The gentlemen, all in their late fifty’s and early sixties, took a few practice rounds and soon the wagering began. As the competitions continued, the commodities wagered changed from cash, to hand rolled cigars, to bottles of fine scotch whiskey.
As the event was winding down, a young lady arrived at the compound. She had come over from Burlington, where she was attending college. Her father, who had arranged the event, asked her, “Would you like to shoot a round or two?”
“Oh no, I simply can’t”, she explained, “I’d be embarrassed, I haven’t shot in years!”
Immediately, the old gents began to chide her, “Awww! come on little lady, let’s see what you’ve got! We’ll go easy on you, Honey. Hell! you can’t be any worse than your Dad!”
She attempted to beg off from the event, explaining, “I’m just over for the afternoon, I have to get back to college today.”
Following some good hearted, needling from the assembly, she finally relented and parked her car in the lot. As she walked up to the range, she apologized for not wanting to wager. However, as she began to stuff shot shells into a beautiful, old Purdey shotgun, the wagering began anew.
Her father spotted her some cash, and on the first round she knocked down five out of the six clays. It turned out to be her only miss of the afternoon.
One at a time, she continued to unabashedly shoot the pants off all of the old gents, despite their various attempts to rattle her. Best of all, she did it while sporting a wide smile.
After the competitions ended, she asked me to help her carry the winnings back to her car. I expect she was the most popular girl on campus, returning with boxes of hand rolled cigars, bottles of Chivas Regal and Crown Royal and a wad of cash that would choke a horse.
It was a valuable lesson learned. I’ve never bet against a female shooter since.
Joe Hackett is a guide and sportsman residing in Ray Brook. Contact him at firstname.lastname@example.org.