Front Sight Diary - Day One

Day One - Introductions
We stumbled out of bed early the next morning allowing plenty of time to make the twenty-minute drive from the hotel to Front Sight. A guard in a grey and black uniform signed us in at the gate. We would soon recognize the uniform as belonging to the instructors. We were to holster up in the parking lot with our slides open and magazines out and move to a check-in table. Shotgun and rifle courses were running as well, and had their own check-in tables. As we made our way into the check-in more cars streamed in behind us. By mid-morning I guessed there were upward of 150, maybe 200 cars in the long dirt lot, and two or three people per car.

At the check-in table the instructors checked our names against a registration list, asked us to write our first names on two pieces of duct tape which we stuck to our chests and back. The instructors inspected guns and ammunition (jacketed factory ammo only – no reloads, no lead or copper-washed bullets). They also inspected and repositioned holster rigs. Finally they wrote a number in black Sharpie marker on the back each student’s hand. It was the range number we would go to after the initial classroom session. A little degrading perhaps, along with the name tag, but certainly efficient. No one asked where they should be after the classroom lecture.

The process was at least as efficient as gear hand-out in Army Basic Training, and far friendlier. I braced myself for a really friendly and efficient sales pitch to come. I would be surprised.

Next we moved to a large classroom where a video of Front Sight appearances in the news ran as the class filled. An instructor called the class to order and made quick work some legal paper. Front Sight indemnified and held harmless to its lawyers’ satisfaction, the instructors lined up and each stepped forward in turn. At a perfect military Parade Rest, each gave his background and credentials (all mentioning that they were Front Sight “First Family Members). The credentials were impressive. Among there instructors were veterans of Army Special Forces, Marine Scout Sniper, “U.S. government operations,” metropolitan law enforcement, and even firefighters. Many of the instructors are part-time holding day jobs and teach on the weekends.

We found our assigned range and looked around at our classmates. Part of the class assignment task is to keep buddies/spouses together, and to segregate the classes by level of training. Our group mostly consisted of guys like Jeff, Danny and me — considerable experience with guns and shooting, but with less formal education.

Other classes contained people who had been through the course several times, and first-time shooters. The numbers are a real advantage. It allows Front Sight to put students at a similar level together into learning groups that can feed each other.

We had several instructors, but the lead, holding the title Rangemaster, was Craig Bishop. Craig is a retired Army Special Forces Master Sergeant. He is a fit sixtyish, barrel-chested and erect with a booming voice that caused my electronic ear muffs to cut out when he was twenty feet away from me. It wouldn't be hard to picture him as every Basic Training recruit's worst nightmare. But that's not the persona MSG Bishop wore today. Make no mistake, we were on his range and clearly things would run his way, but we were welcome guests. There were other instructors including former Marine Scout Sniper Ben Stairs, China Moon, Terry Meinzer, and others whose name I didn't record, including at least two women.

The class was divided into two relays with the non-shooting relay encouraged to coach the shooters. Shooting started from the five-yard line -- ridiculously close. Which is the distance of most gun fights. It's a social distance. Conversational distance. Naturally, with my extensive firearms background, long-time gun ownership, experience with competition in a dozen different shooting disciplines, I had to shoot well. In other words, I was a wreck. Naturally, I flinched. My first rounds landed way low. I took scant comfort that they would have unmanned the assailant. I knew better and concentrated on my front sight and trigger control. Rounds started printing where I intended.

At the ceasefire, the instructors came down the line. These were our first shots and they wanted to know a) whether our guns could hit anything, and b) whether we could hit anything.
"What's that?" Sergeant Bishop asked gesturing to the low hits. "That's a flinch," I replied. "Well, don't worry, we'll fix that."

For the rest of the day we worked on the process of drawing — excuse me presenting the gun from the holster, pointing in, firing, after action drill, and re-holstering. There's a lot to the process. Far more than most of us think about as we walk to the line at an IPSC match.