My first surf fishing trips to the Outer Banks were a mixed bag.
I began my High Power Rifle career at Camp Butner in a Director of Civilian Marksmanship or DCM Service Rifle Clinic.
Spring is a time when everything in creation gets motivated.
Real friends are better than gold, even if they do have their flaws.
My back hurt, and I decided to rest it on the front deck of the skiff. My fleece jacket was rolled up and I was using it as a pillow. A cloud was obstructing the sun, and my eyes were comfortably closed.
The building is simple with a hodgepodge of furniture I can tell was pieced together to furnish it.
The drill was fairly complicated for someone with my attention span and ability to stay cool under stress.
We were at the old Tarheel Gun Club, and I was sitting on the porch with Jason, the club keeper who always wore blue denim bib overalls.
Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening, By Robert Frost
Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.
My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near.
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.
He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound’s the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.
The woods are lovely, dark and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.
It happens to me on a regular basis. Someone’s been reading my newspaper column, and they comment on how they wish their wife liked doing outdoor stuff, or that she’d at least go fishing or hunting with them.
The desire to shoot ducks overpowered my sense of reason and comfort.
As we worked our way towards the edge of the field, I called to Cherie to keep her eyes open.
What have you done lately for the men who protect your freedom?
The second shooting competition in which I ever competed is one that I’ll always remember.