Archive

Western Pennsylvania's trusted news source
Shooting events give gun-slingers a taste of the wild, wild West | TribLIVE.com
More Lifestyles

Shooting events give gun-slingers a taste of the wild, wild West

gtrLIVcowboyshooting0521172
Michael Swensen | Tribune-Review
Walt Elder 'Rowdy Bovine' of Observatory Hill shoots his rifle during a competition at Logan's Ferry Sportsmen's Club.
gtrLIVcowboyshooting0521174
Michael Swensen | Tribune-Review
Amy Anderson 'Dusty Lady' of Apollo loads her weapons as Dallas Brown 'Marshall Slowhand'of Pittsburgh shoots in the background.
gtrLIVcowboyshooting0521173
Michael Swensen | Tribune-Review
Members of the Logan's Ferry Sportsmen's Club participate in a single action shooting competition.
gtrLIVcowboyshooting0521171
Michael Swensen | Tribune-Review
Walt Elder 'Rowdy Bovine' of Observatory Hill poses with his handmade gun cart at Logan's Ferry Sportsmen's Club.
gtrLIVcowboyshooting0521175
Michael Swensen | Tribune-Review
Harry Wilmoth of Marion Center unloads his weapons after speed shooting at the Logan's Ferry Sportsmen's Club.

In his everyday life, Walt Elder is a math instructor at the Art Institute of Pittsburgh.

But one or two Saturdays a month, he's “Rowdy Bovine,” a gunslinger who aims to be the fastest draw in the Old West.

Elder, of Observatory Hill, is one of a growing number of gun enthusiasts who pursue cowboy shooting, a competitive sport with a Wild West theme.

A member of the Single Action Shooting Society — a California-based organization that sanctions matches around the world — Elder competes through the Logan's Ferry Regulators at the Logan's Ferry Sportsmen's Club in New Kensington.

“There's some fantasy involved,” admits Elder, 54, who looks the part with his bushy beard, 10-gallon hat, hand-tooled holsters and well-worn boots. His gun cart is bedecked with antlers and pelts.

“I grew up in the '60s with ‘Bonanza' and ‘Alias Smith and Jones,' ” says Elder, who took up cowboy shooting 14 years ago. “In a previous life, I was a rugby player but when a hip injury and arthritis set in, I needed something to occupy my time.”

Dan Anderson of Apollo is a heavy equipment operator, but at Single Action Shooting events he is “Dirt Slider,” a bearded cowpoke who wears leather cuffs and custom-made gun belt.

“Everyone calls me Dirt,” says Anderson, 64, who learned about cowboy shooting in Cowboy Chronicle magazine. “My kids went off to college and it seemed like a great avenue for enjoying the day. What I get out of it is companionship. The people are fantastic.”

Members represent each gender, most ages and all walks of life. Dirt's wife, Amy — aka “Dusty Lady” — is a school cafeteria worker who revived the shooting skills of her youth to join her husband on the trail. Laurie Enders, 15, of Ford City has been competing as “Poose Bear” since she was 11.

“I usually do this with my family,” says Enders, who grew up with guns and re-runs of “Gunsmoke.” “It's a little bit of competition combined with a thing we love to do.

Shooters are required to adopt an alias, to dress in frontier garb and to shoot with firearms like those used in Wyatt Earp's day — single-action revolvers, pistol caliber lever-action rifles and old-time shotguns. Events are timed, and shooters can vie by gender, age, attire and dozens of shooting styles, including one pistol, one hand (duelist), one pistol, two hands (traditional), and two pistols, two hands (gunfighter).

Anderson and Elders shoot black powder.

“Black powder is cathartic to me,” Elders says. “There's a certain tone to the report of the rounds that is pleasant, compared with smokeless powder. Black powder has a deep thundering sound, as well as flame, smoke and smell. It's pleasing to all the senses.”

Some participants, like Beth and Matt Mastorovich of Murrysville, are there chiefly to become better shots. Beth, 35, helped grow the Logan's Ferry Regulators. Known as BDOC, she is a three-time state women's champ who had never held a gun until her husband Matt, 48, a local police officer, introduced her to the Single Action Shooting Society when the pair was dating 12 years ago. She now is an NRA instructor and chapter leader of the Well-Armed Woman, as well as part of its competitive shooting team.

“You can go to shoot and be serious about it, or have fun,” Beth says of the cowboy competitions. “Everyone is encouraging and accepting.”

Harry Wilmoth, a cattle farmer and retired drilling engineer, likes living a fantasy.

“I really do get into it. It's part of the game,” says Wilmoth, who chose his great-grandfather's name, “H.E. Clark,” for his alias. “We're a bunch of gray-haired old men playing cowboys and Indians, shooting bullets at steel targets.”

For James Collins, 49, a heating and air conditioning technician from Carnegie, cowboy shooting is an opportunity to explore bygone days, and to augment the weekends he spends as a Civil War re-enactor with Carpenter's Battery in Ligonier.

“I've always liked history, recreational shooting and older firearms,” says Collins — aka “Gray Squirrel” — whose gun collection includes a Winchester shotgun manufactured in 1897. A former state champ, he intends to compete in End of Trail, the world championship held at Single Action Shooting Society Founders Ranch in Edgewood, N.M., in June.

Since it was founded in the 1980s, the society has grown to include chapters around the world, including 14 in Pennsylvania. Carol Sipe is president of the River Junction Shootist Society in Acme, which she founded with husband Bill in 1998 after they discovered the group at a gun show.

Adopting an Old West persona appealed to them as much as the shooting, given Bill is Western Pennsylvania director of the Lone Ranger Fan Club and a Lone Ranger tribute performer.

“Costuming is a really big part of this,” says Carol, who, like her husband, is in her early 60s and a retired registered nurse. “It's what makes SASS unique. Some people have elaborate stories — a whole alter ego that goes with their character, but it's lighthearted. We have some very competitive, very fast shooters, but we try to keep it fun.”

Deborah Weisberg is a Tribune-Review contributing writer.