From Judge Roy Bean to Kareem Abdul-Jabbar,
this California fandango attracts anyone interested in
shooting irons and Western finery—and a whole lot more



By Elizabeth Clair
Photography by Brent Winebrenner

The pearl-handled Colt .45 felt deadly in my hand. Pressing my charging pony forward, I cocked the hammer and eyed my target with a stony stare. His pounding hooves barely kept pace with my beating heart. Then I fired. A quick look over my shoulder, and I hollered with glee. My target—a red balloon—hung hollow and limp in the blistering California heat. Wearing pink gingham and holding a smoking gun, I felt ready to ride out with Wyatt Earp.

This past spring, I attended End of Trail, the largest Cowboy Action Shooting event in the world. Run by the Single Action Shooting Society (SASS), whose 300 or so clubs have a membership in excess of 35,000 individuals, End of Trail annually attracts more than 600 shooters and over 25,000 spectators to Raahague's Ranch in Norco, California.

Dressed in cowboy hats, frock coats, and spurs, men and women and kids of all ages compete in several shooting events. Some require pistols, some feature rifles, and others involve shotguns. All are done on different stages with numerous targets and using different scenarios. For instance, a shooter might fire from the back of a wooden horse or through an outhouse window. And there's no down time between shots. That's when it might be time to hang laundry or rock a neighbor's baby.

Some of the wonderful things about this colorful cowboy fantasy world is that all competitors dress Western and everyone goes by an alias. I met Judge Roy Bean, U.S. Grant, Hip Shot, and the director of the mounted-shooting event, Doc Bones. Doc's name and early membership number are so coveted that one member offered him $5,000 for the alias. Along the trail I also met Cole Younger, Sizzling Sage, Sarsaparilla Sally, Blue Eyes, Aimless Annie, and Frenchy Quick Draw.

It was the Jersey Kid who finally coaxed me to this wild 'n woolly event (the only place in the world where men talk about fashion and women talk about ammo). Before I left for End of Trail a close friend of mine scoffed, "Oh, that's so corny, Flood. I can't believe you're going to a Cowboy Action Shooting event." Packing my wide-brimmed cowgirl hat, a floral-carved holster from Classic Old West Styles, and a vintage-style outfit from Wild Bill Cleaver of cowboy fashion fame, I hoped she was wrong.

My good friend John Schaffer met me at the Ontario, California airport, and as usual he was decked out in his cowboy finest, including a silk scarf, tall boots, and carved leather cuffs. As we drove to Norco he chatted nonstop about the 2000 event, which would honor Buffalo Bill Cody. There would be a Wild West show, plenty of cowboy music, a Buffalo Bill look-alike contest, world-class trick shooters, roping demonstrations, and plenty of gunfire.

The moment I arrived at the ranch, the spittin' image of Gabby Hayes walked past. Then I saw basketball great Kareem Abdul-Jabbar. He was packing iron and wore tall boots and a hat, and right behind him came a group of suffragettes in their Victorian dresses, banging on pans for the vote. Having just returned from Paris, I have to say I was experiencing a bit of culture shock. OK, a whole lot of culture shock. But after a few hours, I had happily slipped into another world where gun smoke mixes with fashion, and a handshake still means something.

For five days, men wanted me to notice their clothes or check out their silver-plated guns or watch them pack powder into a cap-and-ball gun. For hours I watched properly attired women race their ponies around courses, blasting balloons as they rode.

Throughout End of Trail, I was struck by the lighthearted laughter. Dusty Rogers, Roy Rogers' son, is an avid shooter and SASS member. He told me, "There was something about growing up with Gene (Autry) and Hoppy (Hopalong Cassidy) and Roy. None of us ever grew up." Rogers passes this same enthusiasm on to his own son Dustin, who is also an SASS member.

For me End of Trail was anything but corny. I felt as though I was walking around inside a history book. People told me about their characters, their outfits, their guns, and events from the Old West. "People's outfits are historically accurate down to the thread count," said Curly Bill. A black cowboy told me how he has collected so many books on the buffalo soldiers that he had to buy two new bookcases. A couple named their son Wyatt after the great lawman. At two years old, Two-Gun Wyatt is SASS's youngest member.

Pride, dignity, and a certain Victorian politeness also prevailed. I was treated like a lady by some of the most handsome men. I nearly melted when a fellow named Hip Shot, wearing a pressed shirt and vest, held my hand and escorted me down the wooden stairs of the Jersey Lilly, a replica of Judge Roy Bean's courthouse and saloon. Although it made me feel special, all the ladies were treated this way, particularly in the evenings when the handmade Victorian dresses and parasols decorated the dancefloor.

Even though I didn't grow up with Western TV heroes, End of Trail's passion was contagious. I shot balloons off horseback. I hit several targets using different firearms. I entered myself in the Buffalo Bill look-alike contest, losing out to a number of gentlemen with bellies and beards. I two-stepped with rowdy cowboys. I watched Joe Bowman, a world-renowned straight-shooter, twirl his guns, then hit targets only moments later. I also pursued one of my cowgirl fantasies and dressed in a fabulous hot pink, sequined Nudie outfit with a matching hat, and stood on top of a paint horse decorated with a shiny Bohlin saddle and bridle. I was packing iron, and my smile was as wide as it ever gets.

Although gun smoke and adrenaline mixed throughout the event, safety was always first, fun second. Shooters unloaded over a quarter of a million rounds downrange without incident. Range officers as well as other shooters enforced the rules. A competitor's gun was loaded only when he or she was on stage. I'm not going to get into the politics of it all, but I felt very safe throughout it all. It would be sad if gun control laws were to ever interfere with this remarkable event.

One of my favorite End of Trail highlights was watching the Wild West Show put on by Peter Sherayko. A band played the "Star-Spangled Banner" and original songs from Buffalo Bill's Wild West Show as cowboys performed rope tricks and Indians danced. I'd like to blame my tears on the mixture of suntan lotion and dust, but I'd be lying. The Old West and its myriad of characters and myths are such a part of our national heritage, I felt proud. Would I participate again in an SASS event?

Dressed in a black cape and in my coolest Doc Holliday voice, I'd have to say, "I'm your Huckleberry."



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