304 
FOREST AND STREAM 
The Tournament 
(A Trapshooting Story.) 
On a midsummer evening I prowled up on a 
long quiet stretch of water, the head of Brain¬ 
tree mill dam in the hills of Vermont. The 
“branch” rippling into this long dark canal 
over miniature steps of golden pebbles is agi¬ 
tated into little waves that keep the spearmint 
ever nodding. Almost in the current’s right of 
way a cold spring bubbles and reveals itself by 
the tiny jets of sand popping away from- the 
spring bed. In this dark, cool place the air 
always seems charged. One constantly ex¬ 
pects to see the surface of the dark pool beyond 
shattered by the strike of a trout. As the , rosy 
lights of the sunset brought out the vivid greens 
of the low bank and its reflection on the water 
I fluttered a royal coachman where the tiny 
whirlpools sheered oft" from their impact 
against the bank. Splash. The surface of the 
water was in a turmoil. For an instant you 
had seen his beautiful color and markings as 
he struck. We must wait on the red gods for 
such moments as these but don’t you get that 
same old thrill just as the eager instant before 
you call for that streaking Blue Rock at the 
traps? I do, and what is more you wait not on 
what nature offers but the traps wait on you 
and the thrills keep coming as quickly as the 
other four of your squad can deliver their fire. 
Hard as it is for the lover of the shot gun to 
tell why trapshooting is so fascinating, natural 
is it for him to feel perfectly contented with the 
fact. 
All summer the local club shoots have been 
the magnet that have drawn you to the height of 
happiness and now from the north part of the 
state comes the program of a tournament with 
its invitation to meet the good fellows of other 
clubs, its list of prizes, its anticipation of suc¬ 
cess at the score and its store of trapshooting 
reminiscences for many an after month. Are 
you going? You certainly are and so are others 
from your own club. It would never do not to 
have a representation at this tournament for 
you are jealous of your club, you know, just 
as you used to be of that first muzzle loader 
with the bent barrel and the cross-eyed pointer 
that used to look at you out of the side of his 
head just as a hen does. 
The day draws near. The program is stared 
in the face till you’d think the print would fade 
with so much strong light on it. There are 
eight events, a total of one hundred and fifty 
targets, and seven prizes from a shot gun to 
a screwdriver. The prizes are to be awarded 
on a handicap system, therefore you can shine 
with anyone in these and if you are feeling fit 
the sweeps offer a chance to pay your expenses 
or retire a month or so from shooting when 
you get home. 
Three of you at least are lined up on the 
depot platform, ears aching for the shriek of 
the evening Montreal express. There she 
blows! As she careens in sight you pick up your 
bag and almost dislocate your shoulder for the 
one hundred and fifty favorite trap loads are 
heavy. Of course you might buy them on the 
grounds but then suppose that three dramsload 
of your favorite powder is not on sale. It’s 
worth the tug. 
At principal points along the line other dele¬ 
gations board the train and the smoking com¬ 
partment is befogged with smoke. The ninety 
mile ride disappears like magic and to renewed 
acquaintances on the hotel porch are told the 
same stories of upland gunning for grouse and 
woodcock, the days at the lake when the flight 
was good, of bird dogs, trap loads, guns and 
other days together at the traps. Blow your 
horn light for tomorrow the cold figures on the 
score sheet will have to back up your utter¬ 
ances. 
Morning opens with heavy clouds but they 
all disappear under a hot sun. Every one is 
happy and the electric car is boarded by a band 
of smiling faces. The shooting grounds soon 
heave in sight and a cherry popping noise falls 
on the ears. Already a few are warming up and 
the grounds are filling with both shooters and 
spectators. 
On the grounds you are warmly welcomed by 
the officers and members of the club giving the 
tournament. Familiar faces from other clubs 
are on every hand. In no other sport does such 
fairness and good fellowship abound for this is 
not an onlookers’ game but all who care to may 
take a hand. Even those who lay back in the 
traces and can’t be induced to take a hand 
in the tournament are inwardly making up 
their minds to be on hand at the next smaller 
club shoot. Occasionally you will run on to 
someone who will have nothing of trap shoot¬ 
ing, says it is monotonous and attempts to 
compare it with duck or upland shooting. Now, 
then, bird shooting and trap shooting are en¬ 
tirely two different games though played with 
almost the same kinds of tools. It is not all 
the killing of a bird that makes upland shoot¬ 
ing the joy that it is and by the same sign 
it is not all breaking clay targets that gives 
trapshooting the popularity it owns. In five life 
times you could not meet in the field the num¬ 
ber of good fellows you meet at one shoot at 
the traps. 
In the tent, the Shooters’ Rest, guns are be¬ 
ing drawn from cases and as you draw your 
own from its case you inwardly vow none 
around has such a beautifully marked stock and 
such a straight gamy appearance. And should 
you make inquiry you would find each shooter 
held the same opinion of his own weapon and 
this is as it should be. As usual you spread 
a coat of oil on roll pin, lug and forend bear¬ 
ing for it will in a measure cushion the shock 
on these wearing parts and prolong the life of 
your gun many years. At last it rests in readi¬ 
ness on the table beside its contestants. Now 
for the shooting glasses, the amber lenses shut 
out the harsh violet rays and make the light 
always even, and the ear protectors and you 
are immune from headache. The cashier grace¬ 
fully enters you in squad two, position 4, with 
one hand and tucks away your three dollars 
with the other. He is as busy as a cockroach 
herding flees on a hot griddle and his eyes 
nervously snapping this way and that betrays 
his overtaxed condition. 
Even as you seat yourself on a bench behind 
the score, the score sheet is being posted for 
squad one, event one, and it takes a tourna¬ 
ment to get a miscellaneous squad but it is a 
mighty good thing for where can the seeds of 
comradeship be better sown than at the score. 
Squad one sports for number one a former 
state champion, number two, a professional 
demonstrating a powder, number three, the pres¬ 
ent state champion, a member of the local club, 
number four, a shooter from one of the college 
towns, position five holds another professional 
and so it runs through all the squads. Now is 
a good time to get a line on the targets. Are 
they going high, low, fast, slow, any rank 
angles? You note they are flying high and so 
you ought to have a good show for your prac¬ 
tice at home has been on low targets and they 
say practice at these allows one to handle all 
kinds much better than practice at high targets. 
Eagerly you march into action with four other 
worthies. You miss the first three, they are 
harder targets than they looked, but you clean 
up all the remaining twelve. You have a slump 
in event two, brace up in event three, and are 
shooting strong, ninety per cent, in events four 
and five." By this time the handicaps are posted 
and you are allowed five targets on the last 
hundred for the prizes. In the last five events 
you shoot exactly eight per cent, and therefore 
have a total of eight-five and when all scores 
are in at five o’clock you find you are alone in 
second place out of thirty-nine shooters. As 
the program calls for “Class Shooting” had 
anyone tied you, you would have had to shoot 
off the tie and had you lost out you would 
have had no interest in third prize so you have 
dropped into a very lucky place and won sec¬ 
ond of the seven prizes, thus your prize of two 
hundred fifty loaded shells has paid your en¬ 
trance and the one hundred fifty shells you 
emptied. Give the little gun a loving pat when 
you put her back in the case for she has pulled 
you through the eight events to victory and 
she’ll be true to you in the shoots to come. 
Seven squads of happy shooters and many 
more of enthusiastic spectators leave the shoot¬ 
ing grounds and each other at the respective 
points along the line. Was there ever such a 
day as this? Do you wonder the American game 
of trapshooting is gaining in favor and num¬ 
bers by leaps and bounds? 
Looking away to the west from the electric 
car the sunset’s golden glow reflected by the 
loveliest of American inland waters, Lake 
Champlain, crowns with its halo the close of a 
perfect day, another tournament is history. 
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