Camouflaged and licensed to kill

Naomi Arnold tries her hand at airsoft and becomes target practice for men with guns.

When a new player starts airsoft, there's always an initiation ritual. "But it's not like frat-boy stuff," consoles my instructor, Jamie Auld. "You just run out and hide and we come and hunt you down."

Strangely enough, I don't feel very reassured as I crash through pine forest on a piece of land near Brightwater, five men with guns after me. Though Jamie has kitted me out in full camouflage, given me a safety briefing and a pellet-firing rifle to protect myself, I'm easy meat against this team of experienced stalkers. I only manage one kill before I'm spotted in a futile crouch behind a tree and taken out.

I'm here to try out airsoft, a hunting-stalking-shooting kind of war sport where people dress up in camo and spend the day trying to kill each other. Twenty-seven-year old Jamie, who organises the Nelson Airsoft Corps, has a passion for the adrenaline-charged sport.

"Airsoft players are all good people," he says. Though players are merciless, the game runs on an honour system that effectively weeds out the yobbos. If you're hit, you call it and retire, to run back to base and be born again depending on the particular scenario you're playing. If anyone gets too aggro or refuses to admit they've been hit, Jamie says it's obvious quite quickly that they're not airsoft material.

"We send them to paintball."

Because of the realistic-looking weapons, airsoft in Nelson used to be underground, more of a secret society. Now, players have managed to figure out an agreement with Customs and it has become more organised. In Nelson there are a couple of dozen who play regularly, enjoying national tournaments, night play, and battles fought in old buildings.

Airsoft has stringent safety guidelines and Jamie takes me through them carefully before we start. Most important, players must never take off their safety glasses in the field. When asked to clear their guns they must take out the mags and fire three times at the ground to discharge the pellets. When killing someone at point-blank range, they must aim and yell "Bang!" rather than actually firing.

Though powered by compressed gas and shooting only small round plastic pellets, the weapons look real enough that the group isn't allowed off the playing ground with them in plain sight. And the range is huge. Jamie says you can get an airsoft version of any model of weapon, from any war, moment in history or movie – fantasy or real. The same goes with the camo. Today, I'm German.

A car drives past. Its driver gives a friendly wave.

"They all know us up here," says Jamie. Lucky for them. Kitted out in full camo and wielding rifles, AK-47s, pistols and grenade launchers, the group is an imposing sight.

Their battlefield has gullies, steep hills and fallen logs. I spend the day ducking, rolling, crawling, fighting gorse and hiding, playing out several different kinds of skirmishes and scenarios. It's fun, physical and exciting. And as I was expecting, I get wasted. These guys are fit and it's hard to keep up as they sprint over uneven ground, firing as they charge. Pellets ping off my safety glasses and nick my earlobes. They sting rather than hurt, but I can't stop myself yelping and swearing every time I get hit in the face, which is frequently. My back sticks out when I try to hide behind trees. I can't run in the heavy clothes and I lumber across the forest floor. My aim is disgraceful, and towards the end of the day my arms are so tired I can barely hold up my rifle. I turn to my holstered pistol instead.

In between battles Jamie tells me about an initiation a few weeks back when a girl managed seven kills before they got her. I'm jealous. But he explains the trick is to stay absolutely still. "The tiniest movement will give you away."

And although I feel as though I'm painted bright orange and decked out in flashing lights, I'm surprised to find that unless I move, I'm as invisible as anyone else in the grey-green of the pine forest.

We finish at 4pm. I'm exhausted, studded with gorse prickles, and have a bleeding welt on my jaw the size of a 10c piece. But I'm quite pleased with this visible reminder of my suffering. Though I look for the rest of the week like I've been the victim of a violent hickey, it reminds me that I came away from airsoft grinning.

Nelson Airsoft Corps is always looking for new members. Visit asnz.org.nz/nac.

- © Fairfax NZ News