Adventures of a Midwestern Girl (and Her Hillbilly Hermit Tennessean) in Sunny, Sunny California

This Saturday, Steve and I did our best impersonations of special ops agents at Paintball Jungle. These being our best efforts, it's a damn good thing the safety of this country is not in our hands. We had only gone once before, last fall, at the end of a long dry summer before the winter rains began. Who was to know the eucalyptus forest would turn into a swamp by March? I didn't notice it so much when we were in the woods; it just smelled like woods. But when we returned to the parking lot/safe area for lunch, I caught the distinctive whiff of manure permeating the air. We were up in Napa County, so this didn't really seem so odd. On days when the wind is blowing in a certain fashion, the smell of manure even reaches San Rafael. It wasn't until I climbed back in the car at the end of the day that I realized it wasn't just the air that smelled like cow dung.

But it is was a beautiful day, a briefly sunny time between the weeks of rain that came before and would start again Monday, and we were there with some friends from WildCare. We certainly aren't the "huntin' animals" types, so hunting humans seems logical enough. The day was replete with various scenarios that were really just excuses to shoot each other. While some teams may be able to effectively negotiate a strategy to actually capture the flag, we didn't seem to have anyone in our group willing to make such decisions. A few people would kind of go off on their own while the rest of us offered strategy options without ever saying "we will do x, y, and z". Invariably, the air horn would go off signalling the start of the battle and our team would just look at each other, realize we didn't have a plan, and take off in different directions into the woods to shoot at our friends on the other team.

The day ended with a new "game" that our fearless leader, the organizer of the event, had thought up. Keep in mind that he stayed on the sidelines to take pictures while the rest of us lemmings lined up, shoulder to shoulder, on opposite ends of the field to play Revolutionary War. Ready, aim, fire. One shot. Those unblemished by paint took 5 steps forward and went again. Ready, aim, fire. One shot. This went on for 5 rounds until we were in frighteningly close range. Steve and I were both unlucky enough to make it to the end.

For those who don't know, getting hit with a paintball can hurt a lot. According to the owner of Paintball Jungle, that's what makes the game so "exhilaratingly addictive". Uh huh. Usually it just stings, but if you take a hit someplace bony like your hand, or at very close range, you can end up with a rapidly developing welt, bruise, and/or broken skin. The closer the lines drew, the more likely it was we would end up with a bad ouchie. And I did end up getting hit in the leg in that last round. The paintball didn't break, which is actually worse because it usually means the paintball is fairly hard. But it wasn't too bad. And Steve had a brilliant shot that hit the person in the opposing line on her face mask exactly between her eyes. It was a thing of beauty.

About the paintball experience in general, all I can say is that I hope that is the closest I'll ever come to seeing testerone-filled guys in camouflage holding "automatic weapons" and sitting in the back of a pickup truck that is driving past me.