I have always played woodsball. Paintball was a wonderful excuse to be out in nature whether it be the glory of a brisk spring morning, the intense heat of summer evenings, or the crunchy leaves underfoot of fall. I began playing paintball in a canyon above my hometown. If you went a little outside the boundaries of the paintball field, the steep hill led to an awesome view of the Salt Lake Valley. That is where I learned to play paintball. It was a bit of a stretch for me - I have never been a super competitive person. The hardest part about playing in those woods where everyone was wearing camo was: how in the world am I supposed to know who is on my team and who is not. As many paintballers know, after a few games of running up and down ravines and army crawling from bunker to bunker I got a feel for the field and was able get that “sixth sense” of where my team members were. They were grateful! There is something fulfilling about using the trees, debris, bushes - whatever is around - to provide protection from the enemy. I like the contrast of a paintball battle in the peace of nature.
In time I moved an hour south, but continued paintballing with my boyfriend (now husband) and usually dragged others along for the ride. “Our field” was again on a mountainside, but this time with a less extensive view. I loved to play the snipe and get a great unexpected shot. I remember my gun, a Raptor, so well. Green and black, simple design, made good shots, but boy was it loud. I liked having a gun that was recognized to everyone on the field - and when I took a shot it was a given that everyone knew the boom had come from me. Hopefully I had made a good shot because at that point my cover was blown. Loved that gun, and we still have it after all these years. In time the Raptor was phased out and I began using other guns; I believe I played with a Dragon many times. There’s just something about your first gun, no matter if it’s a cheap plastic pump or a pricey custom creation.
My favorite games were those where we took roommates, family, and good friends along and just had a good time. Our first apartment had a closet in the living room that became the paintball closet (I think the vacuum was stuffed in there somehow, too). It was an incredible mess, but it was great to have a growing collection of markers. We frequently hosted paintball outings and people loved that we could provide the equipment. Pop the trunk, divvy out the guns, trek up the rocky hillside and battle. There is nothing like snaking through bushes and trees, boulders and grasses to pop up twenty feet away from an unsuspecting opponent. So strange how that will strengthen friendships. Back to the home base; swap battle stories and of course battle “wounds.”
I’m glad I gave paintball a chance. I enjoyed being in nature, bringing all sorts of people together and shouting “hit!” until it was almost too dark to see what we were packing up. Every time I get a whiff of “that smell” it really takes me back.
