What Not To Do On Your First Stage
So, after years of experience with all types of firearms, months of preparing for the event, and hours of talking to veterans of the sport, my time finally came. I laid Neil’s MK 12 in the ready position, checked and holstered my Springfield XD, stuffed my shotgun with seven shells and nodded ready to Mr. Timekeep.

The timer buzzed and I lunged for the shotgun, worked its action, aimed at a 50-yard silhouette and pulled the trigger. Boom! I rolled with the recoil and found the next target. Click. In a nervous haste I cleared the jam and slapped the trigger again. Click. I cleared the shell and racked another one. Click. My shotgun jammed six times. I finally laid it down and moved to the rifle with which I slowly but surely neutralized all targets. Then I transitioned to my handgun and shot a dreaded “Texas star” spinning steel target. After what seemed to me like a full hour, I cleared the stage. I believe I posted the worst time in my squad. But the ice was broken, and I was looking forward to the next stage.

The lesson? I had failed to try the reduced-recoil slugs in my shotgun before the match, and they did not feed. Plus I had forgotten to oil it. Doh! Remember to oil your guns! Both were embarrassingly dumb mistakes. But it got better from there. I even surprised myself and the crowd with a few really strong times. In the end I finished proudly in the middle of the pack.

Three-gun competition is mainly about challenging yourself. I know it sounds cliché, but these bad-looking guys and girls with their mean-looking guns proved to be some of the nicest people you’ll ever meet. You’ll find more discouraging words during a bridge tourney at a nursing home. I made a dozen new friends, developed practical shooting skills and even won some excellent prizes. I hope to be there this year, and I hope to see you as well. You can borrow my new souped-up AR-15—and a pocket-full of low-recoil slugs that I have left over.