I've never been on a real
roller-coaster. I imagine the experience to be similar to my weekend
at the Lone Pine Rangers and OMSA state shoots in Prineville Oregon.
A lot of ups....a lot of downs. A few thrills and a few moments of
terror here and there.
The Lone Pine Rangers held
their annual Father's Day shoot in conjunction with the OMSA Oregon
State Shoot at the Lone Pine Arena in Prineville Oregon; one of my
favorite places to shoot or just hang out. I had dropped Drifter off
with Lauman Training a month prior for a tune-up and would pick him
up after the shoot.
Time and money
restrictions have prevented me from traveling to CMSA shoots this
year. I try to stick with local Jackpots and events within a 100 mile
radius....which is pretty easy to do in Arizona. Not so much in the
PNW. Since I'd be traveling to pick up Drifter anyway, I was thrilled
to be making the Lone Pine Shoot.
We had a full SL3 class
for the Lone Pine Rangers shoot on Friday. I needed one more
qualified win for a move-up to SL4 – open division. I will admit
the word “sand-bagging” entered my thought process...it didn't
exactly linger there....but it did make an appearance. A win on
Friday meant I'd be shooting with the SL4's at the Oregon State Shoot
Saturday and Sunday. There are no guarantee's in life (other than
taxes and death) – and certainly not in mounted shooting. I would
not go out a sand-bagger. Jack deserves better and frankly, so do I.
I'd try my best and let the balloons pop as they will.
I really like the gals in
my SL3 class. They are fun, supporting and encouraging. Lynn L
especially pushes me to do better. “You CAN shoot that fast...let
him run!” We usually run fairly close raw times with Lynn
outrunning me more times than I her. Friday proved not to be her
shoot – she missed a balloon...I shot clean and had my last
qualified win as a SL3.
The move up dance: The
single most terrifying occurrence for any introverted mounted shooter
about to advance to the next level. I don't dance. I don't sing. I
don't hum...not even driving down the road in my truck all alone. I
have my Dave Stamey CD's for the musical aspect of road trips. I am
essentially talent free. I would say I do posses some skills. I am
weirdly mechanical for a girl who never took shop. I can fix stuff
that needs fix'in. I make a pretty good pie and at age 10 I could
break down and reassemble a mini-14 blind folded. But talent? Not a
drop.
I swear I stressed more
over the inevitable move up dance than I did shooting against the
SL4's. On top of that...I wasn't going to be able to just get it over
with Friday night after the shoot because awards were to be combined
for both shoots Sunday after the State Shoot. Fabulous. Oh well – I
had two days to figure something out. Damn it - if I can put together
a semi-automatic with my eyes closed...surely I can figure out how to
do a two step...or a dosey-doe...or whatever the hell they call such
sadistic maneuvers.
Shooting with the SL4
class was oddly stress free. I figured there was no way I would place
in the money. We only had 3 people in the class and second doesn't
pay. I'd go out there – have some fun and just go for it. Not
having anything to lose can be liberating.
The end of the first days
3 stages found me winning the class by 4 seconds. Nicole S. , the gal
closest to me, was outrunning me by an average of almost 2 seconds
but missed two balloons. I actually had a chance. Liberation exited
the building as stress entered. Nicole rarely misses a balloon and I
was fairly confident she wouldn't miss another one on the last two
stages. I stuck with my original strategy to simply go for it. I'd
rather give it my all and miss a balloon than safety-up and still get
out-run.
Jack had been stellar all
weekend. He was calm, cool and never took a wrong turn. We had picked
up a little speed and I had no trouble shooting my balloons. The last
two stages were right up our ally. Big, loopy patterns without turns
or roll backs. I said my usual little prayer before each run: “Dear
God...I pray for a smooth, clean and safe run for myself, fellow
shooters and horses. I pray for a run I can feel good about no matter
the outcome. AMEN”
Maybe we didn't warm up
enough. Maybe it was colder that morning...or maybe Jack was just
done being in an arena. We made our tight send-off circle ready to
pick up some speed. I drew my random pistol and killed the first
balloon. The rest is a bit fuzzy. Jack planted his front feet and
went to bogging. It wasn't a major bronc ride by any means and he's
bucked a whole lot harder in the past. I could feel him wanting to
get with it if I didn't bring his head around. I needed both hands to
keep the situation from escalating and ending up in the dirt. I was
already hammered and ready to shoot. I attempted to de-hammer and
re-holster the same time he slammed his front feet in the ground. I
heard the gun go off but figured I'd shot into my holster. I got him
somewhat under-control – re-drew my pistol and commenced to shoot
the random pattern. I re-drew my second pistol for the last five and
could feel him start to coil again. I shot a couple rounds just so he
wasn't getting away with anything and exited with a 60 and an
expression of WTF just happened?
We exited the arena at the
unloading bucket to empty my brass. Fellow shooter and friend, Dan
Littlefield, magically appears and is pulling off my holsters and
asking questions I didn't yet comprehend. This must be how the fancy
people feel who have stable hands to warm up, tack up and all but
actually ride their horses for them. “Sure...I'm fine, a little
embarrassed but at least I didn't fall off!” Dan points at my left
arm: “You shot yourself, dumb-ass.” I'm sure he didn't really say
“dumb-ass” - but you sure feel like one when you look down and
realize you just shot yourself in front of 50 people.
I suppose a normal persons
thought process when gaping at a smoldering hole in their favorite
button down Wrangler shirt and charred, bloody forearm would be to
seek medical attention. It is apparent by this stage in my life that
I seldom possess such normalcy... “Ah HA!....I bet I can use this
little mishap to get out of that stupid move up dance!”
Second thought: “Holy
mother of pearl this burns!” It's the burn that keeps on burning.
Dan again magically appears with a first aid kit and zip-lock bag of
ice. He wiped it down with antiseptic wipes, wrapped it in loose
gauze and secured the ice pack against my arm with vet-wrap. Good to
go....
They start with the higher
numbers at CMSA shoots in the PNW. Starting with the 6's on down to
the 1's. With under 50 shooters – I was 8th out. I was
out of the match even if Nicole dropped her guns and fell off her
horse. There was no point to run my last stage other than I felt I
needed to for my own confidence (suck it up and get back on that
horse – cowgirl) and I didn't want Jack to get away with ending a
shoot thinking he could avoid being in an arena by attempting to dump
my butt in the middle of it.
Putting on holsters one
armed proved more difficult than one might think. I could get them on
but was struggling with cinching them down. I still had to bridle,
get ear plugs back in Jack and I”m pretty sure my hat was on
backwards. I was wrestling with the whole process when, as if Heaven
sent – appears nurse Cayenne Pepper. I believe her name is actually
spelled “Kyanne” but I couldn't for the life of me remember it
until she told me it was pronounced Cayenne...like the pepper.
Nurse pepper and another
friend and fellow shooter, Christa P Daniels, gathered what vet
supplies they had between them and I followed Nurse pepper to her
make-shift horse trailer turned ER.
Christa handed Nurse
Pepper an antiseptic infused foam scrubber with soft silicone
bristles. The term “soft” can be relative in certain situations.
“Your gonna scrub it with that thing?” Nurse Pepper: “Yes
Ma'am...we need to get as much of the gun powder out as we can. Burns
infect easily. Once we get it cleaned up – I'll put a topical
numbing agent on it to help with the pain.” Again...I might not
think the same as most folks and I'm certainly no medical
professional: “Hey...I have an idea...can't we put the numbing
stuff on BEFORE you go scrubbing on it?” Nurse Pepper explained
that it wouldn't do any good and commenced to apologize repeatedly as
she scrubbed the wound clean. To my own credit – I managed to
keep the swearing to a minimum and my arm still. The only things
twitching and jerking around was my feet. Ah HA...perhaps I can
incorporate this twitching and jerking into the dreaded move up dance
should it occur!” When life
gives you lemons....
I
was not at all disappointed that I didn't have time to reload before
the last stage. I would lope the pattern without guns and take
another 60. Jack did not want to get in the arena and I could feel
him tense when we passed the first balloon – but we managed to exit
the arena without incident.
The
burning progressed as the day went on but as Grandma would say: “It's
a long ways from your heart. Deal with it.” I probably won't die
and if it gets me out of the move up dance...it will all be worth it!
It
did not get me out of the move up dance. As several of my fellow
shooters pointed out: “You didn't shoot yourself in the foot, did
you?” I sucked it up and managed the most awkwardly lame move up
dance in the history of mounted shooting. Lone Pine Rangers
president, Stew Butts, relinquished my check and dismissed me to my
seat.
I
spent that night trying to reason out what Jack's issue was. He
hadn't really blown up on me in 13 years. Was he in pain? Possibly. I
took him to Tanner Lauman for body work. He was out in multiple
places that could have caused him to react as he did. Maybe I didn't
warm him up enough for as cold as it was. Maybe it was just Sunday
morning and he was over being an arena horse. Jack is not an arena
horse and frankly, it's not my favorite place to be either. It's possible that by the last two
stages he was simply done with it: “Human...I've got you to the
level you wanted to achieve. I am cold, sore and over this balloon
killing BS. It is time to deposit your ass in this arena and get back
to the mountains where we belong. Shooting yourself in the
arm....that's on you, dumb-ass!”
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