I’ve been under a lot of pressure lately. Papers to write, stuff to read, more stuff to read, exams to study for, projects to complete… Not only school work but consulting work too. I’ve been VERY busy with my biz. So I took Wednesday off.

I got a new shotgun last week. I bought a launcher, a box of shells, and a case of clays. I drove up the mountain to the spot where I usually go hiking and shooting. It’s about 3,300 feet elevation and just beautiful. Long, sweeping views of the canyon clear on down to Chico and the huge Sacramento River valley. It’s exactly 20 miles from my house. So I drove up there today.

When I pulled up I could see a light dusting of snow on the ground. It was pretty cold, according to my watch it was about 45 degrees. What a huge change in the weather we’ve had. Just last week it was 90 in Chico. Anyway I grabbed all my stuff, loaded my .45, and started walking down the road.

I chose a spot on the trail about 10 minutes walk from the main road. There was a clearing, on a bluff, overlooking a clear cut below. I set up my launcher and started sending clay pigeons off into the blue.

Man, do I suck. I’ve shot trap and skeet before, but not many times. I only hit 1 out of every 10 or so. Sometimes I’d get mad and unload 4 or 5 shells at the flying biodegradable birdie. And still miss. I really thought I’d be much better at this. I shoot my pistols all the time, and I’m a damn good shot with my 9mm. But it’s always a stationary target, not one moving through the air. I have a new found respect for upland game bird and waterfowl hunters. It’s much harder than it looks, folks.

Anyway I spend the afternoon at my spot. I took a break and had lunch. I sat on an old tree stump and ate my sammich. I gazed down into the canyon, over the tall verdant pine trees and squinted. Nope, I couldn’t see the river below. Chico Creek flows down through this canyon. From it’s source way, way up in the Sierras down to Chico, through Bidwell Park, right through the middle of CSU Chico campus, under the railroad track that Scott drives on his way to Dunsmuir, and empties into the Sacramento River.

It’s absolutely gorgeous. Many times I’ve hiked those trails, admired the breathtaking views and wished I had someone to share it with. But the moment soon passes, and I pull my .45 out of it’s holster and blast the nearest pine cone.