Get Closer

When someone tells me he shot an animal dead at long range, I'm tempted to put a hand on his shoulder and console him, "450 yards? Don't take it too hard. You'll get closer next time."

Shooting far at game says little about marksmanship--anyone can make a lucky shot. Few bullets fired at extreme range hit right where the hunter intended. The probability of a first bullet going where you want diminishes with distance.

Shooting far says more about hunting prowess. If you can't get closer than 450 yards, you'd have had a lean winter hunting with flint-tipped arrows. If you shoot long when you have a chance to get closer, well, lazy gets easier as rifles shoot farther.

Shooting far comes with strings, because bullets don't just miss or kill. A shot that drops a deer with a hit to the brain at a quarter-mile is not a good shot. You didn't aim at the brain. You missed the lungs by a couple of feet. The bullet could have ripped the paunch, shattered a leg or smashed the jaw. At long range, second shots are hard, and sometimes impossible if the animal moves. You'll be a long time getting there to find the track--a tough assignment itself.

Many animals are lost each year to shooters who flail away at unrealistic yardage. The rifles that extend your lethal reach also make it possible for you to cripple game farther off. There's nothing in a rifle that will guarantee a fatal first shot. Good judgment brings good results.

You've probably heard someone say, "If I can see 'em, I can hit 'em." He's probably right. A critic like me would ask, "But will you always make a fatal hit with the first shot?" I've declined many shots that might have filled my tag. Insisting on sure shots, I'm unlikely to lose game, and that matters to me.

Close shots aren't always easy. Just last fall, hunting in front of a camera for the upcoming "Petersen's HUNTING Adventure" show, I sneaked through thick oakbrush to within twenty-eight steps of a fine mule deer. "Here goes," I whispered, as the bead on my muzzleloader found the animal's chest. "I don't have him," hissed my videographer. The sun was low, in our eyes. The camera's viewfinder showed only glare. Suddenly, a second buck appeared. Alas, he was wise to us, and as my partner nodded, the animal wheeled. What had been a chip shot became very difficult. I should not have fired, but the hammer fell as the deer vanished into the oaks.

A couple of years ago, with no cameraman to blame, I missed a standing deer at sixty yards. Twice I've shot in front of moving elk less than seventy yards away. I've made a few tough shots, too, but recalling those botched slam-dunks keeps me humble. It also keeps me from shooting long.

Stretching the range magnifies the displacement of your bullet. Wobble a little while pulling the trigger, and the size of a deer's chest at fifty steps covers for you. At 100 yards, your bullet hits farther from the middle. At 150 yards, it may miss the vitals altogether. At extreme range, your heartbeat can move the reticle off a deer's chest.