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The Spokesman-Review Newspaper
Spokane, Washington  Est. May 19, 1883

.22 caliber enough for practical fun

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The first major disagreement my husband and I had was about guns.

Specifically, an expensive HK91 assault rifle. As we moved into our tiny apartment, the rifle lay in its glistening black case while Derek looked for a place to put it.

“But, what’s it for?” I asked, knowing he didn’t hunt.

“It’s for shooting,” he said.

When I discovered he could sell the gun for $500, we both knew the rifle’s time in our home was limited. We were attending college full time and working part time and could barely afford our rent.

Derek reluctantly sold his treasure.

Twenty years later, his eyes still grow misty when he talks about that gun.

“You don’t understand,” he sighed. “It’s a guy thing.”

He’s right. Though I live with five males, there are many “guy” things I don’t understand.

But I’d like to. Which is why we spent a recent Saturday morning at the monthly gathering of the Spokane Practical Pistol League.

We met at the Fernan Rod and Gun Club near Coeur d’Alene.

Practical pistol shooting is not traditional target shooting. In fact, its Web site says, “If shooting has an extreme sport, this is it.”

Practical shooting has three components: speed, accuracy and power. Participants compete on obstacle-laden courses called stages.

A standardized scoring system gauges their skill.

League president Mark Carbon said, “All of us are adrenaline junkies.” My idea of an adrenaline rush is getting a double shot of espresso in my morning latte.

But I thought this might be a way to spend time with my husband and assuage the nagging guilt I felt over that stupid assault rifle.

About 30 eager shooters gathered at the gun club. The friendly group was very patient with a beginner like me.

They willingly answered questions, with one notable exception. Apparently, I mortally offended someone when I asked why the targets at one stage were child-size.

“Why would you insinuate we’re shooting at children?” he grumbled. I explained I was referring to the size of the target, but he just shook his head.

They take gun safety very seriously here.

“We’ll fire 3,000 rounds today – each one potentially fatal,” said club treasurer Bill Sahlberg.

I gulped.

“You shoot live rounds?”

I guess I was hoping for rubber bullets.

Soon the air cracked with the staccato of gunfire. One by one, shooters dashed around barriers and fired off rounds at targets made of cardboard or steel.

Sahlberg took me up to the practice range and gave me a course on handgun safety.

“No running with your finger on the trigger,” he admonished. “Always keep your gun pointed down range. Never load your gun in safety areas.”

Finally he placed .22-caliber pistol in my hands. It looked and felt like a toy.

He showed me the rounds in the clip.

“People think, ‘That’s so tiny; it can’t hurt me,’ ” he said. “But this small bullet can do a lot of damage.”“

Once he impressed on me the importance of safety issues, he handed me the gun. The lightweight .22 had a laser site.

“Just look at the red dot and fire,” he instructed.

I donned a pair of very cool safety glasses my husband provided and a pair of decidedly unfashionable orange ear protectors that Sahlberg provided, and I took aim.

When I heard the satisfying ping of my bullet hitting the steel target, I realized this was going to be fun.

“Whoa!” Sahlberg laughed. “You’re a regular Annie Oakley. Why did you shoot so fast?”

They thought I’d take slow, measured shots. Instead, after the first shot, I sped up.

Sahlberg answered his own question.

“You shot quickly because you could. It’s fun, isn’t it?”

Then he handed me a .38-caliber revolver that looked disturbingly like my son’s cap pistol. The wisps of smoke that hung in the air after firing were a nice touch, but I didn’t care for the revolver.

It was heavier, louder and had more kickback than the .22.

Next up was a .38-caliber race gun. It was fun to shoot but way too loud for my taste.

When we rejoined the group at the shooting stages, I asked Carbon what he liked most about this hobby.

“I like the camaraderie and the friends I’ve made,” he said. “I’ve got a desk job, so it’s great to get outside in the woods and the sun.”

For others it’s a hobby to share with the entire family. Three generations of the Schoonmaker family were present.

Becky Schoonmaker was there with her father-in-law, husband and 9-year-old son Ryder. She enjoys the action and the strategy involved as she thinks about each course.

“It’s a fun way to hang out with my family,” she said.

As we drove away with the sound of gunfire echoing in our ears, I said to Derek, “I’d do it again. Do you want to join the league?”

“Nah,” he replied. “What I really want you to try next is cross-country skiing.”

All I can say is thank God it’s April.