My Life With Guns

Little Nelchina, SASS #68078

When I was a baby, I slept in the gun room. So maybe that’s the reason I’m comfortable with guns. Growing up, I learned early on that guns were to be treated with respect. But they were always a part of my life.

As I got older, Dad started letting me, his baby girl, share his gun hobby with him. I tagged along at the gun shows, sitting at the table and watching people go by, absorbing what was around me. I remember the smells: gun oil, leather, tobacco, hot dogs, Nalley’s chili, and coffee. (I don’t know why, but there seems to be an unwritten rule that all gun show concessions have to serve hot dogs and Nalley’s chili.) I learned some basic things, like the difference between pistols and rifles, and what a muzzleloader was. But I never got to the point where I could say, “Hey, that’s a .45 Colt.”

Some of my dad’s buddies enjoyed this little girl who smiled and chatted and watched her father with adoring eyes. As a matter of fact, some of them became family friends I still see from time to time today. They enjoyed watching me grow up, and I have a soft spot in my heart for them. It’s really the people I remember the most from those gun show days.

As I got older, I stopped going to the gun shows so much, as my own interests and activities grew. But I still dropped into one now and then. When I was in high school, there was a riflery class and team. So I asked my dad to teach me how to shoot a .22, and participated in that. But I didn’t shoot after high school.

Then, years later, cowboy shooting came into our lives. A few years ago, Dad (Trooper John Smith, SASS Life #5561) invited me to watch him at his cowboy shoots with the Alaska 49ers. I went, and loved it. It looked like so much fun, and after I went back the second or third time, people started saying, “You could do this, why don’t you join?” And I said, “I will someday.” I thought I’d join when I had more time in my schedule somehow. It would be a fun thing for Dad and me to do together. Then, in the summer of 2005, I told myself that life was too short, and I shouldn’t wait anymore. So I told Dad I wanted to join.

He looked a little surprised but pleased, said okay, he’d help me by getting the guns and all. And I was in. Then I had to decide on an alias. Dad said that he always pictured saving me when the scenario was about saving Little Nell from the bad guys, so I should be Little Nell. I was touched, and requested it, but Little Nell was already chosen. We started brainstorming Alaska names that might not be used yet. Dad came up with Little Nelchina (after a river in Alaska), Little Nel for short, and it wasn't taken. So now I’m Little Nel, sometimes just Nel, to my cowboy friends. (The “little” is a natural for me, because I am 4’ 11” and weigh about 95 pounds.)

One of the club officers, Oracle, was a bear of a man with a white handlebar mustache, a blustery attitude, and a great sense of humor. He kind of adopted me, telling me all I needed to know about the 49ers, and put me to work helping with the scoring. I hung out with Dad (Trooper) and Oracle at first, and soon people were coming up to me, introducing themselves and telling me what a great guy Trooper is. That was one of the best parts of joining the club: hearing what a great gunsmith and shooter my dad is, how he gave them good advice on their own shooting, and seeing that he is really a respected elder in this community. It is so good to find out that there is a group of people who love him almost as much as I do.

Every shoot, people would ask why I wasn’t shooting, and I’d explain Trooper was finding some smaller guns for me. Most of them offered to loan me theirs, but I’d pass politely. After watching them shoot several times, I started to think, “That doesn’t look so hard.” Then I finally got a chance to shoot last spring.

Trooper had collected all the guns and gear for me, and showed me my small frame .38 Uberti pistols, my replica model .38 Winchester ‘92 rifle, and my original model ‘97 riot gun. Wow, I was impressed. I put on my holster and ammo belt over my long skirt and flannel shirt. We got the safety briefing at the beginning of the shoot, heard the scenario, and soon it was my turn.

It was a cold April day, and even though I had long underwear on, my hands were cold and stiff. My nerves were feeling jangled, and the cowboy at the loading table helped me load my rifle when I forgot a step. I went up to the shooting position, and the whole scenario went right out of my head. The timer gently told me my line to say and led me through it, “Your rifle first...Set it down on the mule, action open...Now the pistols....” I missed about half the pistol shots and a few of the rifle ones, but hit every shotgun shot. Everybody clapped. I was just happy I didn’t embarrass my dad by making any safety violations. Trooper smiled and said I did pretty well for my first time, and helped me think through my mistakes.

At the next shoot, I wasn’t as nervous and remembered more. Then Dad and I had some practice on our own. By the third shoot, I had the loading and unloading down cold and was shooting well enough to have one stage where I only missed one. That got a broad smile and a “You done good, Charlie,” the highest praise he ever gives. I was ecstatic. Wow, this is cool! Maybe I’ll get a clean shoot one day! Since then, many people have encouraged me and given me shooting tips as I’ve kept at it. I’m still not in the running for any top scores, but I’ve had some stages I’m proud of, and I’m having fun with cowboy shooting.

It is fun to talk to Pilar Caliente about where to find petticoats on the Internet, or chat with Judge Do-Right about good books to read. I enjoy listening to Chen Lee and Four Bucks tease each other about shots missed. This is a fine group of people, and I have a great time at the shoots. Thank you, SASS and the Alaska 49ers, for this great sport.

But the best part is when I see Trooper shoot a clean shoot, or we sit together at lunch and I tease him about only eating a candy bar instead of “real food.” These times with my dad are precious, and I’m glad that guns have brought us together again.