Midnight. The 9 mm Glock rested beneath its owner’s pillow. But it felt different this time. This time it was in Yellowstone National Park and — no figure of speech — it was loaded for bear. Branches crackled and crumpled just outside the tent. The Glock felt itself lean back in its owner’s hand. In less than ten seconds it was in the crisp 23 degree air. Kaplowee. A dead bear.

It had been seven years since this Glock had been fired in the wild. The trailer park in Applebee, Missouri doesn’t count. The change in the federal law last week has brought a new sense of possiblility to weapons. Despite rumors of their near extinction, there are still Salmon to be shot (remember the 15 percent deflection when firing into water). And what’s better than bringing an owl down with a handgun? Anything that can be killed in the world at large can be killed better in a National Park. Ask anybody who’s packing.

Danny Tarks, an eleven year old wildlife enthusiast, knows how it feels to give new life to a weapon that’s been forced to live in darkness. He owns a Beretta 22LR “plinking” handgun. “I’ve kept it in a pencil box since first grade. Now it stays in my jacket side pocket. I hold it in the light and fire it every fifteen minutes or so. Look. It’s brighter, glossier, maybe even friendlier than ever.” Danny lifted his arm, pointed across a gorge, and fired at a short-horn mountain goat. The goat looked up, maybe with a smug smile, and strolled a few steps away. Even if the 22 round had reached him, it would have stung at most. Danny’s father, Karl, hefted his bolt-action Remington 30 caliber and brought the goat down. The rifle’s freshly blued barrel and oiled stock contrasted artistically with the dense deep-green leaf litter at the feet of father and son.

But it’s not just Yellowstone. At the Golden Gate National Recreation Area, the crackle of semi-automatic carbine fire can be heard — this within earshot of liberal, gun-hating San Franciscans. Bringing down a hawk has its rewards, but making elite brioche-eaters angry is the best thing of all.

“Worth even the increased chance of gun death,” says Dorothy Beamis, over the rattle of her 2-cycle ATV. “I’d rather die of a bullet wound than boredom.” She stuffed a large 25 caliber pistol into the crack of her ass and roared off towards a small white swan at the edge of a pond.

Crooomf! A muffled pistol shot. Dorothy hopped off her vehicle, wiped away some blood, and placed the pistol back in her butt. This time, she put the safety on. But the swan was gone.