Blame it on the Mosquito

Today was ‘the’ day for 60X on a 5-spot. You know when you get on a roll and you feel like you can’t miss the X. It was, as it turned out, almost that day.

Block Tower

Practice began on paper left still tacked to a Block from the afternoon of the day before. With 25 shots remaining the paper needed to be changed, the center shot to pieces on all 5 spots. Not to suggest that all my prior shots had landed within the inner ring. Still, the old paper had been hit, in or near the inner ring, around 180 times.  (125 within the inner ring – I kept a count – zero in the blue for those working on the math or seeking controversy)

Clean paper is really nice. No holes, new and flat, no warps from morning dew or overnight humidity. (Even though this is 18-meters, the targets are outdoors here at the house). It feels good to stick 5 arrows into those center rings on new print. It feels even better when they keep landing within that small amount of archery real estate.

New paper. That middle arrow did eventually stop.

The new paper shooting started right even though the center target ended up perched before at a weak area and arrows threatened to pass though the old Block. I move the targets around on the Block hoping to buy a little more time, and resistance, before the Block is greeted with earned retirement.

Sometimes, there’s no satisfying paper placement. Some areas are better than others for catching and holding arrows. Since the Blocks aren’t inexpensive I’ll wait until there is simply no choice other than replacement where upon this old Block will work again as a lifting foundation for the soon to be savaged new cube of foam.

There were only 25 more arrows to shoot before calling it a day. Only 25 more Xs to call it 60X.

I’d like to blame it on the mosquito that landed on me a millisecond before I released the arrow. In fact, that is where I will place the blame.

Dang it!

The bug had been bothering me for some time. I’d let down and go for a killing slap succeeding only in receiving a slap.  The bug would be long gone from its intended meal. Then there was the one shot when I decided not to pause and swat. Toughing the pest out with stoic manliness, the mark was missed.

After that near line cutter the mosquito returned for blood.  That time I didn’t miss the insect. It was a fair trade.

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