Mounted Shooting

Should these two sport words be placed so closely together?  

Yes, I can travel about mounted on a horse.  Yes, I can shoot a handgun.  

I think back to my initial exposure to mounted shooting.  The summer before, I attended a shooting clinic held at Stagecoach West, a fantastic western store just twenty minutes from my home. Out back they have an arena and have hosted some famous horsemen over the years. This was no exception.  It was a wonderful clinic with drills for our horses and drills for our shooting.  We separated the two skills and then in the end, we put the two back together.  As a newbie, I found my self comfortable and capable.  This is not a feeling that I get very often.  I’m not good at most sports. I’m generally awkward and most definitely uncoordinated, usually.

I really enjoyed the Stagecoach Outriders club, a new chapter of the Cowboy Mounted Shooting Association and I especially enjoyed going to the president’s house for a couple of winter meetings after that first exposure to the sport.  Horse people certainly have a way of making you feel welcome, whether they are quick to give you responsibilities, trust you with their horse and shooting equipment or let you help in the kitchen when cleaning up after snacks, it makes you feel like you are indeed wanted.  That is how I felt.  

After school one night I was even invited to a local barn to attend a practice shoot.  I rushed my fourth graders onto the bus and I hurried home and back with my horse and riding equipment.  We rode patterns with unloaded guns.  My horse had a decent handle and I felt at home trotting and even doing some loping through the patterns.  The hard part for me, and many beginners, is cocking the gun between every shot.  My forearm got very tired, but I felt perfectly successful at this practice and had a ball with the crazy antics of some of the club members. They are a wonderful group of people and invited me back to play broom ball the following month.

Broom ball is kind of like polo.  You have goals on either end of the arena and the object is to get the ball into the opposing team’s net.  Of course you are on horse back.  I decided that my former horse, Pixie Dust, would have been a more suitable mount because she was short and scrappy.  My current mount is tall and thin, which means he’s easily pushed around.  I also had to lean way over to reach the ground with my broom.  I decided that if I came back to play, I would need a longer broom handle.  It was absolutely hilarious trying to get to the ball, my horse was fabulously easy to guide anywhere I wanted to go, but even with the ball in perfect position and no opposition in my way, I could not hit it with my broom.  It was as though my arm was not a part of me.  I would swing, and miss.  Swing and hit my horse. Swing and hit a teammate’s horse.  I stepped out of the way and watched other people play.  Each person was able to make the broom hit the ball.  Every single person could hit the ball except me.  I did feel kind of bad about it, but not completely defeated because I could block my opponent’s shot by placing my horse’s body exactly where I wanted it at precisely the right moment.

Yes, I can travel about mounted on a horse.  Yes, I can shoot a handgun. 

Later that year, when a spring shooting competition came around I decided to go. In preparation for such an opportunity, over the winter I had designed and created a beautiful long dress to wear, because vintage clothing is required for mounted shooting.  I was happy with the way my horse accepted all the flowing material.  I didn’t feel too uncomfortable riding around with the dress blowing in the breeze. It was fun, I felt very western.

When my time comes to shoot, my cousins lend me their holster and guns.  Once again they remind me how to use them safely.  I feel completely confident. I had walked my course on foot, and then went through it again formulating a perfect practice in my mind.   My horse is calm and easy to maneuver and I’ve always been comfortable around guns.  I ride through the gate and get in the start position.  I look up at the pattern in front of me and… nothing.  My mind is blank. I don’t know if I should go left or right.  I can’t figure out which balloons are my first balloons and which are the last balloons to shoot during the run down.  I just sit there. I’m not sure how long I sat there mouth agape, but it was at least until a friend came closer to the fence.  Thinking I was scared she gave me encouraging words.  I turned and looked at her and then sheepishly asked her, “What is the pattern?”

“It’s the same one we practiced.” She sweetly explained.  “You can do it.”

“Can you tell me which way to go?  And which balloons are the run down balloons?” I begged quietly.

As she chuckled and squeezed my forearm she said, "This course is a series of light and dark balloons. Ride over to the half moon, take those ones first and then around the run down barrel where you'll switch to your other gun and finish coming straight back here getting these last targets as you speed home."

I just smiled at her and started down the left side of the arena smoothly cocking, aiming and squeezing the trigger of my borrowed gun hitting all three of my first balloons.  And then I slowed my horse down to a collected trot, looking left and then right.  I looked back at the half moon of balloons, not remembering where she said to go next. Not remembering where my feet had walked.  I trotted my horse to the right and shot across my chest getting those last two balloons in the half moon.  I switched guns and was ready to do my run down.  I found the barrel.  As I get closer to the barrel, I wonder which direction to go.  I can’t remember, but my horse seems to want to go left, so I let him.  We are now on the run down which is supposed to be at a run.  But, I only trot because pulling the hammer on the gun is difficult if I’m going too fast.  Phew!  My run is done.  I wonder how it went.

I turn around and look behind me, and see three balloons still waving in the wind.  How did I miss them?  I don’t remember missing any.  The ring master comes running out, “Do you have unshot cartridges in your gun?” and takes my weapon from me to safely unload the three rounds that I didn’t shoot. I wonder how I have live rounds in my gun. Weird.  And embarrassing.

I leave the arena and Kaylin asks, “Why didn’t you shoot the last three balloons?” 

“Hmmm, I thought that I did.  Whoops.”  I begin to worry if I’ll get in trouble for not shooting all the bullets.  That could be dangerous! But, no one is yelling at me.  These cowboys are real couth.  No scolding over the announcer’s mic.  I’m happy.  That was fun.

“Mom, you looked like you were aiming at the targets, why didn’t you squeeze the trigger?”

“I just don’t know Kaylin.  Really, I didn’t do it on purpose or anything, I just didn’t shoot.  I think I was worried about where to steer the horse and forgot about the gun.  I’m sorry.” I hope I didn't embarrass her.

Yes, I can travel about mounted on a horse.  Yes, I can shoot a handgun. But the two at once prove to be too much thinking, all at once, for me.

I wonder why?