One night—and this was on the phone—Gaby and I spoke for two intense hours, just on tension in my neck to tension in my little finger. Heinz, amused, exasperated, as he listened in, thought we’d gone insane. Even our meals weren’t quiet, an idea emerging, a chair pushed back, a chicken left uneaten, as we leapt into shooting positions and examined them. I was trying to create a robust technique, a confluence of standing, thinking, breathing, holding, sighting, firing that wouldn’t break down. I was making minute changes in equipment, all based on feel. It was an environment I craved, what
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