OCR Text |
Show AROUND THE BEND AGAIN... of ducks and geese hung across the hood or on the rack of the truck for all the townsfolk to see. As kids, we weren’t to touch dad‘s weapons, but we found them one day hidden ina corner of his bedroom. Playing with them for a time, brother Roy, feeling a bit more sophisticated gunwise than the rest of us, loaded a shell into the chamber of the shotgun. Demonstrating his expertise to us, he accidently pulled the trigger and the destructive bullet tore a large gaping hole in the center of the kitchen table. Scared, we hurriedly put the guns back in their secure place. After hiding the gunshot hole with a new table cloth, and fearing reprisals, we quickly disappeared for the rest of the day. Our folks, of course, soon discovered the calamity. At a fearful family meeting that night, mother severely scolded and chastised us for playing such a deadly game. We were never again to touch dad’s guns. But days later as we again searched for them, we couldn't find them. Dad had removed them permanently from the house, and they never appeared again. And that kitchen table, with its gaping hole, remained in place for all of our growingup-years as a reminder and lesson-a symbol of thankfulness that it was just the kitchen table that got shot. Guns and hunting were important. In our Aaronic Priesthood class (for young kids) in our church ward, our gunhugger leader organized outdoor socials that centered around “rabbit shoots" in the west desert. A few of the kids already had guns (mostly .22s) and the rest of us borrowed them, passing them back and forth. We'd shoot rabbits and birds and in San Juan County By Ken Sleight GUN PLAY IN SAN JUAN other targets. And that interest in guns continued. Our fellow church members The tragic massacre at Columbine High School lingers in my mind. It was such a dreadful experience. And now in retrospect, I wonder as to what influenced those "trenchcoat" kids to actually kill their fellow students and an esteemed teacher. What was the students could go hunting either on their own or with their parents. Though guns were an attraction, I have never felt comfortable around them. A gun seemed an invitation for accident or harm. I bought a used .22-caliber rifle from Rusty Mussellman a few years ago and I still have it. I’ve target-practiced a few times with it, but now it sits in a dusty corner of a shed with my other junk. And I ask myself now why have cause? And at what stage in their lives did they decide to go on their deadly rampage—the cross-over from their previous make-believe world? I thought of this again as an article and picture in the June 23 edition of the Blue Mountain Panorama, a Blanding weekly, caught my attention. Written by Neil Joslin, the publisher of the paper, it was another of his fine human-interest stories. The article was a gun if I’m not going to use it. I remember going to Chiapis in Mexico years ago to run the Usumacinta River. Before leaving Tuxtla, my Mexican partner counseled us to carry some guns for protection from headlined: 4TH OF JULY PAINTBALL TOURNAMENT IS CHANCE TO BE A LITTLE KID AGAIN. possible bandidos or revolutionaries. I decided not to accept the advice and found it a wise It’s about a father playing a “paintball game" on a regular basis with his son--a game in which adults and teenagers alike crouch, sneak, and romp about together among the cedar trees and sage brush as they shoot at each other. Their basic weapons are powerful paintball guns. The bullets are made of gelatin and filled with soluble paint. A Five-man Team Paintball Tournament was planned. One of the games, "Capture the Flag” seems to be replete with gunning the other guy down if the other guy fails to surrender. The last team standing is of course the winner, provided the flag is captured. As Joslin says, it was indeed reminiscent of childhood games. Most of us have had similar youthful experiences, for better or worse, while playing with neighborhood kids. Cops and robbers. Cowboys and Indians. All seemingly innocuous and make-believe. With occasional caveats. The make believe world isn’t good enough any more. Our technological age introduced us to "virtual reality." Now these experiences aren’t real enough either. To make them even more real and warlike we now put on a mask, shoot actual bullets at each other, and put on camouflage clothing. An innocent and harmless game? Teaches respect and responsiblity for firearms? Maybe. But these paintball guns, looked upon as toys, are indeed dangerous firearms if safety measures are not taken, and they ought to be regulated under firearm laws. What is missing, and we shrug it off in our virtual reality play world, is the bloodshed, writhing, pain, misery, and sorrow that comes when we cross over that fine line to the real thing. In my own growing up, my dad wouldn’t buy us kids guns. Not even a BB gun. Instead, we borrowed them from the other kids about town and out on the farms. It was my grandmother who first taught me to shoot a .22 rifle at the squirrels in the hay fields at the age of six. I became fairly adept, and my attraction to guns increased. And with it came a great respect for them. Dad had a whole assortment of guns. On occasion he’d take us kids hunting with him, though he preferred going with his own gang. The hunts were memorable, and I enjoyed watching these "great white hunters" as they climbed the hills, patrolled the roads, and waded the wetlands. I watched as they’d come home with the dead deer or the carcasses <= Gg decision. On that trip we met a small group of armed men on the Guatemala side of the river border as we stopped for a brief rest. The leader asked why we were there, and I replied that we were merely tourists. He asked if we had any guns, and I told him we didn’t. We did have a few machetes for gifts, and we presented them with two of them which they graciously accepted. Then after further talk, we safely pushed off down the river. Had we packed guns, and they knew we had them, I think we’d have been in bad, bad trouble. Guns are often an invitation for trouble. If one does not intend to use a gun then why even have one? But many people love guns--all types of guns it seems. Reading of the make-believe paintball activity reminds me of my own military infantry basic training at Camp Roberts, California. The crowning test as to whether we learned anything was our participation in an exercise called the "Korean Night Problem." All night long, we maneuvered back and forth over the hilly terrain searching for the enemy, firing blanks from our rifles and other weapons, while trying to capture them. A number of us who emerged from that make-believe experience were assigned to the war in Korea itself where real bullets and artillery shells were fired at each other. Real men went down, and many never came back. It was no longer just a game but the real article. And on my return home, I continued my relationship with the gun by outfitting and leading a number of deer-hunting parties into the canyons. An especially enjoyable and eventful party was a group of Bountiful doctors and their families on a river trip down Red and Flaming Gorge Canyons in northeastern Utah. The deer were so numerous we could have gained our limit in a couple of hours. These family groups, enjoying the trip itself and the hunting experience, returned on several occasions. Hunting did have some redeeming qualities. Following the construction of the Flaming Gorge dam, I outfitted no more hunting trips. I quit hunting. Since then, I’ve become rather prejudiced against the hunts. And against those hunters who are intent on killing such splendid animals as mountain lions and black bears that reside in the La Sal Mountains. But what concerns me now is the increased gun violence in our society. It has become y pRED b, bs, It has taken millions of years to form these magnificent Red Rock mountains and awesome —p canyons. In these special t. places, erosion has uncovered the deep Red Dirt that is used past lo hand-dye this unique 100% a natural shirt. This Red Dirt, pond which is famous for its longlasting properties, has been oO blessed and is believed to bring . good luck to the weaver. Wear it with strength, power and Cm © (o % IR Made with SHIRT 100% Pure Red Dirt Paradise Sportswear Southwest Division respect for the land. "Red Dirt" is the registered trade name of Paradise Sportswear 82 S. Main St. Moab, UT 84532 259-DIRT or 1-888-254-DIRT i clamored to go on deer hunts together. Even the public schools throughout Utah were closed so that the ALASKA! CHARTER AIR SERVICE BEACH 6 GLACIER LANDINGS GLACIER BAY NATIONAL PARK GNSS stKY G MOUNTAIN FLYING SERVICE Paul Swanstrom P.O. Box 1404 Haines AK 99827 907-766-3007 in Haines or 1-800-954-8747 |