A new shoot is an exciting yet daunting experience; home advantage seems lost and although the pheasants are still pheasants, it feels like a completely different game. Late this season I found myself on new ground, on an exposed peg under the scrutinising gaze of beaters and Guns alike, with bird after bird flying over unscathed.
The second drive ended like the first, but while feeling utterly defeated, I found myself being guided to drive three by a familiar face, who I knew from a shoot I used to frequent every season. The mood felt lighter, my shoulders unburdened by the pressure of oncoming game and everything came together. I seemingly could not miss and the polite shouts of, “Hard luck, Hartley,” changed to, “You lucky bugger.”
Grinning from ear to ear and feeling drunk with excitement, I went back to my familiar shooting guide. She didn’t need to ask how I had got on, she could tell by the silly look on my face. Piping up, she told me that she had finally managed to get back into shooting, which after years of bad hips and unsteady legs was a huge victory and something she thought she’d left in the past.
“What’s changed?” I asked. She explained she had started shooting with a semi-auto shotgun. In a hushed and embarrassed tone, I confessed that I actually did most of my shooting with a semi-auto, and though they’re frowned upon by many, I loved it as much as my old side-by-sides.
Tradition
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