Deer Creek Firing Range

My Montana cultural experience went into overdrive when I was taken shootin' for the first time. I took a deep breath and bravely put my life and my moral certainty in the hands of these two characters. That's Road Trip Angel Ducati Kevin on the left and his roommate Soccer Stan on the right.


They're actually much more trustworthy than they look. They're certainly a lot more trustworthy than they looked when they started pulling shotguns and rifles and handguns from their closets and sock drawers. Two men, six guns. I must have looked rather alarmed at the thought that they seemed to be starting some kind of militia, because they paused to assure me that theirs was actually quite a modest collection by Montana standards. Perhaps strangely, this did little to make me feel more secure.

We drove out to the evocatively named Deer Creek Firing Range, gaining access with the swipe of membership card. Fortunately, there didn't seem to be any deer around. I choose to believe that they all moved away because they didn't like the noise. Or, possibly, there were a lot of Volvos around at some point and they took the hint.

The boys unloaded the car, which took a while considering the sheer quantity of guns and ammunition involved. I stood around looking useless because I didn't want to touch anything that might behave unexpectedly.

Ducati Kevin bravely manned my camera, so that you can all enjoy this one of a kind photograph of me posing with a rifle and fixed bayonet. Enjoy it folks, there aren't going to be any more like this one.

My guides were very solicitous of my welfare and gave clear safety instructions for each weapon, like "try not to shoot yourself." On Ducati Kevin's advice I started with the .22 rifle which he described as "easy and fun." I was slightly surprised to discover that he was right on both counts. I felt extraordinarily chuffed when we examined my paper target and found it peppered with tiny bullet wounds. It would appear that I'm something of a natural.

Next stop was a larger and heavier rifle that makes a much louder bang. The targets were also a lot further away than the last lot. The moment captured below was followed by an exclamation of great surprise from my male companions "You hit it!"I had to laugh at their shocked expressions, even though I was a lot more startled than they were.

Then I sat back for a while and watched the masters at work for a while.

Feeling somewhat bolstered by my unexpected success with the rifles, I agreed to try out a handgun. My success with this particular weapon was rather more limited, by which I mean non-existent. Check out the Rambo pose below.

Now have a look at what happened when the thing went off. Note the shell ejecting, note the scrunched up girly "Oooh, it's loud" face, and especially note the fact that the gun is now pointing at the ground instead of at the paper thing I was aiming for. This may have been the single most "chickie" moment of my life. I had a sudden overpowering desire to get a manicure and a facial and to never again touch a handgun.

Ducati Kevin is much better at it than I am.

We relocated to the clay pigeon launchers to play with shotguns.

I was feeling rather emotionally scarred by the handgun experience and was just about ready to opt out when Soccer Stan turned it into a dare. "Deep end or kiddie pool?" He asked.

Kiddie pool?

Gimme that.

By sheer dumb luck I then managed to out shoot both the boys, killing more ceramic discs per shot than anyone else. Kiddie pool!

Having wasted time and ammunition, and indoctrinated the Aussie girl into the strange culture of shooting at inanimate objects we declared the afternoon a success and went out for Cajun food.

It was an interesting experience, for which I thank my two new friends profoundly. I experienced more than a little moral discomfort during the process, but they were sensitive and confident enough that I actually enjoyed it in the end. Nevertheless, I don't think I'll do it again. A second attempt would certainly explode my new, totally undeserved, reputation as a promising markswoman.