The Short Shot

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Circumstances in the wider world created the opportunity, no, the need to shoot something. Scheduling, laws, and neighbors likely to take a dim view of my .45-70 going off in the back yard left me with a flexible choice: archery.

My range has a cement ledge about half way out. Whole range 27 yards, the ledge, about 15 yards. Now, this is Bullseye distance.

I would rather have shot from my full range--when things need to be shot, various challenges must be engaged so that all the chemicals have to be burned up in response to solving the challenge. 27 yards is a far piece with a bow and arrow if you're shooting for group size. But today a new and unexpected challenge presented itself to me. The little cat Cleo and I have come to an understanding about her use of my archery bag as a bed when I'm not using it. When I want it, I have to pry her out. Then I use the bag, but the whole time she just sits on a box and glares at me. I'm used to it now.

Today, Mr. Hope the huge cat was sleeping on the ledge between my line and my target bag. Having dislodged one cat and incurred her ire, molesting a second cat, who tips the scales at a husky 18 pounds, is ill-advised at best and down right fatal at worst. The sun comes through our dwarf redwood just so in the afternoon, bathing this ledge in cat bait. It's Mr. Hope's favorite nap spot. Now, there have been times when I have seriously considered shooting over him--hey: the arrows would fly fully four feet free from fluffing fat feline fur. Really. But I never did it. Usually I elected to wait 'till he'd left, or just shake the treats box. That's cruel, and once resulted in cat shit in my wife's shoe after she'd hatched the same scathingly brilliant scheme. Can't really connect the two, but there it sits.

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Rather than incur cat-wrath from hell, I elected to play a new game: The Short Shot. In this case, Bullseye distance. Something interesting happened.

When I draw the bow, my body is tensed much like the drawn bow. The aim for me is not eye aim, though eyes on the prize is proper. My whole tensed body is aimed. This tension in the bow is borne by my hands: fingers on the drawing hand and the palm between thumb and index on the bow hand. For my mind, there's a place between the first bone of the thumb--the one that starts at the wrist--and the similar bone in the index finger, and it balances well against the bow grip. This place is sort of the sight for my body. I have to balance the tension of the bow such that the release propels the arrow along the parabola of instinctual aim, to the target. So my eyes are looking, but my body is aiming too, through that point between the bow arm bones there at the grip.

So I'm at Bullseye distance, aiming with my eye through my fingers--anatomically challenging in itself, but add a bow and we're having fun for reals. Remember that I shoot from both sides. One of those sides happens to be the one I shoot hand guns from. Ah. The thick plottens.

That compound bow is like shooting a gun when compared to the recurve. I feared I'd break arrows. Dang close--touching groups. That's better than I am with the Vaquero. But this was holding the compound in my right, same hand I hold the Vaquero for Bullseye.

Switch to the recurve. Before being forced to close range by Mr. Hope, I'd not compared the recurve to shooting hand guns. Different hands and all.

So I'm aiming and I realized that I use the same spot between my fingers to aim, and I had a grok between hand gun and recurve--I don't shoot hand guns very often from my weak hand. (note to self, do that more often).

Touching groups, better than the Vaquero. Neat. Primitive. Accurate. Sweet.

My advice is to play the Walk Back Game from time to time, and to play The Short Shot game as well.

CDFingers
Crazy cat peekin' through a lace bandana
like a one-eyed Cheshire, like a diamond-eyed Jack

Re: The Short Shot

2
Did it again, short range, 15 yards. Every shot in the half gallon bleach jug. Raccoon sized, I suppose.

It's good to do this from time to time. Some day I will shoot a Bullseye target with ten and see what I get.

CDFingers
Crazy cat peekin' through a lace bandana
like a one-eyed Cheshire, like a diamond-eyed Jack

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