Winchester 73
member
Brit goes to an American Range for the first time.Finds it scary and exciting.
Home on the range
Saptarshi Ray
January 31, 2008 6:00 PM
http://commentisfree.guardian.co.uk/saptarshi_ray/2008/01/home_on_the_range.html
It is difficult to spend a single day in America without encountering the subject of guns, the laws that govern them or the people that are so pro or anti their use.
Whether it is a TV report of a shooting or a deconstruction of the second amendment of the US constitution, it is hard to escape the topic. The right to bear arms always struck me as a baseless argument. Despite the fact that shooting is a hobby and that the majority of gun enthusiasts are a law-abiding bunch, the fact that a potentially psychotic person could land their hands on a firearm with relative ease seemed a consequence above and beyond the question of personal choice.
But then I did something stupid. I actually went to a gun range. And I had a good time. This is not a "how I went to America and came to love guns" type proclamation. Instead it is an acknowledgement that the argument is far more complex than I believed.
After some American friends invited me to a gun range - the National Rifle Association one no less - I was excited. Surely I would see some of those nutters. You know, those ones, the ones with hats with flaps and brown teeth and patches saying things like Neighbourhood Militia or something humorous and terrifying in equal measure.
In truth, most of the people there were sober, average-looking, hat-deficient, normal people, and none of them were wiping away drool as they shrieked "from my cold dead hands". I was almost disappointed, almost, until a one-man vigilante death squad turned up in the booth next to ours and made me laugh and cower in unreconstructed horror simultaneously. But more about him later.
The first thing you have to do as a newcomer to the NRA gun range is take a written test, consisting of about 20 multiple choice or true or false answers. I was worried about this, as my sole gun-related experience prior to this was clay pigeon shooting on a stag do in Glasgow - where I was so over-excited I blew both barrels of my shotgun on the very first pigeon. But my anxieties were misplaced, as the answers were on the back of the test - yes, as in you can look at the answers before you tackle the question. And even then, I needn't have worried, as anything you get wrong is simply corrected by one of the range marshals before he hands you your pass. It is fair to say that it is not in the NRA's interest to turn you away from their range.
So once I had "passed" my test, we entered the range itself, which was loud and scary and exhilarating. Armed marshals patrolled the back, with holstered weapons, while everyone just kind of got on with it. The old adage that everyone in London trusts complete strangers with their lives every day as they wait on tube platforms seems ludicrously quaint when you are in a room full of strangers armed to the teeth and firing guns really loudly a few feet away from your face.
In fairness, safety is the main issue you are tasked to remember when you enter the range. As two first-time shooters, my friend Lou and I were in the capable hands of our buddies Scott and Justin - two regulars at the range. Scott, a former navy man and current reservist, was an excellent teacher, instructing us exactly how and where to hold each gun, showing us how to load and telling us how much the gun would kick. Justin meanwhile picked up a 12-gauge Remington shotgun and blew the target next to us to smithereens ... before then becoming an equally excellent instructor with his selection of weapons.
I am still deeply uneasy over the question of gun ownership. I still cannot see how if they all disappeared tomorrow, America would be a worse place. I am very glad we are on the whole an unarmed society in Britain. All I know is that, in reality, Americans are going to want to shoot guns, and the majority of them seem to want to do it in a safe and controlled environment. I have no doubt there are feckless, irresponsible and malicious gun owners out there, but I am glad there are ones like Justin and Scott, and the NRA staff, who were patient and courteous. The organisation could really do with a new figurehead who is more like the marshals or people at the range, than someone who is clearly mad with the crazy like Charlton Heston.
The truth is I can never see myself being pro-guns, but I am enough of a realist to see America is too drenched in the culture to come out of it overnight. I can see that a ban could do more harm than good. Frankly the thought of unregulated, black-market gun shows and ranges - whether they already exist or not - scares me even more.
Anyway, back to the man in the booth next door. Upon entering he set the target thingy to the flip setting (as you can see I really mastered the lingo) and kept muttering things to himself while performing commando rolls, sitting in a lotus position, writhing around like a drowning snake and drawing his gun from his holster and firing in various directions. He then proceeded to do press ups - press ups! - in the booth before holding a bag of sand in one hand and continuing to fire with the other. We nicknamed him "Death Wish". He was weird. He was preparing for something. Whatever it is, I hope it happens at a gun range rather than the street.
Home on the range
Saptarshi Ray
January 31, 2008 6:00 PM
http://commentisfree.guardian.co.uk/saptarshi_ray/2008/01/home_on_the_range.html
It is difficult to spend a single day in America without encountering the subject of guns, the laws that govern them or the people that are so pro or anti their use.
Whether it is a TV report of a shooting or a deconstruction of the second amendment of the US constitution, it is hard to escape the topic. The right to bear arms always struck me as a baseless argument. Despite the fact that shooting is a hobby and that the majority of gun enthusiasts are a law-abiding bunch, the fact that a potentially psychotic person could land their hands on a firearm with relative ease seemed a consequence above and beyond the question of personal choice.
But then I did something stupid. I actually went to a gun range. And I had a good time. This is not a "how I went to America and came to love guns" type proclamation. Instead it is an acknowledgement that the argument is far more complex than I believed.
After some American friends invited me to a gun range - the National Rifle Association one no less - I was excited. Surely I would see some of those nutters. You know, those ones, the ones with hats with flaps and brown teeth and patches saying things like Neighbourhood Militia or something humorous and terrifying in equal measure.
In truth, most of the people there were sober, average-looking, hat-deficient, normal people, and none of them were wiping away drool as they shrieked "from my cold dead hands". I was almost disappointed, almost, until a one-man vigilante death squad turned up in the booth next to ours and made me laugh and cower in unreconstructed horror simultaneously. But more about him later.
The first thing you have to do as a newcomer to the NRA gun range is take a written test, consisting of about 20 multiple choice or true or false answers. I was worried about this, as my sole gun-related experience prior to this was clay pigeon shooting on a stag do in Glasgow - where I was so over-excited I blew both barrels of my shotgun on the very first pigeon. But my anxieties were misplaced, as the answers were on the back of the test - yes, as in you can look at the answers before you tackle the question. And even then, I needn't have worried, as anything you get wrong is simply corrected by one of the range marshals before he hands you your pass. It is fair to say that it is not in the NRA's interest to turn you away from their range.
So once I had "passed" my test, we entered the range itself, which was loud and scary and exhilarating. Armed marshals patrolled the back, with holstered weapons, while everyone just kind of got on with it. The old adage that everyone in London trusts complete strangers with their lives every day as they wait on tube platforms seems ludicrously quaint when you are in a room full of strangers armed to the teeth and firing guns really loudly a few feet away from your face.
In fairness, safety is the main issue you are tasked to remember when you enter the range. As two first-time shooters, my friend Lou and I were in the capable hands of our buddies Scott and Justin - two regulars at the range. Scott, a former navy man and current reservist, was an excellent teacher, instructing us exactly how and where to hold each gun, showing us how to load and telling us how much the gun would kick. Justin meanwhile picked up a 12-gauge Remington shotgun and blew the target next to us to smithereens ... before then becoming an equally excellent instructor with his selection of weapons.
I am still deeply uneasy over the question of gun ownership. I still cannot see how if they all disappeared tomorrow, America would be a worse place. I am very glad we are on the whole an unarmed society in Britain. All I know is that, in reality, Americans are going to want to shoot guns, and the majority of them seem to want to do it in a safe and controlled environment. I have no doubt there are feckless, irresponsible and malicious gun owners out there, but I am glad there are ones like Justin and Scott, and the NRA staff, who were patient and courteous. The organisation could really do with a new figurehead who is more like the marshals or people at the range, than someone who is clearly mad with the crazy like Charlton Heston.
The truth is I can never see myself being pro-guns, but I am enough of a realist to see America is too drenched in the culture to come out of it overnight. I can see that a ban could do more harm than good. Frankly the thought of unregulated, black-market gun shows and ranges - whether they already exist or not - scares me even more.
Anyway, back to the man in the booth next door. Upon entering he set the target thingy to the flip setting (as you can see I really mastered the lingo) and kept muttering things to himself while performing commando rolls, sitting in a lotus position, writhing around like a drowning snake and drawing his gun from his holster and firing in various directions. He then proceeded to do press ups - press ups! - in the booth before holding a bag of sand in one hand and continuing to fire with the other. We nicknamed him "Death Wish". He was weird. He was preparing for something. Whatever it is, I hope it happens at a gun range rather than the street.
