Bucks on Target
Bucks mission brief
Bucks on Target opens on a private range session: twenty-five clay targets each, hosted from the first shot so even total beginners look the part by the last. From there it's straight into a reserved table at a multi-level bar, the Buck handed the first jug before anyone else sits down. Another reserved stop follows for the feed: burger, parm or pizza, a drink each, and a second one landing just for the Buck. It closes on a nightclub balcony over the water with its own beer garden, VIP treatment holding at every stop along the way.
Game Plan
$399.00 per person, based on 6 attendees.
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All of your package customisations will show up right here!Bucks on Target starts with something sharper than the usual pub crawl: a private session on our range booked out for one crew only, twenty-five clay targets each, and a scoreboard nobody agreed to but everybody's suddenly defending like it matters. Four stops, one afternoon rolling straight into one proper night, and the Buck sitting dead centre of every single one of them.
Nobody's on the phone trying to find a range that'll actually take a group booking with no notice, and nobody's stood on a footpath afterwards googling which bar in the city's still got room for a dozen blokes in matching thongs. That part's already handled, which leaves exactly one decision for the day: who's shouting the first round of grief once the shooting starts.
The host runs the group through stance and grip before anyone's near a live round, so even the bloke who's never held anything heavier than a TV remote looks half-competent by his third or fourth shot. Twenty-five targets each, gear sorted before anyone arrives, the crack of every shot mixing with the smell of spent shells and someone getting reminded, loudly, that he just missed one by a mile. By the last shot the group's stopped being polite about it, and the Buck's copping more grief for a wide miss than anyone else on the range, which is exactly how his last weekend as a free man should go.
Guns still warm, the crew's straight through the door of our multi-level bar, built for exactly this kind of afternoon. Reserved seating's already waiting, nobody's hovering near the bar working out shout order, and before the group's properly sat down the Buck's got a full jug in his hand and eleven blokes telling him to get it down. It's the kind of arrival that sets the whole tone for what's coming.
From there it's onto our second reserved table, this time for the serious business of feeding a dozen hungry men properly. Burger, parm or pizza, whichever way the table splits, a drink landing in every hand at once, and the Buck finding a second one next to his because apparently turning into a married man earns you two drinks for the price of one. Nobody's waiting on food, nobody's short a seat, and the only real argument at the table is who actually finished first.
The last stop comes with the view: our nightclub with its own beer garden balcony hanging right over the water, reserved seats waiting, and a jug already on the table before the group's fully through the door. The Buck gets his own beer stacked on top of that, because by the fourth stop of the day he's earned the extra pour more than anyone standing next to him. The cocktail list here is the good one, discounted for the group, for whoever's decided beer's done its job for the night.
Somewhere around that third jug, one of the boys is going to turn around and ask how the hell this whole thing came together without a single argument in the group chat. You don't have to explain the range booking, the three reserved tables, or the fact that every stop was locked in weeks before anyone else even thought to ask. You just let him assume you've had it handled the whole time, because from where he's standing, you clearly have.
Our range hands that exact private session to one crew a day, full stop, which makes checking your date the only way to find out if today's the one still open.