June 28, 2003

HERE's A NEW COWBOY CLUB up in the mountains of western North Carolina, the High Country Cowboys. It's my new home club, and not only is it a right pretty place to shoot a match, but the folks are a fun bunch to shoot with. In fact, most of 'em shoot black powder, which is right up my alley. Keeps the bugs away, too!

I missed the club's inaugural match, even though I tried my best to get there. I made the mistake of driving my little Miata convertible. Now, when I say the match is held in kind of an out-of-the way place, I'm not kidding. It's almost on the Tennessee border, probably a good 45-minute drive north of Asheville, with most of that time spent on a very pretty, but very twisty mountain backroad. It's the last, oh, quarter mile that got me, though. The dirt road to the range is a little rough, and there's a small creek to ford. A "normal" car could make it, and any kind of truck or SUV would have no trouble at all, but it'd been raining the previous day and I wasn't about to drive my low-slung Miata into that water. Not knowing that the range was just a few hundred feet beyond the creek, I turned around and headed back home. I enjoyed the drive, since the Miata was made for twisty mountain roads.

This time, I took the truck, and made it to the range.

The range is laid out very similarly to the one that the Gunpowder Creek Regulators use in Lenoir, set in a flat area and shooting into the side of a mountain. The previously mentioned creek flows alongside the road just behind the stages, and makes for a soothing background noise. The false-fronts on our stages aren't quite as elaborate as the ones in Lenoir, but they look great for a club that just started. And they're more than many clubs have. It certainly enhances the Spirit of the Game for the match.

There were ten shooters and about as many onlookers for this match, which made for a nice, casual, friendly shoot.

We started the morning with a derringer side match. I don't have a derringer (though I certainly would like one!) and have never even fired one, so I was somewhat hesitant about taking part. Catfish Calhoun offered to let me use his derringer, and I figured "What the heck?"

A playing card ace was tacked to a sheet of wood about 8 feet away, and whomever shot closest to the center of the card won. The gun Catfish handed me was bigger than I figured -- I was expecting the prototypical little Remington over-under gun -- and I can't remember what caliber it was, .32 or .38 or what. Anyway, the barrels on it were about 4 inches long, and there were no sights to speak of. The action was brutally stiff, and I needed to use both hands to even pull the trigger. Needless to say, I came nowhere near even hitting the card, much less the center. Catfish was obviously used to the thing, but he was edged out by Undertaker, and ended up in 2nd place.

With that over, we began the main match.

Stage One: The Pony Express
I was walking into the dispatch office to pick up a letter from my brother Peter back East when, from out of nowhere, I was rushed by a gang of steely-eyed thugs. I drew my trusty .44 with my left hand and alternated five shots on a pair of the varmints, then holstered the empty revolver. Three of 'em were trying to outflank me uprange, so I grabbed the Winchester and let fly with nine rounds, sweeping the trio three times. Meanwhile, two rascals thought they'd sneak up on me while I was occupied with my rifle shooting, but I nailed each with a blast from the shotgun, leaving the biggest of the bunch right in front of me. I jerked my pistol and went to work, pumping five slugs into the one remaining target. Just when I thought it was over, I spied a coyote way up yonder. I picked up the empty rifle, shoved a cartridge in the chamber and dinged him for a 10-second bonus. Whew!

Stage Two: On the Fence
After the hectic events that had just transpired, I needed a little rest, so I leaned myself up against a handy fence. Evidently, those boys I just perforated had a few more friends around, and they were none too happy with me. Before they could ask me to join their buddies, I slapped leather and used my gun, firing five shots onto three targets in a Nevada sweep, starting on the left. When I'd emptied the first revolver, I drew the other one and reversed direction, starting on the right swept the three targets again, Nevada-style. Four more rascals were up the hill a ways, so I used the carbine on them -- 10 rounds in a Nevada sweep, but I missed once. There were two more targets left, and I hit those with my shotgun, twice each, going right to left. At this point, I thought it might be a good idea if I left town.

Stage Three: Make Yer Play
It was not to be; before I could saddle up and ride, a mob came down the street, and they didn't look too friendly. They wouldn't string me up without a fight! I put five pistol rounds onto three targets in a Nevada sweep, switched to my rifle and triple-tapped each of three more. Another three targets took five more rounds from my remaining revolver (also a Nevada sweep) and after my shotgun roared four times, they decided that I could leave after all.

Stage Four: You Done In There?
As I rode out of town, I saw one of the men who'd jumped me earlier duck into an outhouse, so I dismounted and carefully walked up to the privy, calling out "You done in there?" as I jerked open the door. Imagine my surprise when I saw he'd jumped out the big window in the rear of the outhouse and had joined a few of his partners. I was trapped in the two-holer, and wasn't happy about it. The three closest varmints came at me, so I pulled my .44 and alternated five shots on two of 'em, holstered the empty gun and used the other one to dump all of the next five slugs into the remaining target. That bought me enough time to step from the outhouse and grab my rifle off the nearby hay bale. Three targets were closest, and I put 9 rounds onto them in a Nevada sweep. The last one was small and far off, but I put the last round from the Winchester on him for a 5-second bonus.

Stage Five: Snakes Alive!
By this time, I'd pretty much had it with this part of the territory and was glad to be out in the open again. I'd just set down to sip some coffee when I heard the telltale buzz of a rattlesnake. A bunch of 'em! There in the sand not 15 yards away were three vipers that looked a lot like short lengths of green garden hose, but they were deadly killers and I wasn't taking any chances. I had to grab my shotgun fast and blast those hoses -- er, snakes -- out of the sand box, or else. This was a new experience for me, but not unlike hitting a golf ball out of a sand trap. The trick was to aim just in front of them, and that would toss the snakes from the sand. It took me six shots to rid the sandbox of the reptiles, and I thought I was safe -- but no! There in the brush, a long way up the side of the mountain, was the huge dreaded Steel Albino Rattler -- the King Daddy of Snakes! Well, I wasn't going to charge up there with the shotgun, so I picked up the Winchester, shoved a cartridge in the chamber and put a bullet in him -- earning me a 5-second bonus for my trouble.

This was a really fun shoot, and here are the numbers:

A visiting shooter from Greenville, TN named Ringer won the Traditional class and the overall match Top Gun. Calamity Cricket was the Ladies' winner, Undertaker won the Frontier Cartridge class, Catfish was the Classic Cowboy winner, and I won Duelist (shooting black powder). It's easy to win your class when you're the only one in it! ;-)