Originally Posted by
seedsbelize2
I used to get together with the guys, quarterly. Out at the cabin, anything goes. I walk up the hill and into camp and there is a small group skipping stones, trying to hit the plastic flamingo on the island. I set down my cooler, pick up a stone and wing it. One skip and dead center. Shrug my shoulders, pick up my cooler and walk on in the rest of the way. There were some dropped jaws behind me.
The creek that runs by the town I grew up in, where I often played as a ute, has a couple spots where the creek makes a slight turn, and the rock pile up on the outside of the curve. Lots of good skipping stones. Our goal was always to make them *skip..........skip....skip..skip.skipskipskipskipskimmmmmm* before sinking. For those you had to throw low and put a lot of spin on them. And it helped to skip them across a fairly smooth pool, because with turbulence they'd often bounce up and just skip once before hitting the other bank.