FORES T 
A N D S T REAM 
July, 1918 
464 
THE PATRIOTIC SPORT OF AMERICA 
A MENTAL AND PHYSICAL DRILL THAT COORDINATES MIND AND MUSCLES 
UNTIL THEY ACT AS SMOOTHLY AS A WELL OILED PIECE OF MACHINERY 
By GEORGE W. PECK 
W HAT is the romance which 
seems to hover like a halo over 
that sporting arm which for 
so many years in all civilized lands 
has been known as the fowling piece? 
To the gun lover of yesterday noth¬ 
ing was more beautiful than those ar¬ 
tistically browned Damascus tubes 
and to-day, in this progressive age of 
unfigured fluid steel the old Damascus 
barrel is still a thing of beauty and a 
joy to its owner. 
With the passing of the muzzle 
loader came the possibilities of a con¬ 
centrated shot delivery and the choke- 
bore was born-—a broad leap from oc¬ 
casional accidental close results in the 
true cylinder to a made-to-order con¬ 
centration which would register from 
70 per cent, to 90 per cent, in a 30- 
inch circle at 40 yards. 
But, with all the progress, if you are 
pleased to thus term the machine- 
made factory results of to-day, the ro¬ 
mance clings and the shooter becomes 
affectionately attached to his game or 
trap gun, be it double, single or re¬ 
peater. This condition of mind is not 
unusual in other sports, for there is 
poetry in the noiseless spin of the 
Milam and Meek that have made so 
much piscatorial history. The “kick” 
of the bass rod, as our modern Isaac 
makes an overhead cast, tells him with 
telegraphic accuracy that the bait is 
properly launched and careful thumb¬ 
ing of the spool will land it on the 
lily pad. The canoeist has his favor¬ 
ite paddle which he loves to manipu¬ 
late and making the long sweep with 
the little sculling motion at the wind¬ 
up of the stroke he knows that he can 
keep the prow of his craft true to 
point all day without switching sides. 
Then there is our far ranging 
golfer with a bag of sticks—each cut 
out for its particular work—how well 
does he know them. Yes, there is a 
world of romance in it all—all that 
has to do with Nature’s open air stage 
setting and trapshooting alone stands 
out in open defiance of the elements 
as a year-around sport. Though the 
devotees of other pastimes are forced 
to give up their favorite sport for at 
least six months of the year, neither 
the Arctic winters of far off Alaska 
nor the blizzards of the Middle West 
hold any terrors for the trapshooter, 
and from Nome to New Jersey he 
harks to the call of the clay. He may 
be a transient in a strange town, but 
if he is a trapshooter he will locate the 
“shooting shack” and be on hand at the 
weekly gathering though the drifts reach 
the eaves. His gun case is his introduc¬ 
tion; he “speaks the language” and is 
welcomed accordingly. And, if there is 
no shoot scheduled, his spare time will 
undoubtedly be passed at the local gun 
store, where he is pretty sure of finding 
This is a sport for women as well as men 
some one who will converse with him 
intimately on the topics of the traps. 
Intimately' is the proper word, for no 
other sport, with its followers scattered 
all over the broad land, can so effectually 
act the magnet and bring them to a 
given point of compass. For example, 
witness the Grand American Handicap. 
At this super tournament the magnet 
calls its units a thousand strong with 
700 or 800 shooting through the pro¬ 
gramme and all on a brother-like foot¬ 
ing of intimacy which carries with it 
lasting memories and fond anticipation 
of the next reunion. Gunner Jack 
from Portland, Oregon, and Gunner 
Tom from Portland, Maine, are 
squadded together and waiting for the 
working squad to finish so they may 
take their respective pegs. Though 
they never have met before, there is 
no strained formality in their inter¬ 
course—“they belong.” 
One continent cruising trapshot 
once declared himself thus: “Show me 
a town without a trapshooting club 
and I’ll show you a town where the 
hookworm abideth and waxeth fat.” 
This gentleman may have been a bit 
prejudiced, but with the country 
dotted by trapshooting clubs it does 
seem that towns so represented are 
up to the minute in everything that 
spells success to a municipality. 
Even the old-time follower of the 
Patriotic Sport is often at a loss to ac¬ 
count for its all-absorbing fascination. 
He analyzes it carefully, studying the 
several factors that contribute to his 
enjoyment; the gun itself, a man’s 
companion, distinguishes the owner as 
a man’s man and that in itself carries 
a measure of satisfaction. It is one 
thing to own a gun and quite another 
to know how to handle it. That is 
where the trapshooter shines, for, to 
be a success at the traps, his gun must 
be part of him. Nor can one assume 
this close relationship, for the keen 
eye of the trapshot will pick the novice 
the moment the latter throws a gun 
to his shoulder, whether at the traps, 
in the gun room at home, or in the 
store and will be ready to help him. 
B UT, after all, there may be one 
forceful factor which beckons to 
the shooter and draws him on 
from one shoot to another, from one 
tournament to another, and finally to 
that annual classic—the Grand Amer¬ 
ican Handicap. Brother “Walton,” 
you still remember just how you felt 
when that bait landed on the lily pad. 
It was a masterly cast and you 
thumbed the spool with a delicacy of 
touch that prevented the backlash, yet 
saved the momentum till the bait 
found its resting place, then the gentle 
pull which flicked it into the water and 
then—snap—splash-! Was it a red 
eye, Pal? Mine was—just a shade over 
four pounds and the fight he put up was 
magnificent. Well, that is the way you 
feel when you break targets. You get a 
nasty sidewinder with the wind at its 
tail or a rough cookie towering into the 
nor-easter and you have got to do some 
tall calculating with no time to spare. 
If you have held right and touched off 
