Talk about your basic water-cooler conversation: I'm actually standing by a water cooler perched on the gate of a pickup, the only respite on a blistering-hot range for a Saturday match hosted by the local International Defensive Pistol Association (IDPA) club. A couple of new shooters are chugging the still-cool water, talking about the match and congratulating themselves for their decision to shoot IDPA rather than one of the other practical shooting sports.

"At least I'll be ready if I ever have to defend myself with my gun," says one.

"Absolutely," the other newbie says. "Thank heavens we didn't get involved with one of those sports that could get us killed."

OK, I admit it. I giggled a little. At least I managed to keep from laughing out loud.

Despite hype to the contrary, IDPA is no closer to "tactical reality" than bull's-eye shooting. That's because of a simple fact pointed out to me by the great Jim Cirillo, who, heaven knows, is one of the few people qualified to comment on shooting people professionally and who happened to shoot on my squad in the first big national invitational IDPA match. "Notice anything about the targets?" Jim asked me.

"Plain old cardboard," I said.

"That's right," said the old gunfighter. "Not a damn one of 'em is shooting back."

This is the part of the article where I tell you my credentials as a "Tactical Demon of Darkness, Kill-'Em-All Operator Dude," except that I don't have any. That's right--I'm probably one of only 10 people in the firearms business who was never a SEAL, a member of a special-ops team, an "operator" of any sort, a commander of a SWAT team, a bodyguard for royalty or at the very least a highly decorated undercover officer in narcotics/gang/any other scary-sounding venue. Sorry.

The gun comes slightly in and cants while the fully charged magazine is brought to the gun. In a speed reload, the partially spent magazine would already be on the ground.

I am, however, something of an expert in the arcane field of high-stress decision-making, a distinction I earned in more than a decade of doing relatively--and sometimes extremely--dumb things for money. Cave diving, climbing big mountains, pitching kayaks off waterfalls, river surfing (trust me, skip this one), running serious whitewater, hang-gliding, parasailing, skydiving, downhill mountain-bike racing, ice climbing--you name it. If the fee was right, I was your boy. You become very focused on your training, and your training becomes very focused on what keeps you breathing.

Yes, the "real vs. game" debate has been going on for a long time (I assume the Romans had something similar going on about sword-fighting), and it would be nothing more than angels dancing on the head of a pin except for one central problem. Recall our water-cooler conversation: "At least I'll be ready if I ever have to defend myself with a gun."

Unlike Baskin-Robbins, in the world of high-stress decision-making, there are only a few flavors: I know how to do this; I don't know how to do this; I think I know how to do this but really don't; I don't think I know how to do this but really do.

"Do know how" and "Don't know how" are pretty straightforward. So is the last option since in reality it's the same as "Don't know how." The problem comes when, as one of my early mountaineering instructors was fond of saying, "Your mind makes bets your body can't cover." You think you know what you need to do and how to do it, but when the proverbial balloon goes up, you're left wondering in those closing minutes of your life what just happened.

Well, you've just discovered the difference between playing a game, albeit a very fun game, and training. Let me be more specific. Let's talk about IDPA's greatest shibboleth, the tactical reload.

A close-up of Rauch's finger orientation, which is very similar to making a one-handed cat's cradle.

Ingenious Solution to a NonExistent Problem

The practical shooting sports started out practical and became less so, causing a split in the ranks. IDPA was born to guarantee a shooting sport that focused on carry guns as opposed to finely tuned "raceguns." So far, so good. IDPA was also a reaction to the direction the other practical sports had headed--complex, athletically oriented stages with round counts in the bazillions. IDPA's founders vowed to "keep it real."

Now here's where things get sticky. IDPA's simplified, reality-based stages of fire were very good things as was its focus on truly concealable handguns carried concealed and forcing competitors to really utilize cover. However, IDPA also began filling up with all manner of flotsam and jetsam under the guise of "tactical reality."

Enter the tactical reload. As explained in the IDPA Handbook, a tactical reload is simply topping off your blaster during a lull in the fight, retaining whatever unfired ammunition that remains in case you need it later. It's actually one of three reloads recognized by the organization, the other two being a reload from slide lock and "reload with retention," which IDPA defines as dropping the spent magazine into your hand and putting it in your pocket, then drawing the fully charged magazine and inserting it in the gun. The tactical reload is preferred, according to the rulebook, because it leaves the shooter with a one-shot gun for the shortest period of time.

What's missing here is the typical "speed" reload as popularized and refined by IPSC shooters: drop empty mag, grab loaded mag, stuff new mag in gun. This omission is both intentional and considered. According to the powers-that-be in IDPA, there was "no conceivable situation" in the real world that would justify speed-loading a pistol that was not in slide-lock, empty. If you say so...

The partially spent magazine is ejected into the palm of the hand. It is held between the fingers and palm while Rauch is still holding the fully charged magazine with his thumb and index finger.

In fact, the whole definition of "reload with retention" is designed to keep competitors from doing the obvious and fastest thing, which is speed-reloading the gun, dropping the partially loaded magazine on the ground, then picking it up when leaving cover. Also, by making the "reload with retention" clunky and slow, it makes the tactical reload look better. Not surprisingly, the tactical reload behind cover has become the preferred--i.e., specified--reload in IDPA competition. Here's how it is supposed to work, courtesy of Walt Rauch's book Practically Speaking: An Illustrated Guide to the Game, the Guns and Gear of IDPA:

"Method A. When I bring the fresh magazine to the gun, I eject the partially filled magazine into my off-hand and capture it with my palm and last two fingers (then stow it in a pocket to retain the remaining rounds).

"Method B. Some schools teach that when you have the replacement magazine at the gun, you shift this magazine so that it is now protruding from between your middle and third fingers. Then you catch the partially empty magazine with your palm, forefinger and middle finger and insert the fresh magazine."

Now that we know how it's supposed to work, let's take a look at the tactical reload through the eyes of our ever-present companion, the Inner Monkey.