Those guys from the Central Whidbey Sportsmen’s Association — doggone them!

A couple of weekends ago, I made a big mistake by wandering out to the club to report on one of their pistol shoots.

A good opportunity for an outdoor story I told myself; you know, take some pictures and talk to people so folks won’t threaten to smash my gold Volkswagen because all they claim to see in the Whidbey News-Times sports section is high school athletics.

Back in the day I used to shoot pistols a lot, both big bore and .22 caliber.

At one time I owned a sweet .22 caliber pistol. A custom-barreled Ruger semi-automatic decked out with micrometer sights, Herrett grips and a Clark trigger. The old girl could shoot the lights out bullseye targets.

In Colorado, myself and two other sergeants from the police department won the second-place trophy two years in a row shooting against members of the National Guard and others in .22 pistol competition.

Cops are supposed to be expert shots but when you are going against guys with custom-made Husqvarna target pistols costing two-grand minimum who have shot in the nationals, second place isn’t bad.

My pistol was old but worth something, it paid for my second divorce!

So innocently I made my way to the club on a sunny Saturday morning and what happens? As soon as I get set up to take pictures Al Lidell told me they had two more shooters left in the contest and after they were done, he was going to let me pop off a few rounds.

It’s been 15 years since I’d fired a big-bore handgun, but how could I refuse? Al hands me his personal gun, a custom-tuned 637 Smith and Wesson eight-shot revolver with a red-dot sight, and I’m ready to go.

“It’s got a light trigger pull,” he said as I donned earmuffs and stepped to the line.

“What do you have loaded, two-point-three grains of Bullseye?” I inquired, earning a slap on the shoulder from fellow shooter, Lou Gunn.

Apparently, the kid had established his bona fides.

“Just don’t time me,” I said. “It’s been a while.”

After the first two shots, I found myself back in the combat shooting stance and scored six hits out of eight shots, all on the small targets. I figured I must have been over confident or the red dot was bouncing when I fired at the big metal rectangles.

The Rendezvous on the Plains of Whidbey Island put the smell of black powder smoke back in my nostrils and now I need to figure out a way to get my hands on a .22 target pistol and also a big-bore handgun.

Thank goodness I have three decent shotguns and a high-powered rifle or I’d really be in bad shape!