By John Rossiter

Las Vegas, NV. —  I decided to do something a little different this year.  I went to the Nevada State Trapshoot and shot the championship weekend (Oct 30-Nov 1).  I was expecting different scenery and different conditions and I left the desert without any awards, but I feel I brought home something better.

This was the first time I had ever flown with my shotgun. I was concerned about the process and procedures, having never done it before, but checking the gun in with the airline turned out to be extremely easy. Once that hurdle was behind me, the real adjustment began on the field.

The Clark County Shooting Complex sits just outside Las Vegas at 11357 North Decatur Boulevard. It is a sprawling public facility with two dozen combination trap and skeet fields, sporting clays courses, and ranges that stretch across the desert. On the way into the shotgun area you pass a pair of friendly aliens gathered around an oversized clay target that doubles as a bright orange UFO—public art that feels perfectly at home in this corner of Nevada.

Back home in Georgia the background is green. Trees frame the trap houses and give your eye something soft to rest against. The wind is there, but the woods usually take the edge off it. Here the horizon is different. The desert floor stretches out and rises into the Sheep Mountain Range, a hard blend of open ground and distant ridges under a cloudy and sometimes rainy sky. There is no soft edge. The wind does not ask permission. It swings hard, changes direction without warning, and leaves just as fast. Targets that looked true one second drifted the next. I spent the weekend constantly adjusting hold points and timing, learning how much the landscape shapes the game.

With more than 600 shooters on the grounds, the days ran long. I found myself shooting under the lights—not because I had earned a shoot-off, but simply because the schedule demanded it. Night shooting is usually reserved for the best scores of the day. This time it was just the reality of a big state championship.

I did not win anything. The scores were not what I hoped for but what stayed with me were the people.

I shot with folks from Utah, Nevada, and Colorado—competitors I would never have met if I had stayed on the familiar southern circuit. More than once they were amazed that I had come all the way from Georgia. Between rounds we talked about home clubs, travel, and the small satisfactions of a clean break. The camaraderie was easy and genuine. It felt like the sport at its best.

Even the leadership made an impression. Members of the Nevada State ATA walked the parking lot, stopping at cars, trucks and trailers to thank people for coming. It was a simple thing, but it mattered. Someone took the time to recognize that all of us had traveled some level of distance (some near and some like myself far) and to say they were glad we were there.

I made the trip for a reason that goes beyond scores. After some life-altering events among family and friends, I decided I would try, at least once a year, to travel to a place I would not normally think of shooting. Nevada became the first place on that journey. Flying with my shotgun for the first time, facing the desert wind, adapting to the open ground and the Sheep Mountain Range, and shooting late under the lights all pushed me outside my usual patterns, but the people I met reminded me why this game is worth the effort.  It is about meeting people and challenging yourself.

While I came home empty-handed on the awards table, I did shoot at or above my average but looking back, I can say I came home richer for having gone.