A long long time ago (1960) in a galaxy far far away (a suburb of New Orleans) I was a 16 year old who had acquired and learned to shoot a 20 GA Belgian made double caplock. My favorite after school activity was to go the the batture of the Mississippi river just upstream of the Huey P. Long bridge and about a quarter mile from home to wingshoot the blackbirds that would fly from the grain elevator across the river to roost in the willows on my side of the river.
One evening a State Trooper approached me as I was shooting. He said he received a report that someone was shooting near the levee. When he noticed what I was holding he asked "what the heck is that". I showed him the gun and the loading procedure. After he knocked down two blackbirds in a row we ended up using all of the powder I had on hand - taking turns to shoot. Then, with sincere regret he said, "Son, I'm sorry, but you can't shoot here anymore." Damn, I missed those evenings.