The Pungo Posse corrals an old-fashioned good time

Wakefield

Deep in the woods, a gunfight simmers. Pistols hang on hips, loaded and ready. Rifles and shotguns lie within easy reach. Ten-gallon hats are pushed back. Eyes narrow. An expectant quiet descends.

"Yeeeehaaw!" a gunman shouts. "Let's make some noise, boys!"

At the beep of a timer, gunfire echoes off the trees, paired with the metallic ring of bullets striking metal targets.

Pop, ding!

Pop, clang!

Pop, pang!

"Clear!" a range officer shouts through a cloud of gray smoke, pungent with the smell of burnt powder.

In a matter of seconds, it's all over. No one in The Pungo Posse is hurt, except perhaps pridewise.

They're a tough breed, these cowboy shooters from Virginia Beach. They're part of the Single Action Shooting Society, an international group dedicated to the art of competitive shooting, cowboy style.

These folks dress up as cowboys and cowgirls and fire turn-of-the-century-style guns, just like in the old Westerns, for nothing more than bragging rights.

"It's like being 10 years old playing cowboy again, but with real bullets," says Bruce Whitehouse, a 69-year-old retired physicist wearing a coonskin cap and overalls.

He goes by the shooting nickname Cockroach.

Whitehouse and about 30 other posse members showed up for the first shoot of the new year on an unseasonably warm January day. Whitehouse moved from Virginia Beach to Chesterfield in 2003 but still comes to the group's monthly events at a range outside Wakefield, about an hour's drive from Norfolk toward Petersburg.

The group started in Virginia Beach but lost its shooting range when the property was sold for development.

Roy Shipley, a former Norfolk police sergeant known around these parts as Arcey, started the shoots with a few friends about 10 years ago.

Since then the group has grown to about 50 people, some of whom have been friends for years but only know each other by their Old West-inspired nicknames.

Shipley looks the part with his long hair, drooping mustache and black cowboy hat. During a break he sits with a group talking about guns and munching sandwiches, laughing and slapping backs

"What keeps me coming back are the people," he says. "They're as fun as the shooting."

At the start of the day the group divides up into two "posses" of roughly equal numbers. Shooters mosey up to small tables a few yards apart, facing two sets of targets in the shape of cowboys, Indians and cattle.

A range officer reads out the scenario, a colorful way of telling shooters what targets to shoot at and in what order. The orders are complicated, and shooters must remember each step or lose points.

Just for fun the scenario asks shooters to start with a shout like "dance, pilgrim" or "yeehaw," or to perform some other action such as waving a bottle of iced tea, meant to suggest whiskey, in the air. Alcohol isn't allowed on the range.

Pistols are generally worn in holsters low around the waist, while rifles and shotguns are laid out on the table.

At the beep of the timer shooters let fly.

Some shoot one pistol with each hand, like in the movies, while others shoot one gun with two hands. Fingers fly, and the spent brass shells pop up in the air, often landing in the brim of the shooter's hat.

The hanging targets swing when struck, and ones on the ground slap backward into the dirt.

After a round the range officer announces the shooter's time. They are judged on speed and accuracy.

Shooters load and unload firearms under supervision by another club member.

All the guns are single action, made between 1850 and 1900, or replicas of guns made during that time. Single action means the shooter has to pull the hammer back to a cocked position before the gun will fire. Many will only use black powder, just like in the old days, for added authenticity.

"Black powder gives you a boom, other loads give you a pop," says shooter Ned Harris, who goes by the nom de cowboy Windy Beans. "Black powder is addictive."

Among the group's members are a father and son team and at least one married couple. Catrina and Ronnie Turnbull, aka Tricky Trina and the Missouri Marshal, got married at a cowboy shooting competition.

"Kill 'em all, honey!" Trina hollers when her husband steps up to the table. They are both sheriff's deputies in Virginia Beach.

"The type of people we sometimes come into contact with on our job, it's nice to spend time with friendly folks," she says. "And these are some of the nicest people you'll ever want to meet."

Friendship is almost as important as shooting to these cowboys.

"We're out here for five hours, and I'm shooting for about three minutes of that," Whitehouse says. "What am I doing the rest of the time? Hanging out with my friends. Instead of drinking beer and talking about football, we're shooting and drinking Cokes."

At least while they're shooting, they say. After the smoke clears and the targets are put away, the shooters generally gather elsewhere and those prop whiskey bottles may be replaced by the real thing.

Later on, the times are tallied and the winner is declared, as much as it matters.

"I'm a pretty competitive shooter, but this is just fun," Whitehouse says. "You get to hang out and shoot guns and tell stories and dress up. It's like Halloween every weekend."

Jim Washington, (757) 446-2536, jim.washington@pilotonline.com