I grew up with Westerns in the '50s and '60s and really got hooked with the Clint Eastwood movies. I had never owned or fired any gun (parents strictly religious and didn't believe in firearms or hunting or playing cards and a host of other things), but I thought the strapless revolvers with the octagonal barrel looked very cool in the movies, whatever they were. I had no idea that you could buy one until the late '80s when I started thumbing through a Cabela's magazine at a friend's house. When I came across the BP offerings (and there were five or six pages of them available at that time) I stopped stone dead in my tracks. There were all of those old style guns I'd lusted after for all those years; they were Colts and Remingtons and Walkers and they were so cool I wanted all of them. I asked to borrow the mag, and shelled out $65 for the "Confederate Navy" brass-framed .44 from Pietta. When I got it, I spent the first month just drooling over it, then decided I might like to actually fire the thing.
I had no experience at all with firearms, so I went to the local gunshop and asked them if they knew anyone who could help me out. They did, and I found myself ringing up the local BP club in the area. While they were mostly into pre-1850's stuff (trapper re-enactments, etc), the head of the club was into revolvers and invited me over to his shop. When I arrived with my pistol, he went out of his way to get me started out properly. He showed me how to load the pistol, how to clean it, and gave me some shooting tips. He set me up with the correct balls and powder and cleaning supplies, then welcomed me to the BP community. I can't remember his name, now, but he gave me a wonderful introduction to the shooting arts.
I took the gun home (I was living on a farm at the time) and cautiously capped the gun and fired just the caps. That in itself was very cool, and I was surprised at how loud they were. I then screwed up my courage and loaded it up; 25 grains of FFF, a wonder wad, and the ball, all six chambers. I walked an empty milk jug 25 yards out into the field behind the house, then returned and took aim. I hit it with the first shot. The report was amazingly loud, and the smoke cloud smelled like fire and brimstone, and I was immediately hooked. "This is the smell of the real West." I can remember thinking. "The smell of the Civil War and all that history". I fired off five cylinders that day, and immediately made plans to buy more pistols!
I started shooting with BP, and to this day that's all I shoot. Modern guns seem too simple to me (I do have a SAA, though the design is technically still a BP pistol); just not enough fiddling going on with one, if you know what I mean.
Anyway, that's my story, and I'm sticking to it (BP, that is)!