Stinky-poo!

Of the many attempts John tried to get me to fall in love with shooting, I always had a reason why not.  One of the most memorable was my very first trip to an indoor range.

We get there, sign in, pay the man, get our eyes and ears on, maneuver to our nifty bay, put up the target, unload the range bag.... the lesson started and John was excited.  He was convinced this was the time I would love his sport. 

Not so much...  I nearly died a horrible death from smoke inhalation. 

Black powder shooters:  go to an outdoor range, pretty please.