Disclaimer: I can never hope to fill the well-worn shooting boots of Hap Rocketto, whose wit and wisdom defined reporting on smallbore and service rifle like few others ever could. But in the spirit of his storytelling—and with a deep appreciation for the tradition he helped build—I’ve taken a shot at capturing this year’s Camp Perry Smallbore Prone Matches. Here’s my humble attempt to do justice to a week of Xs, wind calls, mayflies, and the unmistakable magic of Perry.
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The first day of the 2025 CMP Smallbore Prone Nationals felt less like a rifle match and more like we’d stumbled through a time portal. Music floated over the loudspeakers—some of it intentionally subliminal, perhaps. Was that Bob Seger’s “Against the Wind” gently whispering through the air as we prepped our mats? Probably. It felt fitting—prophetic, even.
We were shooting on electronic targets under the covered firing line of Petrarca Range, surrounded by garage doors that—get this—actually closed when needed. For many of us with decades of Camp Perry mileage and water-damaged scorebooks to prove it, this was a revelation. It felt like a high-tech mirage, something you might hallucinate after a long night in a leaky hut. The monitors lit up with real-time feedback, and for once, we weren’t slogging downrange in rubber boots praying the targets didn’t rip in half like a wet napkin.
More than a few of us just stood there for a moment, marveling. After all, how many thousands of dollars’ worth of rifles and gear have we let sit out in the rain over the years at Perry? Too many. And now here we were—bone dry, sipping bottled water, and watching the future happen one X at a time.
The shooter’s picnic that evening felt downright celebratory. We weren’t just shooting—we were surviving comfortably. Spirits were high, the food was great, the beer was cold, and for once, no one had trench foot.
Of course, day two slapped us back to reality. That familiar Perry weather moved in like a drunken uncle—uninvited, loud, and soaking wet. Wind off the back, sideways rain, and lightning prompted evacuation protocols, but we were fine. We just… closed the garage doors. Yep—still dry, thank you very much. Brad Donoho made the tough but wise call to scrub the day’s matches before anyone floated off to Canada or became part of the shoreline.
And just as we packed up, the Ohio sun reappeared like a guilt-ridden teenager after a tantrum. Too late, pal.
Still, the show went on. The bonus time that day gave folks a chance to shop, wander Commercial Row, or just catch up with friends. The remaining 80 shots were fired the next morning—then came the team matches and the new crowd favorite: the Elimination Match.
Team events were a breath of fresh air—both literally and administratively. Unlike the rigid, bureaucratic tangle of the old NRA system, the CMP format welcomed open teams with a refreshingly simple requirement: pay the fee, and you’re in. No paperwork gymnastics. No pedigree checks. Just show up, shoot straight, and try to remember your teammates’ names. Some team rosters sounded more like bar trivia squads than rifle outfits, and more than one scorecard had asterisks where surnames should’ve been. But in the midst of the chaos, Team Rochester from New York came to play. They steamrolled both the State Association and Open team trophies with discipline and precision that even the wind seemed to respect. Well done, New York—who knew you could still legally own rifles up there, much less shoot them this well?
The Prone Elimination Match—experimental in name, instantly addictive in practice. Watching it was better than the Super Bowl, and the snacks were better, too. Katie Zaun of TCU and Mark DelCotto of Lexington, Kentucky—himself a former national champion—made it a final to remember. Mark sent X after X with the calm of an old man just watering his tomato plants. Katie, shooting irons demonstrating that this time youth and vigor was no match against the old age and treachery of Delcotto.
In the end, Mark hammered in a 10.9 to seal the win, and the line collectively applauded. But Katie didn’t just make a strong showing—she came to master the wind, and if anything, the wind learned a few things from her.
DelCotto’s outstanding performance in the 6400 Critchfield Course of Fire earned him second overall in the national standings, just behind Zaun’s dominant run, they tied on points and she won on X’s… And right behind him? John Whidden of Nashville, Georgia—a perennial podium threat and frequent flyer on the Perry stage for just about every rifle event worth shooting. Whidden’s third-place finish reminded us all why his name is permanently engraved in Perry folklore: calm under pressure, gracious and humble in competition, and always lurking near the top.
The whole week will go down as one of the best-run prone events in recent memory. Commercial Row is crawling back to life. The mayflies, ever faithful, made sure no shooter felt lonely. And yes—the huts have air conditioning now, meaning the great Perry tradition of slow-cooking in your WW2 hut has, mercifully, been retired.
So if you’ve been away for a few years—skeptical, maybe, that the magic of Camp Perry was gone—know this: the magic is alive. It just has garage doors and surround sound now.
Come back. The future of Camp Perry is waiting—and it’s dry.
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