Where it All Started

I think it was around my seventh birthday when I received the first step along the journey that became my lifestyle. Truly it most likely started much earlier, but the tangible moment I can remember that started my interest in firearms was when I was handed a Daisy Red Ryder BB gun. Any of you familiar with A Christmas Story are at least familiar with the  Daisy, and no, I did not shoot my eye out. Then again, I wasn’t just handed the rifle and told to go play in the snow. Rather, one of my personal heroes showed me how to handle it safely: My Dad. Dad spent hours with me just that day showing me how to handle the rifle, how to aim the rifle, how to pack a box full of newspapers in order to keep the BBs from blowing through the flimsy cardboard and into something I wasn’t willing to destroy. From that first BB gun, I was hooked. I shot targets constantly, no matter what the weather, always observing the safety rules Dad taught me. Eventually I started terrorizing the Sparrows and Blackbirds in my backyard, and the chipmunks in my Grandparent’s lawn. Never once did I have an accident with the Red Ryder that I remember, because my Dad showed me how to handle this tool in the proper manner, using the fundamentals of marksmanship that would follow me for the rest of my life.

My family hunted a lot, and Dad would take us all over Minnesota chasing Ducks, Geese, Grouse, Deer, and Pheasants. That little Daisy air gun was never out of my grasp on any of those trips, until I was able to handle a bigger, more effective tool.

The deal with my parents was that when I turned ten, I would be allowed to purchase a shotgun. My parents would pay for half of it, but I had to save up the rest. I saved my allowance, did odd chores to raise even more, and eventually was sitting at the dinner table giving my parents every last penny I had earned for the next step. A Remington Youth Express Magnum 20 Gauge shotgun. With that shotgun, the love affair with hunting and the shooting sports really took off. I hunted every opportunity I had. I also discovered what would become arguably my best sport: Trap shooting.

For those of you who don’t recognize the term, Trap Shooting is a sport where you use a shotgun and shoot at five clay pigeons at five different stations. For the most part, the clay pigeons fly out directly in front of you, with varying angles. It’s not quite as complicated as its kindred sports, Skeet and Sporting Clays, and it really isn’t all that physically challenging, if all you shoot is a round or two of 25. The sport is much more mentally challenging, requiring a steady mind as well as steady hand.

Trap was the next stage in my love affair with the shooting sports. I was always an instinctively good shot, but Trap honed those natural instincts into actual skills. Not only did Trap hone my shooting skills, it also honed my capabilities as a leader, and helped me learn how to keep a level head in the face of extreme frustration or extreme elation. If you haven’t been there, you’re just going to have to trust me when I say that there are few things as exciting as watching a clay pigeon turn to dust from a well aimed shot, and fewer are more frustrating than watching one fly away unscathed, turning your perfect score of 25 into a 24. It takes a calm head to focus on one shot at a time, and to not dwell on the misses.

I no longer shoot nearly as much Trap as I did then. I wish I still did, and relish every opportunity that I have to shoot clays again. Especially when I get to share the experience with a group of friends. Instead of organized Trap or Skeet, these days I focus mostly on United States Practical Shooting Association (USPSA), which is known internationally as International Practical Shooting Confederation (IPSC, often pronounced as Ip-sick). USPSA is, as its name suggests, a shooting sport that is focused on practical shooting and obtaining a combination of speed and accuracy. While handguns have been the primary focus of USPSA and IPSC matches, so called “tactical” rifle and shotgun matches have rapidly gained traction. I’m not very good at it, yet. It takes a bit to admit that I have a lot of room for improvement as a former amateur national competitor in Trap. This challenge is what makes the sport fun for me, I actually like the room I have to grow in the sport. It’s especially encouraging because there are guys out there well into their 60’s and 70’s who are still out there, not only competing, but winning.

As exciting as dusting clays can be, as heart pounding and exhilarating it is to try to best your own scores on a USPSA stage, it does not compare to thrill of the hunt. Hunting truly is the reason I began my journey with guns, and I find myself reminiscing about hunting much more often. There is something about the still air, heavy with pine needles and fallen leaves while being suspended sixteen feet in the air, lashed to a tree, trying to remain as still as possible while you wait for the deer of your lifetime to pass by. And there is something about the pungent and unmistakable smell of duck hunting slough and wet dog, while you crouch, surely in leaking waders and up to your waist in muck, trying to coax a flock of Mallards into your decoys. Personally, I don’t care who you are, but if the sound of a Pheasant exploding into the air from in front of your dog does not get your heart pumping, you need to get your heart checked out.

Throughout my life, some of my best times have been spent behind a gun of some type. My best friends have often been hunting buddies. Some of the best conversations I have ever had were while I was hunting. I learned who I was in a tree stand in the woods outside of a Northern Minnesotan town called Nimrod, and I started learning who I was going to become behind an M16 in Colorado Springs. To think that it all started with a Daisy Red Ryder around my seventh birthday.