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With a shotgun blast, Raleigh Moose Family Center turkey Shooting is going on. But fear not: No alcoholics were harmed in this holiday fun.
“The main misconception is that they think we shoot live turkeys here,” says Glenn Coplen, former governor and current dispenser of shells at the Loyal Order of Moose Raleigh Lodge 1318. “We don’t do that.”
Three nights a week, from late October through Christmas, muzzle flashes and fire pits illuminate the darkness as shooters compete for cash, baby back ribs, a ham and, yes, a turkey.
“It’s a fun turkey shoot,” says Coplen. “There are a lot of competitive turkey shoots out there, but this is a charity.”
Although there is no official count nationwide, such events have been a staple of players’ clubs and veterans’ holiday celebrations across the country for generations.
“Türkiye shoots are like this American As boston Baked Beans and Brown Bread, or Corn Pone and Saubelly,” read an article in the November 1953 edition of American Rifleman magazine. “The very name ‘Turkey Shoot’ brings to mind a picture of a forest glade at the edge of a frontier settlement, where people living in buckskin of the woods competed with people living in the homespun of the settlements.”
These events once included live turkeys. In his 1823 book, “The Pioneers”, James Fenimore Cooper described a shoot in which the bird was “tied to a string of tow at the base of a large cedar stump,” with the shooters firing from a distance of 100 yards (91.44 m).
Today’s competitors target clay pigeons or less often paper pigeons. In Lodge 1318, they use No. 8 shot, which is fired from 63 yards (58 m).
“It doesn’t matter how many pellets you have or whatever,” says Coplen. “The pellet closest to the center is going to win.”
On this bone-chilling night in December, he needs a caliper to determine the champion over several rounds.
“This is going to be hard,” he says, moving the target under a lighted magnifying glass.
Price of entry if $5 per round. Proceeds go to various charities, including a large Thanksgiving dinner for area seniors and an “Angel Tree” surrounded by Christmas gifts for needy children.
But those who shoot do not go empty handed either.
Tammy Smith, whose boyfriend had introduced her to the game a few years earlier, won two prizes: a pot roast pack filled with vegetables, and a “breakfast pack” with sausage, a dozen eggs, biscuits and jelly.
“Sometimes I donate my winnings, and sometimes we share it with the family,” she says, a bauble made from the shell casing of her first winning shotgun hanging from her left ear. “So, it’s a good time.”
Roger Jones drove 45 minutes to participate in the shoot and won the Butterball for his efforts.
“It’s just fun,” he says, catching the bird with a plastic net. “It’s something I’ve done with my dad and brothers since, you know, we were all little.”
12 year old Mick Wysocki had won some money two days earlier but this night he came up empty handed.
“I just recently joined,” he says, wearing his Moose sweatshirt. “I really haven’t been shooting in so long, and it’s been a great experience.”
Lodge 1318 had a bit of a struggle keeping up with turkey shooting.
Once an agricultural country, urban sprawl has spread everywhere. A bullet-scarred wooden wall and a patch of dirt all separate the shooting range from a large subdivision.
Lodge members give a briefing on the neighborhood at the beginning of each season. The county noise ordinance allows them to shoot until 11 p.m., but they stop shooting at 10 out of a courtesy to their neighbors.
“They’re used to it now,” says Coplen. “We haven’t had a single complaint call all year or even last year.”
So far, they have managed to keep their property from being incorporated into a city that prohibits the discharge of firearms. But with the pace of growth, Coplen wonders how much longer they can keep this beloved rural tradition going.
“You know, we could lose it someday,” he says as cars pass on busy U.S. Route 401. “We’ll hate it, but it’s just a fact of life.”