Bowling Can Be Really Fun - Just Add Lots Of Gunpowder

If God has a bowling alley up in heaven, I think I just converted the 7-10 split.

Forget softball, fishing, yakking on the Internet or any other activity you may consider worthy of your time.

Boooooring. If you want a real bang out of life, try blasting a bowling ball 1,400 feet into the sky.

I did just that at the Frontier Regulars’ Fourth-Annual Artillery Meet at the Fernan Rod and Gun Club near Coeur d’Alene.

The Regulars are a band of history-lovin’ dudes who preserve the military esprit de corps of yore. On occasion, they dress in vintage uniforms and carry vintage sabers the way vintage soldiers did back when the Pony Express took weeks to deliver an L.L. Bean catalog.

Enough history for today, class. Now for the exciting part: They have cannons.

Howitzers, ordnance rifles, parrot rifles, mortars. … Kurrrr-BLEWY!!

Crazoid militia loons and G. Gordon Liddy’s listeners want Americans to think the government is out to take away their constitutional rights.

But if you ask me, the country must be pretty damned free if a guy named Rocky can drive down the interstate towing an 850-pound siege cannon.

“Cannons to me are like golf to somebody else,” says Rocky Watson, who hauls his big black boomer on a custom yellow trailer.

Rocky is a former Kootenai County sheriff, so he’s used to being considered a big shot. About 15 years ago, the man went completely bonkers and took up a strange hobby: shooting cannons from the cedar deck of his home.

Go ahead and think what you want, but Rocky’s never had a problem with prowlers.

His first cannon fired concrete-filled juice cans. The latest is this monstrosity created from 1849 military plans he got from the Smithsonian Institution in Washington, D.C.

Its 5-inch barrel was cut from a giant steel gun that once defended a Navy battleship. About a half-pound of black gunpowder is required to set off this thing.

When it speaks, trust me, the earth quakes. “I’m always looking for a bigger, better bang,” says Rocky, grinning.

He’s in good company. Bill McKenna brought his smaller cannons to the artillery meet, along with a 20mm gun that came out of a Navy F-14 fighter jet.

Jim Gunter fired his replica of an 1841 mountain howitzer. Bud Budinger brought a pint-sized brass cannon he had paid $600 for. “It’s not every day you find a cannon at a garage sale,” he observes.

The cannoneers, as they call themselves, are quirky folks. Many of them read my column, which is why I think they kept telling me to go down the range for a more intimate view of the incoming artillery.

But of all the diabolical weaponry, nothing beats the power and spare-making simplicity of the bowling-ball mortar.

The mortars are squat tubes of steel made to fit a 4-ounce powder charge and one thrift-store bowling ball. The projectile I launched was a blue marbled Columbia with the name “Norma” etched on it.

You can’t imagine the thrill of lighting the fuse and running for cover. With a Godzillalike roar, the space orb Norma rocketed into the stratosphere.

Eventually it descended, whistling like a loud flock of wounded geese. Sometimes Rocky drills extra holes in the balls to enhance the eerie whistling effect.

No doubt about it, this is the absolute best use of a bowling ball. Plus you don’t have to wear borrowed shoes or those stupid polyester shirts.

Unfortunately, not everyone gets the same charge out of a flame-spewing cannon. My lovely wife, Sherry, for example, took in the pyrotechnics but was unmoved.

“Sorry, honey, but this is definitely one of those guy things,” she tells me. “Men. You’re always more interested in your big powerful cannons than anything else.”

Message to Norma: If you want your ball back, I’d start digging into the ground about seven miles east of Fernan Lake.

, DataTimes ILLUSTRATION: Color photo

The following fields overflowed: CREDIT = Doug Clark The Spokesman-Review