By Dave Fulson • Nov 15, 2025

Yes, this is a hunting magazine, but there is an accurate comparison to be drawn between a pressure-filled kick and a pressure-filled rifle shot. They are very similar, as are the feelings when either is missed!

Repetition is the mother of skill. No matter what you do, the more you do it, the better you will succeed at doing it well. When a championship or a long-dreamed-of trophy is on the line, it is a far cry from making the shot at the range or the kick in practice. It may be the only attempt you will ever have, greatly increasing the thrill of success or the heartbreak of failure. And if you hunt long enough, I guarantee that you will experience the disappointment of missing a few shots that you will carry with you for life. I certainly have mine, and frankly, a few still haunt me hard.

I chose this topic for a well-read hunting publication because, within a month of mailing, most of you will be at the SCI Convention booking a hunt that is important to you. You will no doubt be dreaming, as we all do, of that magical moment when everything comes perfectly together and the expense, sweat, effort, and shooting practice pays off. We imagine ourselves kneeling down beside the elephant, bear, buck, or beast of your dreams.

All is wonderful...

By practice, I do not mean the initial sight-in and then four or five shots off a bench at 100yards. The best preparation will involve repeated practice at a variety of distances and mastering a range of shooting positions (shooting sticks, prone, sitting, kneeling, off-hand). Knowing exactly how your rifle and ammo choice will perform at different ranges is the most important step in shooting success. And when that is finally in order, the mental part of the game now comes into play. 

Confidence is born of success. The veteran hunter has been in pressure-filled situations enough times that he knows them for what they are. He knows how to calm his mind and control both breathing and body enough to find that two-second window of complete steadiness before the trigger breaks under his finger. But that success came with a learning curve built on occasional failures. Some of them, like some of mine, made huge and painful impressions that were the springboard into a deep desire to make myself a more accurate shooter. And that goal is never attained without paying the price in time and practice.

Frequent trips to the FTW Ranch\SAAM Shooting School in Barksdale, Texas are my favorite way to hedge my bets against future hunting heartbreak. I use tune-up sessions under the watchful eye of the SAAM instructors to knock off the rust, as well as build my confidence in both by rifle and myself. And if I fall back into a bad shooting habit, and I do have a few, the instructors will catch it and help me correct it in a way that leaves us both smiling.

A bad miss often results in a bad mood, which, to a reasonable extent, is understandable. Frustration, embarrassment, and sometimes full-on despair do not tend to bring out the best in humans. I have seen people instantly start the blame game on others when a shot fails to find the target. "We should have gotten closer, you set the sticks too high, you told me to shoot before I was ready" and on and on. It happens a lot, trust me, and it is not the pathway to respect from the folks being blamed for your failings. In the end, and in every case, the shooter is the one looking through the scope or down the barrel, and our decision on what to shoot, when to shoot, or not shoot at all is completely up to us—to the person squeezing the trigger. We should all try our best to own the results of our efforts, good or bad, without trying to pin the mistake on others.

I have seen days, and even trips ruined due to post-miss moods. I mean, ruined for everyone in camp. It is understandable to feel deep, even painful disappointment. Enduring it as gracefully as you can generally elicits genuine sympathy from campmates, especially from those that have walked in your unhappy boots themselves.

But some folks want to punish the guide, or even family and long-time hunting partners with a non-stop bad mood. I have seen the "if I'm this miserable, we should all be this miserable" performance many times, and in many parts of the world. If the folks in your crosshairs are friends or family they may, because they care about you, put up with it. But if they are just unfortunate strangers unlucky enough to have to share the camp and your enduring black mood, their patience will soon reach a breaking point. I have seen fireworks fly when ‘enough becomes enough.'

I try to write about things I know about, including situations from personal experience on both sides of the aisle, so to speak. I remember missing a tremendous crocodile in Mozambique from about 30 yards (on camera of course) that did not bring out the best in ol' Davey. I was in the river filled with other big crocs, holding onto a piece of Styrofoam I used to float me into position, trying to balance a rifle I had never shot and was zeroed in at 200 yards, trying to figure out where the hell to hold on the golf ball-sized brain as I floated toward damn croc. I missed! Can you believe it? And brother, I wanted that croc!

Everything about the situation was insanity, from the possibility of being eaten by another croc, to every possible shooting consideration. But I shot, I missed, and I was red-hot pissed-off! I felt like a hammer, and the world around me looked like a nail. I sulked, cussed, and was an unfriendly pain in the ass in camp for the afternoon. And I knew it.

But I had no one to blame but Dave, so I gathered myself and produced sincere and deserved apologies all around. In time, it eventually became a good laugh that I still have to replay now and again due to the fact that it was filmed. Two days later, just like the kicker at the beginning of our story, I drilled a game-winning kick, I mean shot, and bagged an even bigger croc that many of you have seen over my fireplace in Ft. Worth.

We will never be perfect, but we can all strive to become proficient. When we miss, as we all will, we must not only come to terms with it, but let it teach us its lessons. That is how we grow as hunters, sportsmen, and women. And, in truth, as conservationists. We owe it to ourselves, and to the game we hunt.