Coming from the politically progressive (sometimes even ridiculously so) city of San Francisco, I can’t say I was ever a gun fan. Hell, the city council banned JROTC in high schools within the past year. Even as anti-military and anti-gun as I thought I was a few years ago, I don’t agree that abolishing a voluntary program that gives students leadership training and potential for scholarships is right. Most JROTC members don’t even go into the military after high school. But this isn’t supposed to be a story about gun politics.

Rewind a few years back to my senior year of high school. I was in a production of West Side Story. Anyone who knows the story line knows that Tony gets shot. One of the 16-year-old backstage assistants had to fire a gun with blanks in it for the scene. After the first time the assistant shot the gun during rehearsal, I eagerly asked her how it was. Shaking and flushed, she replied that she hated it and hoped she never had to do it again.

That being the sum of my experience (or lack thereof) with guns, it’s understandable that the curiosity was still there—not achingly so, but enough to be on my list of things to do before I die, up there with skydiving and becoming a millionaire.

Back to the present day: My boss at Mercury Bar, Andrew Bugreyev, recently picked up shooting as a hobby and wanted to take everyone to the range some day. Not having thought about guns for a while, I found myself excited about accomplishing a goal I so long ago put on my list. Enter Honolulu Weekly’s “Get Out” issue, and shooting was to become a reality.

Before even heading to Koko Head Shooting Complex on a clear Sunday afternoon, Bugreyev goes over gun safety basics with me—proper stance, where to point the gun while cocking it, which part of the trigger finger to use. After a few rounds of dry firing, which actually feels quite light, we head out to Oahu’s only public shooting range, run by Honolulu’s Department of Parks and Recreation. “I like Koko Head because they are a lot stricter than the private ranges,” Bugreyev shares. “They yell at you if you don’t follow procedure.” Strict rules at a shooting range? I have no problem with that. Koko Head also allows only five bullets per magazine (for the gun we were using, the Steyer Pistol M-A1, 10 bullets can fit into the magazine) and no targets shaped like human silhouettes are permitted. This is to emphasize the sport of shooting—not killing. Everything at the range is DIY. Make your own targets, bring your own guns, ammo and eye and ear protection. Hearing the methodologically paced shots from others at the range isn’t as jarring as I thought it would be. While usually populated with mullet-sporting Filipino men, Super Bowl Sunday lends the range an extra sense of quietness. A couple of instructors with their students and a couple of marksmen are the only other ones there.

My sunglasses and swimming earwax suffice for a novice like me and before I know it I have a loaded gun in my hands. While waiting for the line to be cleared so I can put up the target, Bugreyev asks with a laugh, “Want to try firing at nothing?” Sure, why not? As dirt clouds kick up from my bullets, I mentally yell, “Take that, sucka!” OK, I actually don’t (though I’m sure some people would have)—I’m concentrating on holding the gun properly enough to reduce the amount of recoil as the empty shells pop out from the right side of the pistol. Push the butt with one hand while pulling with the other to gain stability and relax the arms.

After putting up the target and firing a few rounds, I’m ecstatic to see through binoculars that a couple of my .40 caliber bullets hit the frame of target. A few more in, and some hit the cardboard backing around the paper target, which is good enough for me. “If you expect the recoil, you won’t shoot as accurately,” advises Bugreyev. “Breathe. The trigger is a light as a feather.” The perfect circles left in the target are amazing and frightening all at once.

Curious about shooting using a shooting stand (I liken it to training wheels to gain an accurate shooting stance), I find, as intended, that my shooting improves. My second shot using the stand hits the bull’s eye from 25 meters away. I feel as if I can retire from my extensive shooting career now.

But oh no, the fun isn’t over. Bugreyev has me try one-handed shooting. I use my dominant hand—the right one, and slightly tilt the pistol to the left, as advised. This is not quite gangsta style, but I still laugh to myself about it. With no target success, I pass on trying with my left hand, seeing as how I can’t even sufficiently brush my teeth with that hand (I tried for a week).

We are lucky enough that Bugreyev’s gun instructor, Alan Nagahisa, is finishing up teaching a class at the range, right next to us. Nagahisa graciously takes time out after the complex closes at 4pm to talk to us on the sunny plains of Koko Head, surrounded by the green mountains and blue sky and a few chickens here and there. An aikido master for the past 40 years, as well as a guitar and ‘ukelele player, rifle and ‘ukelele builder and a former elementary school teacher, Nagahisa picked up shooting four years ago, and has since become an NRA-certified instructor, having trained on the mainland and here. Bugreyev introduces Alan with reverence, and it’s easy to understand why. He has a calm, thoughtful and disciplined disposition. With an average middle-aged frame, one that doesn’t scream towering gun instructor, I still immediately feel that I would trust Nagahisa with my life, no joke. The quiet respect he commands makes me think I need to listen carefully to every word that comes from his mouth.

I ask what got Nagahisa into shooting and he replies slowly, “It was time. I thought it was time to pick up a new skill set…Shooting is an extended discipline for martial arts.” As in martial arts, there is an emphasis on safety, education, self-defense and perhaps most importantly, “having the proper attitude” toward guns and shooting. “Gun ownership is not for everyone,” emphasizes Nagahisa. “It requires training, it requires work…I want to educate others, to have more safety out there.” After any course he teaches, he has a serious talk with any student who seems unready or who appears to be taking the course for the wrong reasons.

Aware that some may not agree with the politics of gun ownership, Nagahisa sees guns as an equalizer. “If a 300-pound man is coming at you, to kung fu him would be hard. A firearm equalizes…but,” he warns, “no one wins in a gun fight.” And of course with an emphasis on discipline, Nagahisa points out that “Just the confidence from training can make a [threatening] person go away.” People who choose to own firearms “should be held to the highest level of training our police force undergoes and respect the laws.”

Learning about guns and shooting isn’t to fulfill a competitive spirit for Nagahisa, but rather is “Like meditation. I’m a student first. I do this because I want to continue learning. I like to understand things.”

Talking to Nagahisa helps bring to light why I feel a sense of calmness during and after shooting. The ceremony-like procedure that precedes and follows the act of shooting is quiet, methodical. From rhythmically loading the bullets, to breathing at the right times, to re-positioning yourself after each shot, to sweeping up the shells afterward—all in a beautiful outdoor setting, peak a controlled alertness.

While my views on gun control aren’t solidified, they are certainly more open than those I held as a teen. Talking to Bugreyev, Nagahisa and trying out the sporting aspect of shooting for myself has opened up view into a world where gun owners aren’t all crazy right-wing rednecks. While this isn’t an article about who should own firearms or what gun control laws should be, the experience gives me sense that I also want as much education and safety out there as possible. And I do hope to shoot again.

Koko Head Shooting Complex, 8102 Kalanianaole Hwy., 395-2992; Alan Nagahisa’s ‘Ohana Services gun training course, 294-5043

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