How I spent my last day in Arizona presented me with two options, according to my Uncle Dave. 1.) Pick a trail to hike up into his hunting grounds outside of Phoenix, or 2.) Shoot guns in the desert. ...I've been hiking before. Guns it is.
I'm by no means a gun aficionado. In fact, I can't remember the last time I really shot a gun. Hell, it may have been with my uncle the last time I was in Arizona. Fact is, they make me uncomfortable, but I have nothing but respect for them. I always knew that something could go wrong so easily, that, with the smallest bit of carelessness, life with a gun would change in an instant. That's not something I take lightly.
We arrived at the target range, a patch of land about 30 miles north of Phoenix that is littered with old television sets, large sheets of painted plywood and run down pieces of furniture, all riddled with bullets. David picked a spot where, upon shooting, any stray bullet would bury itself within a small hill behind our target. I walked about 30 yards out and propped up a makeshift target that someone left behind as my cousins Jon and Danny loaded a few of the weapons we had at our disposal. Dave however, walked up to me, handed me a 9mm and simply said, "Shoot the demons out of it."
You don't need to know precisely what that means, per say...just that the last bullet that left this gun did in fact carry a demon with it, and my uncle was asking me to exorcise every last remnant of what it left behind. So I did. And Danny did. And Jon did. And then I did again. And then, without so much of a word, Dave tucked it away in a small metal box and slid it back into the truck. I wouldn't be surprised if that would be the last time that gun is ever shot.
A Glock. A .45mm. A shotgun. A rifle. An AK-47...I'm not going to lie; shooting a semi-automatic AK-47 makes you feel like John Rambo, like a real man. Like, I wanted to sign my name in the side of a mountain with bullets and claim it as my own. This 7.62 x 39mm caliber assault rifle can shoot 600 rounds per minute and has an effective range of 437 yards. And, it was designed by the Russians. Bad. Ass.
Two hours and three empty boxes of ammo later, we were looking at what was left of the semi-identifiable furniture that we made our targets for the day. Packing up our stuff, we headed back to the house to engage in an enormous meal. Some of Jon and Danny's friends stopped by and before long, the house was saturated in the scent of roasting meats, savory enough to draw them in by the truckload. Soon enough, after a few glasses of wine, three heaping plates of food and a lot of laughter, we all slipped into our respective food comas and soon found ourselves retiring for the night. I don't even remember putting my head on the pillow.
The next morning, as tradition has defined my visits to Phoenix, I woke up just before the sunrise and quietly left the house, exited through the back gate into the Phoenix Mountain Preserve and quietly hiked up the three-tiered trail to the top of Shaw Butte, which not only casts a shadow over their backyard, but offers a beautiful view of the entirety of Phoenix as well. As the sun rose in the east, I descended off the back of the mountain and into the calm of the desert. The trail looped back around through the valley, right back towards where I started.
I was awake, invigorated and I hadn't been stung by a scorpion nor did I cross paths with a rattlesnake. It was a great start to the day, upon then which I said goodbye to Ellen, Dave, Jon and Danny before they all left for work and school. I had a bit of time to relax before heading to the airport for my flight, so I decided to spend it as wisely as I could; by relaxing beside the pool with Cougar.
Later that morning, I found myself looking out the window upon the city of Phoenix, not knowing quite for sure when my next visit will be. My cousin Jon, is now in his sophmore year of college of Gonzaga University in Spokane. Danny is currently looking around the country at different universities, but I have a feeling he'll end up attending the same school as Jon. Soon, it'll be hard to get everyone back together again so easily outside of holidays and mid-summer during their breaks. ...But I suppose that's what makes it worth it.
I'm by no means a gun aficionado. In fact, I can't remember the last time I really shot a gun. Hell, it may have been with my uncle the last time I was in Arizona. Fact is, they make me uncomfortable, but I have nothing but respect for them. I always knew that something could go wrong so easily, that, with the smallest bit of carelessness, life with a gun would change in an instant. That's not something I take lightly.
We arrived at the target range, a patch of land about 30 miles north of Phoenix that is littered with old television sets, large sheets of painted plywood and run down pieces of furniture, all riddled with bullets. David picked a spot where, upon shooting, any stray bullet would bury itself within a small hill behind our target. I walked about 30 yards out and propped up a makeshift target that someone left behind as my cousins Jon and Danny loaded a few of the weapons we had at our disposal. Dave however, walked up to me, handed me a 9mm and simply said, "Shoot the demons out of it."
You don't need to know precisely what that means, per say...just that the last bullet that left this gun did in fact carry a demon with it, and my uncle was asking me to exorcise every last remnant of what it left behind. So I did. And Danny did. And Jon did. And then I did again. And then, without so much of a word, Dave tucked it away in a small metal box and slid it back into the truck. I wouldn't be surprised if that would be the last time that gun is ever shot.
A Glock. A .45mm. A shotgun. A rifle. An AK-47...I'm not going to lie; shooting a semi-automatic AK-47 makes you feel like John Rambo, like a real man. Like, I wanted to sign my name in the side of a mountain with bullets and claim it as my own. This 7.62 x 39mm caliber assault rifle can shoot 600 rounds per minute and has an effective range of 437 yards. And, it was designed by the Russians. Bad. Ass.
Two hours and three empty boxes of ammo later, we were looking at what was left of the semi-identifiable furniture that we made our targets for the day. Packing up our stuff, we headed back to the house to engage in an enormous meal. Some of Jon and Danny's friends stopped by and before long, the house was saturated in the scent of roasting meats, savory enough to draw them in by the truckload. Soon enough, after a few glasses of wine, three heaping plates of food and a lot of laughter, we all slipped into our respective food comas and soon found ourselves retiring for the night. I don't even remember putting my head on the pillow.
The next morning, as tradition has defined my visits to Phoenix, I woke up just before the sunrise and quietly left the house, exited through the back gate into the Phoenix Mountain Preserve and quietly hiked up the three-tiered trail to the top of Shaw Butte, which not only casts a shadow over their backyard, but offers a beautiful view of the entirety of Phoenix as well. As the sun rose in the east, I descended off the back of the mountain and into the calm of the desert. The trail looped back around through the valley, right back towards where I started.
I was awake, invigorated and I hadn't been stung by a scorpion nor did I cross paths with a rattlesnake. It was a great start to the day, upon then which I said goodbye to Ellen, Dave, Jon and Danny before they all left for work and school. I had a bit of time to relax before heading to the airport for my flight, so I decided to spend it as wisely as I could; by relaxing beside the pool with Cougar.
Later that morning, I found myself looking out the window upon the city of Phoenix, not knowing quite for sure when my next visit will be. My cousin Jon, is now in his sophmore year of college of Gonzaga University in Spokane. Danny is currently looking around the country at different universities, but I have a feeling he'll end up attending the same school as Jon. Soon, it'll be hard to get everyone back together again so easily outside of holidays and mid-summer during their breaks. ...But I suppose that's what makes it worth it.
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