Go Feedback: A trip to the shooting range in the Nevada Desert proved to be good fun, even for a bunch of 'anti-gun liberals', writes Harry Leech
‘SO, ARE YOU guys from the IRA part of Ireland?” It was a question that I was woefully unprepared for. Beautiful women leave me tongue-tied and awkward at the best of times, but this was a new one on me. As was the fact that the blonde in question was also heavily tattooed and brandishing a sub-machine gun. I didn’t know what to say or where to look. How do you begin to answer a question like that? Thankfully she wasn’t waiting for an answer. “’Cause we’ve had those guys in here before and they knew way more about guns than we did.”
“Here” was a shooting range in the Nevada Desert and lest anyone worry, I was there of my own accord, accompanied by four good fellas. The first of our close group of friends was getting married soon and Las Vegas seemed to be the only reasonable option for our three days of spa treatments, shopping and quiet dinners . . . or whatever it is that happens on a stag weekend. On the groom’s suggestion we looked into a few activities to break up the trip, and a morning on a shooting range was one that he was particularly insistent upon.
We arrived at 11am to find that the shooting range was already doing a roaring trade, mostly it seemed from tourists such as ourselves looking for something a bit different to do on their vacation. The whole process of getting our hands on some guns was surprisingly easy. The totality of the background check involved us signing a piece of paper, which the helpful saleswoman told us confirmed that we were “mentally sane” and that we didn’t intend to shoot anyone while we were there. Given the large numbers who were shooting that day, we felt suitably relieved that they were so security conscious. With security like that, what could possibly go wrong?
Our next big decision was which package to choose. We didn't qualify for the "Kids Package" (the shooting equivalent of a Happy Meal), so after some deliberation we went for the most popular option, the "Coalition Package", better known as "The Iraq Pack". It consisted of three weapons in use with the US military in Iraq and Afghanistan including the M-249, the gun made famous by Sylvester Stallone in Rambo. We are all tipping 30 years of ago, but we were as giddy as five kids in a candy store.
Our instructor, while not well versed on Irish history, was good at her job and talking to her was quite an experience. She told us that unlike the rest of the instructors she didn’t carry a pistol with her to work as she was “a bit of a hippy”, but owned a couple of shotguns and a 0.50 sniper rifle “for home protection”. Apparently the sniper rifle has an effective range of a mile and a half and can pierce body armour, but despite some unsubtle hints, she didn’t quite see the contradiction in owning a weapon like that for “home protection”. I didn’t feel too comfortable labouring the point with someone who knows her way around a medley of high calibre weapons, so I left it at that. Perhaps she has an unusually large house?
After an hour and a half of firing automatic rifles, heavy machine guns and pistols, with the obligatory photos and videos (which hopefully will never see the light of day), we decided to hit the gun store to see if there were any presents we could bring home to our long-suffering girlfriends. There were plenty of free pamphlets to be had, including A Parent's Guide to Recreational Shooting for Youngsters. The pamphlets included some interesting pearls of wisdom, my favourite of which was that "Firearms can be dangerous if not handled properly". Sage advice indeed.
I opted not to buy an extendable baton which came recommended by one of the gentlemen we shared the shooting range with. Nor did I get her the Guide to Carrying Concealed Weapons in the State of Nevada, which the salesman told me was a must have. After all, we don't live in Nevada and (to the best of my knowledge) she doesn't carry a concealed weapon. A T-shirt would have to do.
Waiting in the sweltering Las Vegas heat (44 degrees and climbing) for a taxi back to our air-conditioned hotel we agreed that the shooting range was a great way to spend the morning. No one was injured and even our cockeyed groom managed to (mostly) hit his own target. Despite our “anti-gun liberal mindset”, as one gun enthusiast described us, we had a lot of fun; it’s cops and robbers for (alleged) grown-ups. And as bizarre as it was spending the morning with heavily-tattooed army vets and card-carrying NRA members, it’s also one of the least crazy things you can do on a weekend in Sin City. Not that we’d know anything about that of course.
