Screwing Up

I screwed up recently. Embarrassingly so.

Let me tell you about it.

WHY?

I could easily hide it, of course, and few would be the wiser. Only a couple folks witnessed it, and they’ve got no reason to tell anyone. I could easily chalk this one up to a “lesson learned,” and go about my business without telling an embarrassing story about myself, but I think it’s important to fess up.

Why? Well, for a couple reasons. First, I think you might be able to learn something valuable from my mistake, so I feel I’ve got an obligation to share it. That’s the professional culture I was raised in–one of after-action analysis and accountability–and it’s part of my ethos. We don’t hide our mistakes; We face them, and learn from them, like men.

Second, it’s a useful exercise in humility. If I’m not careful, I could start to confuse the positive attention that my writing, interviews, and teaching have generated for actual skill at arms, but the truth is different. I’m a good shooter, but I’m certainly not a top-tier, or even a great, shooter. I usually rank near the top of the open enrollment classes or law enforcement training sessions I attend, but those are small ponds. I could probably be outscored by half of the roster in any local USPSA match. Being honest about my mistakes and abilities helps to keep my ego in check, and also reminds me that I still have lots of work to do, to become the shooter that I’d like to be.

Third, it’s a useful exercise in human fallibility. It doesn’t matter how much expertise or talent or skill someone has, they are capable of error—especially when asked to perform under stress. It’s part of being human, and it’s important to be mindful of our natural propensity to make mistakes when we’re discussing things like training, tactics and preparedness for combat. It’s also very important to keep this trait in mind when we’re teaching students to perform these skills.

WHAT?

So, what happened?

Well, the short version is I screwed up a draw, and I dropped my loaded gun. Ugh. First time I’ve ever done that, in almost 50 years of shooting. Dangerous, and embarrassing.

The slightly longer version goes like this. In the opening moments of a qualification and training day, I failed to obtain a solid grip on my pistol as I was drawing it from the holster. As I withdrew the pistol, the front sight hooked on the lip of the holster and the pistol was stripped from my hand, as a result of the poor grip. The gun landed on the concrete floor, but did not fire.

HOW?

It’s worth diving into the details of how this came about, to understand what contributed to the error.

As background, the holster and pistol are issued duty gear. The pistol I’d carried and intensively trained with for 18 years was replaced by one of another design within the previous year, and the new gun has several features that are different, to include a different grip angle, and a front sight that is taller.

While the issued holster is the same model as the one I’d used for the last 8 years or so, the design of the holster’s mouth has been changed, and the control for the retention device rests in a slightly different position, as a result of changes to the basic holster design and the different model of handgun it’s built for. When my hand lands on the gun now, my thumb doesn’t find the control in the same place that it used to, because the terrain is slightly changed.

I went through a one-day conversion training program for the new pistol, which included about three hours of live-fire training, but did not spend sufficient time and effort training with the new gear on my own time, afterwards. Regrettably, I actually did little firearms training of any sort since the conversion, because “life” just got in the way. My increasingly busy professional and personal schedule forced me to make hard choices about how to spend my limited free time, and I chose not to invest sufficient time practicing with the new gear. I worked with it some, but not enough. The majority of the handgun training I did during this period–which honestly, wasn’t very much– was with different equipment. I mostly trained with my personal carry gear, but also worked with some gear I was testing for various RevolverGuy projects, so the new duty rig got neglected.

These factors combined to create a perfect storm on the day I messed things up. As a result of changes in the equipment, my unfamiliarity with it, and my lack of training currency, I managed to commit the following errors:

1.) Failed to establish a good master grip, cleanly disengage the retention device, and complete the grip during the initial stage of the draw;

2.) Failed to vertically clear the mouth of the holster before trying to orient the muzzle downrange, during the intermediate stages of the draw;

3.) Failed to maintain control of the pistol after the front sight got caught on the holster’s mouth, and the gun stopped moving.

ON THE OTHER HAND

That’s the bad news. The good news is:

1.) I didn’t shoot myself or anyone else. Proper trigger finger discipline prevented me from pulling the trigger when the gun started to leave my grasp. When the gun started to fall, my initial, reflexive response was to move my hands towards it, but my brain intercepted them and commanded them to let the gun fall to the floor without interference, because I knew trying to catch a dropped gun often results in inadvertently pulling the trigger. I quickly pulled my hands back, and just let the gun tumble to the ground. My recent training had been deficient, but my accumulated training and experience worked to prevent a bad situation from getting worse. I’ve always put a heavy emphasis on safety protocols when I’m training and teaching, including letting dropped items fall freely, and the good habits I’d built over time allowed me to make the proper decision in the moment, thereby avoiding tragedy;

2.) The mechanical safeties worked properly, and the gun didn’t discharge when it hit the ground. We’d normally expect this kind of performance as a matter of routine from a modern firearm, but given the ongoing problems with uncommanded discharges in the popular Sig Sauer P320 design, I was particularly grateful that my gun from another maker worked as intended. There was a pop when my jaw dropped, and a slamming sound from my sphincter, but no bang from the gun;

3.) I didn’t put myself in front of my neighbor’s gun, in an effort to retrieve my fallen pistol. We were positioned close together on the range, and if I’d immediately reached down to pick up my fallen gun, I would have put myself directly in front of his gun, which was being held in a Low Ready position. Once again, a lifetime of good training and safety habits kicked in to prevent a bad situation from getting worse. Undoubtedly, someone out there is thinking that we should “train like we fight,” and I should have immediately reached for the gun to get it “back in the fight,” to reinforce the proper combative mindset, but I disagree.  If this had been combat, picking the gun up right away would have been the right thing to do, but nobody needs to get shot in training;

4.) The gun was no worse for wear. The gun landed in a manner that nothing was damaged. Nothing broke, no sights were displaced, no barrel crowns were dinged, no slide rails got bent.  Honestly, I couldn’t even find a mark on the gun from where it impacted—not even a flattened bit of plastic. It worked flawlessly after it was recovered, and the only thing that got damaged was my pride;

5.) I made a good recovery. Yeah, I kicked myself in the butt for a bit, but I didn’t dwell on my mistake so much that it distracted me from the job at hand. There’s a natural tendency when we do something really stupid and embarrassing to obsess about it, and to let our mind drift from what we’re doing right now. That’s a recipe for disaster, especially when you’re dealing with dangerous objects like firearms. I was fortunate to learn, early in my military career, that if you’re busy thinking about how you just screwed up, you’re going to make an even bigger mistake, soon. Accept it. Drive on. Stay focused on the mission. When the smoke cleared at the end of the qualification, I still outshot the other guys, because I was able to shelve dealing with the shock and embarrassment of my screw up until later, and focus on doing what I needed to do. There was plenty of time to feel like an idiot for dropping my gun later on (and I made use of it, believe me).

TAKEAWAYS

There are some obvious lessons here, for the reader, and maybe a few that are a little less obvious.

First, you’ve got to put in the work. I didn’t, so I wasn’t sharp with my equipment and my performance suffered. It didn’t matter that I had a long history of training with firearms, because my recent training with that specific one was deficient. I “knew” this, but I still allowed it to happen.

Second, small changes can have big impacts. My new equipment was very similar to the old gear, but there were enough small differences that I needed to make some adjustments in how I handled it. I didn’t put in the work to make the necessary changes permanent, so the poor results were unsurprising. Again, I “knew” this, but still allowed it to happen (are we sensing a trend, here?). By the way, if you’re a member of the “gun of the week” club, reread this paragraph.

Third, safety matters. Safety is not something you do, it’s something that becomes a part of how you do things–how you do everything, actually. When we’re tired, stressed, distracted, rusty, or just flat not paying attention, we don’t have the bandwidth to consciously focus on doing things the right way. Instead, we revert to habits, and if those habits aren’t good, then the results won’t be good. As shooters, we need to make safety an unconscious habit, something that becomes the default, without conscious thought–the way we do things. Don’t give yourself a pass on safety violations; Hold yourself accountable, and consciously program the right habits.

Fourth, to err is human. We all do it, even the best of us. If we’re lucky, we don’t make big, unrecoverable mistakes, just small ones. Part of ensuring that is building a robust, layered defense against error—making safety a way of life, building good habits, avoiding the shortcuts, putting in the work to maintain skills, selecting the right gear, paying attention to what you’re doing, and so on. We can trip up in one area, and have another save us from total ruin, kinda like how a violation of one of the “Big Four” firearms safety rules will result in a mistake, and possibly a negligent discharge, but it won’t be a fatal mistake unless you violate one or more of the other rules, simultaneously.

Fifth, from a training standpoint, it’s important to accept that error is part of the territory. We know that people will make mistakes, particularly when they’re under stress, so we should focus on methods, skills, and practices that are robust, and offer greater resistance to stress and error. It’s the reason why I teach and use a hard Low Ready position, for example, and don’t try to “game it” by just lowering my muzzle a little bit from my firing position, like I see so many clock-conscious shooters do. It’s also the reason why I teach reloading methods that might be a little slower on the clock, and might not win you any tournaments, but will help to ensure that you don’t fumble your gun or ammo, in extremis.  I’ll take robust, reliable, and safe over fast, when I’m training to perform skills that might be used in difficult conditions while under great stress.

SAY THREE HAIL JOHN BROWNING’S, GO FORTH, AND SIN NO MORE

As I mentioned earlier, I’d never dropped a loaded gun before, in almost 50 years of shooting. This one was a real shocker to me, and a source of great personal embarrassment. I’m just glad that nobody got hurt because of my error, and I’m also glad that it gave me a chance to do a reality check on my training. It would have been a much harsher lesson if I’d discovered it in the middle of a fight.

Hopefully you got something useful out of this confession, too. If so, it was mission accomplished. I’d much rather teach you by my positive example, than through my stupid mistakes, but the learning is the important part. There’s no room for egos in the debrief.

That’ll do for now. Be safe out there!