Call me topsy turvey, but if people want to learn about the use of firearms or weapons under stress they need to get out and hunt once in a while.
Most of the sensations described by tactical trainers are well known to those who take to the field to hunt wild game.
They cover the gamut from the frequently described “buck” fever to ordinary equipment snafus which occur with incredible frequency even after months of training, preparation and careful selection of hardware for woods or mountain use.
All the paper target tactical trainers in the world can not prepare you for a real gunfight as well as a wild boar hunt with gun, knife or bow. Either do it right the first time or take a trip to the hospital.
Here are two articles that cover the verities of real gunfights. If you are a hunter see if you do not recognize all or most of the elements in the examples they offer.
Take the time to read these articles through to the end.
Tantalizing Excerpt Number 1:
What Really Happens In A Gunfight?
The conclusions from twenty-five years of lethal force investigation.
By Dave Spaulding
I said, “I was glad to see after the initial exchange that you moved behind the engine block of your cruiser to take cover.”
His response to this was surprising, “I didn’t take cover, I fell down and it was the scariest part of the whole situation. Here I was in the middle of a gunfight and I was flat on my back. I was terrified that I was going to get shot in the butt. I felt so helpless.
Tantalizing Excerpt Number 2:
There I was, with a snubbie .357, a five-cell Maglight and a Handi-Talkie, and me only having two hands. About the fourth time I tried to answer the Sheriff’s: “Have you got him yet!?” while trying to cover a suspicious patch of darkness and juggle the Mag-Lite, I stopped in the feeble light of the moon shining down through a hole in the ceiling.
I’m busily trying to figure out which I needed more: the Mag-lite or the Handi-talkie, when the SOB jumps me. I’m here to tell you, folks, things went rodeo from there. He lunged out of a shadow, trying to grab for my throat, and me–reacting totally instinctively–I whack him a good one across the forehead with the Maglight.
Bulb, batteries and assorted electronic parts arc gracefully into the darkness. Critter takes one step back and jumps at me again.
Things are not looking good in Dogville.
I’ve got the snubbie back with my right hand, trying to keep it away from this goblin, and I’m trying to stiff-arm him away with my left when I step onto what was later found to be a D-cell battery from my Maglight.
Down I go. And the alleged axe-murderer lands on top of me. Hoo boy.The gloves really come off then. We roll on the cold cement, I’m hitting him in the head with the butt of my revolver, elbow smashes to the jaw and brachial plexus, knee strikes–the whole enchilada. And he keeps grabbing at my throat.