Reflecting on the necessity of high-tech accessories
by Teresa Mull
The first time I attended a grouse trial event, I donned knee-high rubber boots, “reenforced” hiking pants, a blouse advertised as being impervious to abrasion, and a sporty Australian hat to guard me from every sort of element—inclement or otherwise.
When I met John, one of the winningest trialers, I told him I’d never experienced “walking a brace,” nor was I even aware such events existed until earlier that very week. He grinned and exclaimed, “Well hell, girl, you’re dressed to the nines for it!”
I think his remark was meant as a compliment, but John was wearing (naturally) faded blue jeans, a ratty old New England Patriots sweatshirt, nondescript sneakers, and a scruffy baseball cap. Looking around, I noticed the other competitors were likewise dressed in afterthought get-ups they likely acquired years ago from Tractor Supply or as hand-me-downs from a buddy. I suddenly felt self-conscious.
This experience has been coming to mind often this week as Turkish air-pistol shooter Yusuf Dikeç has become quite the sensation at the Paris Olympics for his nonchalance. Whereas the other shooters are outfitted with high-tech, other-worldly eye gear and pronounced ear protection, Dikeç stands out for looking, well, normal. He wears his regular, everyday eyeglasses, minimal earmuffs, a casual t-shirt, and when he shoots, he does so with the coolness of No Country for Old Men’s Anton Chigurh dispatching Carson Wells (or any number of other characters in that wonderfully chilling film).
Dikeç’s streamlined look doesn’t adversely affect his performance, however; the fifty-one-year-old has been competing in the Olympics with near-identical simplicity (he didn’t wear any glasses when he first appeared) since 2008, and with great success. He’s set shooting world records and is decorated with dozens of medals, including a silver from this summer’s Olympic Games.
A few years ago, my brother and I attended “survival school” with Roland Welker, winner of season seven of the History Channel’s Alone series. We camped in the snowy Pennsylvania woods in January, where at night it dropped down to single digits. I was wearing as many layers as physically possible (picture Ralphie not being able to put his arms down in The Christmas Story), with merino base layers, snow pants, and Nanook of the North’s mittens, and felt barely safe from frostbite. Roland, meanwhile, sported JCPenney-style chinos and a worn old hunting jacket. I never remember seeing him wear a pair of gloves, either. Or shiver, for that matter.
Dikeç has offered a simple explanation for forgoing fancy gear: “I never needed that equipment,” he said. “I am a natural shooter. That’s why I don’t use many accessories.”
Dikeç has also acknowledged that, “Although I looked calm on the outside, there was a storm inside.” And though I never asked Roland, thirty seconds in the man’s presence reveals he’s certainly all-natural and full of fire.
At my local sportsmen’s club, there are many members constantly fiddling with their shooting glasses—experimenting with various colors, shapes, and blinders. Doing so, for some, is part and parcel of the hobby and adds layers of interest and intrigue to the sport. For others, the gear seems simply to serve as a distraction from developing the skills needed to succeed.
I’d say I fall somewhere in the middle. Though I tend to err on the side of “Keep It Simple, Stupid,” perusing the latest outdoor stuff—especially when it comes to cool clothes and impossibly lightweight sleeping bags—is irresistible. I certainly feel more ready to hike, hunt, shoot, etc., when I’m wearing an outfit designed for the specific activity anyway, and I’m convinced that for those of us not naturally blessed like the Yusuf Dikeçs and Roland Welkers of the world, that mental boost is half the battle.
Teresa Mull aspires to be tough and talented, but will shamelessly resort to relying on neat outdoor gear until then.
