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I'm standing in the front of a room with the president of the Hidden Hollow Gun Club, shaking his hand and wondering how on earth I finished first in a shooting competition.

First of all, he said "high overall woman," so that meant I didn't have the highest overall score. I'll take it. I'm not picky. But I'm still wondering who did the scorekeeping. This has to be a mistake and yet I just stand there accepting the beautiful plaque that's embellished with a vintage postcard at the top of it. A flash goes off as someone takes our picture, and I just keep smiling. I resolve to check into the mistake later. Right now I'm basking in the honor and attention I'm receiving.

The reason for my disbelief in the outcome of the competition was because I had only been shooting a shotgun for two months. The other shocker for me was that I had just switched to a side-by-side gun and wasn't really all that familiar with it.

Vintage side-by-side shoots require that the shooters use old guns and, obviously, guns with side-by-side barrels.

My reason for wanting to participate in the event was because shooters were encouraged to wear vintage-style clothing, and that sounded like fun to me.

I went to a thrift store with my optimism intact and started the tedious chore of pushing hanger after hanger from the right to the left, trying to envision the perfect vintage outfit. My husband, Dick, likes to kid me about my overly positive outlook saying, "You think you'll find a set of '57 half-moon hubcaps in the drugstore on the clearance rack." The strange thing is, I actually do sometimes.

After searching the racks for more than 30 minutes, I found the perfect look. The vest was from the "Vintage Frontier" label. How appropriate was that? The long brown suede skirt I found matched the vest remarkably well. The frugal part of me was doing cartwheels inside because I was going to save 50 percent on "half-price Tuesday."

The vest ended up costing $2 and the skirt was $2.50 for a grand total of $4.50. Now, where do they keep their hubcaps?

The roper style boots I already had and the cute little hat I would wear came from eBay with a winning bid of $4.75. I challenge anyone to find a similar outfit for less.

When I arrived at Hidden Hollow, I saw the other women in their stylish garb hoping people were appreciating the high cost of their apparel while I was bursting with pride wanting to yell out, "My whole outfit costs less than 10 bucks!"

When Dick and I arrived, we started unpacking our guns and were discussing how sloppy the rain had made the trail. I was dreading the thought of trudging through mud for 14 shooting stations shivering and wishing I'd worn "long handles" under my now slightly muddy skirt. A golf cart pulled up and off jumped Stephen Cobb, a member of the club, introducing himself and welcoming us to the event.

I was beginning to enjoy the attention they lavished on us. Later, Dick told me that because the ratio of men to women is so high, the men try extra hard to make sure the few women who do shoot don't quit. Most husbands, from what I'm learning, would give their eyeteeth to have their wives share in their enthusiasm for the sport.

We were given the golf cart to use for the event, and even our shells were furnished. Dick realized he wouldn't have received the royal treatment without me being there, but he was going to take advantage of the situation.

I'm not sure if all the attention was standard for new visitors, but I noticed that as we were getting closer to the end of the competition we had an entourage following us from station to station. Maybe my excited hollers were drawing attention to us, but I haven't mastered the art of silent excitement yet. When I hit a target I usually am surprised because I totally expect to miss most of them. Confidence is an issue for me, but I was really on top of my game.

Most of the other groups that were shooting acted somewhat stodgy. Every time I'd get my serious attitude going, I'd break another impossible target and I'd be back to jumping and hollering. You can dress me up, but &ellipses;

When the shoot was over, Dick and I were packing our equipment and discussing where we were going to eat when Ernie Haussmann yelled out to us that we couldn't leave yet. He had something for us in the clubhouse. We looked at each other with puzzled expressions, but decided it was probably a brochure for the next year's shoot or something similar.

When we walked into the clubhouse the applause started, and I stepped aside to let everyone see who I thought was getting the ovation. But they all directed their eyes toward me. I heard the words "first place" and couldn't hide my confused look. They explained that I had the highest score among the women in the competition. Then I wondered how many women were entered and what kind of scores I could have beaten with only two months of experience. Those questions were never answered, but I decided not to look a gift horse in the mouth.

The reason for this story isn't to brag, even though it may sound that way, but rather to encourage everyone to try more outdoors activities. I'm living proof that even older people can learn a new skill.

I'm not saying that I'm ancient or anything, but "spring chicken" wouldn't be an accurate description, either. I like to think of myself as "seasoned."

Cherie Jones is a freelance writer who lives in High Point. Contact her at 887-1636 or cherie@cheriesworkshop.com.