At the Tru-Juice orchard grounds in Bog Walk, St. Catherine, where the river runs close and the air hangs heavy with heat, two names stood quietly apart from the noise: Ray and Aliana McMaster.
They didn’t arrive with fanfare, and they certainly weren’t the loudest in the crowd of over 130 shooters gathered for the Rangers Gun Club’s annual Sporting Clays Classic on May 4. But by day’s end, they owned the quietest kind of dominance — the kind earned through preparation, patience, and deep, personal pride.
A Steady Hand, A Silent Storm
Ray, the father, wasn’t watching the leaderboard. He was focused on his rhythm. He moved from station to station like a man checking off a list he’d rehearsed in his head a thousand times. By the time his final shell was spent, he had dropped only five targets. A 95. That number meant nothing to him until it became official.
He stayed composed, waiting — watching scores go up. Some might call it humility. Others might say it’s the mark of a man who respects the game too much to celebrate early.
When it was clear he had won it all, his calm cracked into a rare grin. But it wasn’t the trophy that made him glow — it was knowing his daughter had won too.
Aliana’s Quiet Edge
Aliana doesn’t care much for stats. She doesn’t shoot to outdo anyone but herself.
“I don’t chase titles,” she said. “I just keep chasing peace.”
Her score of 90 made her the Ladies and Junior champion yet again. But what’s more impressive is that she did it with the kind of grace that only comes from loving the process more than the podium.
She wasn’t even squadded with her father this time — a rare occurrence. But that made their dual wins feel even more symbolic. They had each walked their own course, faced their own stations, and still ended up side by side at the top.
More Than a Scoreboard
While the shoot-offs and bonus stations entertained the crowd, and the BBQ prizes changed hands, what stuck with most people wasn’t the competition — it was the image of a father and daughter embracing with dust on their boots and smiles only they truly understood.
They weren’t trying to impress anyone. They were simply proving, in their own quiet way, that legacy isn’t built on noise. It’s built in the small, repeated moments of excellence.
And on this particular Sunday, in the heart of St. Catherine, two McMasters reminded us what that looks like.
Giving Back
Part of the day’s proceeds supported Food For the Poor — an echo of the event’s deeper purpose: community.
As for the McMasters, they’ll likely return home, clean their gear, and be back on the range before long. Not for the glory. For the love of the shot.
