April 2026 (2) - Flipbook - Page 22
anticipated conversations with
old acquaintances that I only
had the privilege of seeing once
or twice a year and I reveled
in the feeling of being privy to
conversations that included
the minutia of shooting long
range ri昀氀es the smallest of
which I knew nothing about
but desperately wanted to. As I
grew in the time spent at these
matches it became clear to me
that my intrigue into the sport
was getting the better of me. I
had grown up shooting guns
with my dad but never BPCR.
My grandfather on the other
hand was well acquainted with
the sport and I recall multiple
instances in my childhood that
held echoes of his experiences
with the type of shooting I was
becoming so fond of. I became
more and more drawn to this
world as the years went on and
often fantasized the thought of
being able to participate as a
shooter myself.
It became a lingering ache of
curiosity and excitement that I
indulged periodically. “A longrange black powder shooter and
a female one at that? I mean
really, could I do that? No. But,
maybe…. I mean, it can’t be
that hard, right? So, I think I
probably could, except that I
know absolutely nothing about
any of it other than how to call
‘target hit’ or ‘miss’ but I think I
could 昀椀gure it out…… maybe…..
I don’t know….” The string
of questions and statements
昀氀oating around in my mind
were relentless. Some positive
and encouraging, others de昀椀nitely not. Who was I to think
that I had the capacity to jump
into something so vast without
any sort of understanding as to
22
Bev working on the 350 yard o昀昀-hand target at the Lee Ranch
昀椀ring range, Forsyth, MT.
what I would actually be getting
into?
I was a girl, and I knew NOTHING other than that curiosity.
Perhaps it was better to let the
idea stay a fantasy, no risk that
way. Safe. De昀椀nitely cheaper.
But the more I let my mind
wander into the “what ifs and
maybes” the more that ache
stayed, the more it grew into an
actual wanting. I had become
pretty accustomed to ignoring
it. Convincing myself that there
was never a right opportunity
and clinging to that as an excuse for my inaction. And that
worked for a good, long while.
Until a warm afternoon in September of 2021. I was keeping
score at the annual Buz Coker match on
the Lee Ranch outside of Forsyth.
The air was hot, the dust intrusive and t
sun relentless during the time it wasn’t
blanketed by clouds. I had noticed that
morning that one of my shooters was
toting a wagon with a makeshift sign on
the side that said simply, “Gun for Sale.
I don’t know how many times I glanced
at that wagon. But every time I did, it w
still there, always with that sign directly
my line of sight.
What kind of gun was for sale? It’s been
an hour, is the sign still showing? Is the
really someone in MY group that has a g
for sale? I’ve always believed in the pow
er of divine opportunity but is that reall
what this was? No way couldn’t be. It
doesn’t work like that for me. I was muc
more accustomed to long way around
opportunities that I could use as an excu
April, 2026 - Issue #2
