Um, y'all: I shoot like a girl.
Sunday I got to go practice shooting at a local range, courtesy of a kindly member of the club, and accompanied by the lovely and gracious Holly & JPG. I took my Papa's High Standard Sentinel R-107 .22 from the mid-60s to practice shooting and get more comfortable with the whole process.
This gun has been used to dispatch a staggering number of Ozark squirrels, and it's really smooth and fun to shoot. I'm going to borrow it from Dad as long as he'll let me, or until another .22 catches my fancy and happens to be affordable.
The first 9 shots went in the very center in a sort of a bunch over what was the X in the center of the target. You can see there's really only one biggish hole. I thought that was kind of neat - all 9 shots staying together like a happy little family.
When I moved up the to the head for the second group, it got a little more loosey-goosey. I think I count 6 holes for the 9 shots I fired. Still, I'm not complaining.
I am surprised to find how tender my hands are. I do a lot of fine work with my bead stuff, and I tend to think of my hands as rather rough-around-the-edges, but Sunday I found that my right index finger was getting sore and would have soon blistered by the time I stopped shooting. [Then again, the grooved trigger on this .22 is probably just a bad surface for my finger, contrasting with the smooth surface of the trigger on my .38?) I suppose if I keep working on this as I should, then I'll build up a little callous there. Whatever works. Having discovered the heady scent of freshly fired cartridges (perfume!), I'll never be giving up shooting now, so my little digit will simply have to toughen up, won't it?
Let's just say I'm going to be using the tax money to join a local range so I can get some regular practice.