shoulder and see how much damage I could create around the shoot, it was just too hot for the hassle. So with my shooting buddie, we made our way to the first stand. There was a couple of Guys already there and I got into conversation with one. I had noticed that he too was using an auto and I was asking him to just run through the loading principle with me, it having been some considerable time since my auto had seen daylight. So, holding the gun across my front, I accidentally pressed the button on the side. The breech bolt slammed forward, which seemed to unnerve both the Ref and the Guy that was shooting.Not even my assurance that the gun was empty would placate them. Putting it down to the heat making them both grumpy, I continued my conversation with my fellow auto user. It soon became my turn to shoot. I stepped into the stand and asked to "see a pair". The Ref asked why I had not watched the targets upon my arrival at the stand. I explained that I had been busy talking to another auto user and going through the loading procedure, as it had been a while since I had used the gun. I saw his facial expression alter and he said that I could see a pair from outside the stand. I pointed out to him that as I would be shooting them from INSIDE the stand, that it would be preferable to see them from there too. He became quite abusive to me, so I decided to just shoot and move on. I pulled the first cartridge from my 'pouch', it was a 9. Hmmm, I felt that the 8 1/3's would, coupled with the 3/8 extended, ported, titanium ultra long choke, would give me the edge. I fumbled in my pouch to find the right cartridge. Having found one, I dropped this into the empty breech and pressed the button. I now just had to locate another in my pouch. I was pulling just about every shot size except the 8 1/3 from the damned stupid pouch. The Ref was holding all the 9's, my shooting buddie had the 6 3/4's two other shooters were holding the 7's and the 7 3/8's. I could sense the lack of patience coming from the Ref so, I turned around to ask my shooting buddie for one of his 8 1/3's from his pocket. Now I know my Beretta 303 is some 25 plus years old, but to see all of these other shooters shouting a pointing at it, I really did not think it was going to attract such attention. Having managed to get another cartridge, I then turned back to start shooting. I was trying to get the second cartridge into the bit under the gun, but my McDonalds shooting gloves kept getting stuck in the hole. I turned to ask the Ref if he could help, only to see the remaining shooters at the back of me, all lying down sunbathing. Some were even finding the sun a bit too much as they were sheltering in some nearby bushes. During all of this debacle, I had dropped the second cartridge among the 30 or so already lying on the floor. I promptly bent down to retrieve the dropped cartridge when RIIIIIIIIP, the pink shorts gave out. I stumbled out of the stand trying to cover my modesty. It was at this point the Ref had grabbed my gun. He operated the breech bolt and ejected the live round from the breech, this too fell onto the floor. I bent down to try and retrieve the dropped round. I then felt this searing pain from my backside and realised that walking had just become an issue. I was beginning to wish that I had put more oil on the outside of the barrel of my gun because my eyes were, by now, watering profusely. I staggered back to the car park asking my shooting buddie for assistance, he seemed to be finding the whole incident highly amusing. In fact he had collapsed to the floor holding his stomach and was laughing so much he began to cry. My eyes too were watering but for a completely different reason, after all they did NOT include this manouvre when I had done the Refs course
So, you now can visualise my predicament and if anyone can assist with an 'Extractor' for a Beretta 303 , I really would be most grateful. Sitting on a comode to eat one's meals is NOT very becoming !
